Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Yup, it was Kit and his Daddy. Kit was obsessed with military stuffs.
“Mine’s charging.”
“All right… Uh, lemme read. This here?”
“Yes, Sir.”
They were clearly busy, so maybe I should go wait out front.
“This comment’s wrong,” Mister Colt said.
“Crap. That’s mine.”
“Sorry, baby. But at that many Gs, you’ll lose blood in your brain, you’ll gray out—”
“But you’ve spoken about six point seven and eight before.” Uh-oh, Kit wasn’t happy.
“Not with this aircraft,” Colt responded. “I’d say no more than six point five. After that, you’re overstressing it. Flight’s over. Consider that dive—you’re going from 8000 feet to, what, 3000? It’s immense pressure at 450 miles per hour.”
Kit huffed. “They should fly F-18s instead, then.”
Colt chuckled. “Then it woulda been a different story—hold on. Where are you goin’ now?”
“To admit I was wrong,” Kit grumbled. “Consider me flying up to lame-duck territory.”
That made Mister Colt laugh.
No ducks were lame, but I appreciated the mention. Ducks were awesome and should be discussed on a daily basis.
Ash never mentioned ducks. That irked me. Never about seeing any cute ducks in special places like his glovebox, in his pants, in his lunch box, at home…
Huff.
I turned around again and headed for the exit—only to come to a stop when I heard people coming down the stairs.
“No, let’s go out front,” someone said. “The shit stains from the Brat Squad are always on the patio. I think I saw Kit when we arrived.”
Whoa! Was that the troll? I hurried over to the edge of the doorway so I could hide.
“What’s wrong with Kit?” someone else asked. “I’ve only seen him clown off online—and talk about airplanes.”
“Oh, please. The rich guy who’s never suffered a day in his life suddenly bags two Doms? He’s hardly any better than Noa.”
“You don’t sound bitter at all, mate,” the friend chuckled. “There’s something about you and that Noa bloke. Didn’t you bottom for his Daddy Dom last year?”
I poked my head out a little from behind the doorframe, but I couldn’t see them. Wait—never mind. They reached the bottom steps just then, and they were carrying what looked like one of those portable X-crosses.
“We never got that far,” the dipshit replied quietly. “We played a little nonsexually, but he has this rule where he doesn’t get intimate with anyone the first few weeks.”
Um. That wasn’t true. Noa had told me about the day he and Mister KC finally got together. And all the group-play events that’d ensued.
“You’re not friends with them, are you?” the dipshit wondered.
“Fuck no,” the friend laughed. “They’re ridiculous with their constant bratting, but I don’t let them bother me like you do.”
Okay, so they were both dipshits. Dipshit motherfuckers!
Why were they being so mean? Kit and Gael had said there was very little drama at House Mclean.
The two guys headed out the door with their contraption, and I squinted toward the dirt road. Was that him? Was that Noa? If so, I had a good shot at stopping him. It looked like he was carrying a skateboard, and if I remembered correctly, his boyfriend Cam had taught him.
Now was my chance.
I walked carefully out to the lobby, staying behind a bit so the dipshits could put some distance between us, and I inched closer to the door. If I went out right now, maybe they’d think I had overheard them, so I waited another few seconds. Noa—and it had to be him—still hadn’t reached the last stretch of the driveway.
Three…four…five…
Welcome to House Mclean, Jordan. What an uneventful day with no horrible surprises.
This was exactly how I wanted to meet my friends for the first time.
Feeling my fingers tremble a bit, I ran them through my hair and sucked in a breath. Then I stalked outside and started crossing the lawn. In my periphery to the left, I saw the shit-talking bastards, and I hoped for their sake this didn’t escalate.
Hi, Noa. It’s me, Jordan. Yeah, funny running into you here. Nice to meet you in person and all that.
When some forty feet separated us, I caught Noa tilting his head, as if he was puzzling things together. Yeah, it was me. I was here. Yeah, I was shorter in real life. Almost as short as him!
I tested a smirk that held no confidence, so I was sure I looked ridiculous.
Thirty feet.
“Jordan?”
I nodded with a dip of my chin. “Hi.”
He flashed a lopsided grin, looking way more casual than someone who might be planning on talking with his fists soon.
Twenty feet.
“At long fucking last, man.” He picked up the pace. “You’re even hotter in person.”
And with those words, he punched all the nervousness out of me. I exhaled a laugh, and I could almost fucking cry. Sweet Jesus. The relief was so immense.
Ten feet.
“You’re one to talk.”
All of a sudden, it was as if we’d known each other forever. We exchanged a grin and closed the last distance, and it felt completely natural to just hug it out. Weeks of fretting and worrying were gone in an instant, and I was so dumb. This happened every damn time. Every time!