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)
“What songs do you both know?” Luke asked. “Want to sing Hey Jude or something?”
“Bit too long,” Gray said. “Peachel, you know any Sinatra?”
I furrowed my brow. “You’re not actually considering this, are you?”
“I’m not just considering it. We’re doing it.”
“Holy shit! Fuck yeah, my man!” Luke said, going in for a quick hug with Gray.
“You’re both going to kill me,” I protested.
“He’s not even drinking and he’s willing to do it,” Luke said. “Come on. Live a little, Peachel.”
“How about ‘My Way’ by Sinatra?” Gray said.
“I’m never going to be able to say no to this, am I?” I asked, a nervous flutter settling in my heart.
When I looked at his eyes and saw him smile, just slightly, I knew I was fucking done for.
“You’re mine for tonight, Peach,” Gray said, reaching out a hand. “Luke’s orders. Let’s get on that stage.”
Two minutes later, Gray had chatted with the band members and deduced that they all knew how to play ‘My Way.’
I had a microphone in my hand soon after, and when the band was ready to play again, Gray took control of the stage.
No.
Took control was an understatement.
Something transformed in him, the moment he was up there.
This was Gray Gilman, the shrewd, smart, tough as fucking nails reporter from the paper who would usually rather sit on the sidelines than draw attention to himself.
This was a man who could ruin you with one look. One touch.
Who usually kept to himself completely, and certainly wasn’t a slut for public recognition like I was.
But when he had a microphone, a stage, and a gorgeous suit on, he fucking became a young Frank Sinatra, commanding the attention of the ballroom.
“Good evening to all you beautiful people of Tennessee. Athletes, friends and family. Tonight I have for you a very special rendition of one of my favorite songs with one of my favorite people. Put your hands together for Andrew Peachel of the TNU Tempests.”
I waved. People all around the ballroom looked up, actually stopping their conversations to look up at him, and then at me.
My heart was beating hard in my chest.
I played football in front of big crowds all the time, but singing?
“Fire it up,” Gray told the band.
It was one of the only songs I actually knew all of the words to. My parents had played a lot of Sinatra growing up.
I’d always liked this one.
Being a gay football player meant that you were, by default, doing things your own way.
I took the first verse, singing the best I could.
But when Gray took over for the second verse, I forgot all of my nervous embarrassment.
My jaw dropped when I heard him sing.
He was better than good. He was a true singer, crooning it perfectly, and hitting every note.
Every day, I like this man more.
As we moved into the final part of the song, I defaulted to backup vocals. Gray absolutely fucking nailed the ending, and the ballroom erupted into applause.
By the time we were walking off of the stage and the band started playing their usual songs again, I felt like I was floating somewhere above myself.
It’s not just a passing thing.
I’m falling in love with him.
I’m fucking falling in love with him, already.
Leave it to me to love a man who doesn’t commit.
I glanced over at one of the sets of double doors that led out into the main hotel hallway.
After a few of the guys gave me bro-hugs and fist bumps, I reached for Gray’s hand.
“Come with me,” I said close to his ear.
“Gladly.”
We managed to find a brief moment where we could slip out of the crowd. I pushed open one of the doors and kept my hand locked in his, practically dragging him down the hall.
There was a window at one end with a little ledge in front of it.
I looked around and didn’t see anybody else in the hallway. The front lobby and reception desk were at the other end of the hall, and the only other thing down here was a door that led to some stairs.
For one brief moment, we were alone.
“I think I’m fucking obsessed with you,” I breathed, pushing him up against the windowsill ledge.
My hands found their way under his suit jacket instantly.
I pressed my mouth to his, kissing him because I couldn’t help myself. He opened his mouth to mine, my tongue sliding on his, hot and slick.
I was desperate.
I was rapidly hardening under my nice pants, too.
I felt like an animal who’d just been unleashed, overcome with raw desire and not knowing where to even put it, right now.
Gray hummed as I kissed lower on his neck. “If I knew you’d like my Sinatra that much, I would have done it sooner.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I looked up at his eyes. “Were you grossed out when Luke called us a couple?”