Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Trying to write the damn article.
But I couldn’t.
The article kept needling me like it was a thorn I couldn’t get loose from my skin. Usually when I wrote a big article like this one, I could put together an idea and watch it form over time, and it would only get better and better the more I worked on it.
When it came to the TNU Tempests, though?
There didn’t seem to be much dirt on them at all.
There was no “angle” I could find.
The Tempests had been underdogs for years and years until recently. And especially this season, I’d learned that Coach Ennick had especially high hopes for Andrew Peachel joining the team.
And so far, it was working out.
Andrew actually was as good at football as people expected him to be.
Good at so many things, actually.
Something ached in my chest and I ignored it.
I breathed in deep, taking in a lungful of air. The leaves were all changing colors now, and the air had turned from cool to cold.
Perfect for chopping firewood.
I raised the axe up again and slammed it down onto the next log. I worked at it for the next hour, getting a nice, tidy stack of firewood for my grandmother to use.
After heading back inside and showering off, I checked my phone.
Andrew: Drunk.
I bit the inside of my cheek, looking down at the screen.
His football team and frat bros really did drink like it was their goddamned job, didn’t they?
Last week I’d told Andrew I was going to be completely swamped with studying for my exams, and he’d been the respectful little fucking angel he always was. He hadn’t texted me much at all this week, other than telling me “good luck on your test” the day of the first one.
Gray: Use your words. Are you saying you’re drunk, or telling me that I’m a drunk?
Fine. I’ll use my words. Gray Gilman, I’m at the Hard Spot, and I am so fucking drunk, and it’s not even dark outside yet. Rescue me? I fucking miss you.
Something strange settled in my chest.
When was the last time anyone had said they missed me?
Because I don’t even get close enough to let anyone miss me.
You don’t miss me. You miss the taste of my cock.
It can definitely be both. Oh fuck. The guys just brought me another tequila shot.
You going to take it?
Already did. Why aren’t you here to lick the rest off of my lips?
I let out a slow breath.
My cock was already getting hard reading his texts. Of course I wanted to go. I wanted to make sure he drank water in combination with those shots, but I also wanted… other things.
I felt like I was weighing two options in my mind.
Spending the past weeks away from Andrew, one thought had centered on my mind.
He doesn’t actually want you.
For a while it didn’t matter.
I didn’t want him, either.
I didn’t want anyone at TNU. I didn’t want to date, commit, or get my focus pulled by anything.
But I’d realized with horror that I was actually starting to care about that fact. I’d always known it was true that through all of the research I’d done, it was obvious that Andrew Peachel never stayed with one guy for long.
At first, that didn’t matter either.
Why the fuck should I care?
The man liked taking my cock, and he was incredibly good at it. None of this was ever going to matter, long term.
But with each passing day I spent away from Andrew, I thought about those words he’d said, over and over again.
And that was a very bad thing.
I really fucking like you.
So simple. And enough to make me crazy.
Trust issues are a bitch like that.
They make you think you’ll always be hurt, because most of the time, it’s true.
“You came,” Andrew said, turning toward me from the side of the pool table.
He was standing there on his own, lazily holding a pool cue in his hand. Various other members of the Tempests team were scattered throughout the bar.
He was wearing a white T-shirt that clung to his biceps like a glove.
One look at his body and it was like we’d never spent a moment away from each other.
I wanted to pounce on him.
Remind him who he belonged to.
Chill the fuck out, Gilman.
“Your text said rescue me, and you’re in a crowded bar,” I said, looking all around the Hard Spot. “Of course I came.”
“I have a secret to admit,” he said. “I didn’t necessarily need to be rescued. Things are fine here.”
“I figured.”
His gaze softened. “I just really wanted to see you.”
“I know, Peach.”
Fuck.
Keep it physical.
Don’t trust this.
That thing my heart was doing around him hadn’t stopped.
And I needed it to stop.
His rosy cheeks were going to be the death of me.
“And you still came even though you hate bars. And you hate me.”