Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
If I ever got up the nerve to tell him, poor Rowe would be the last to know. Hopefully, he could feel my affection through every touch and kiss between us because thinking about actually saying the words out loud to him terrified me.
It was too much, too fast. He had obligations to his family back in Indiana that he couldn’t and wouldn’t put off forever. He had major insecurities about money, like he hadn’t put together what I’d told him about Daisy Chain’s potential profitability with the concept that soon he would hold the patent. And I didn’t want to make him any promises, to get his hopes up about anything, until we could clear Austin Purcell out of our lives forever.
So I kept my feelings to myself, held it close and tried to appreciate these “between” days where we were no longer simply fucking but not quite officially together. It was quietly exciting, the closeness that built between us as we lived and worked together. A glimpse of something real that I wanted profoundly. But there was a stubbornly transient quality to it, too, that made me hold my breath when we encountered a setback with IT or when Rowe had a long, stilted call with his parents where he told them he needed more time in New York, wondering if that would be the thing that tipped the balance. I held him tight every night, hoping he didn’t run away before we could get this sorted.
And then, like a plague of locusts in ridiculously expensive cars, my friends descended.
Early Thursday morning, Rowe perched on a stool in the kitchen, checking his email. I’d positioned myself behind him, nominally waiting for the “jazzed-up TikTok cinnamon rolls” Rowe had baked to cool so he could ice them, but mostly enjoying the excuse to wrap my arms around Rowe’s waist, kiss the skin behind his ear, and make him shiver.
“What’s that noise?” Rowe asked, his voice breathy from the kissing. “That thumpy sound?”
I was on the verge of saying one of the unforgivably cheesy things that started popping into my head this week, like “that’s my heart, beating for you, baby,” when I heard it, too. An unmistakable thunk scrape thunk scrape, coming from outside.
I barely had time to straighten up before the side door opened, and Kenji and Landry invaded our space without even saying hello.
“…not buying me a Louis Vuitton suitcase,” Kenji insisted. “You can replace the exact one you just destroyed.”
“I didn’t destroy it! I lifted it out of the trunk of the clown car you insisted on driving down here—”
“And the back wheels just decided to swan dive to the pavement? No. Don’t blame the car for your lack of spatial awareness, Landry Davis. And you can march your ass right into Target and buy me a new one.”
“I hate Target. I always leave with toilet paper,” Landry whined. “I don’t even go to the toilet paper department!”
“Oh hey, guys.” Kenji set a bunch of grocery bags on the other end of the kitchen island and belatedly noticed Rowe and me staring at him. “There’s a bunch more groceries in the car, Bash, if you wanna help unload.”
I blinked. “I… don’t recall asking for groceries?”
“No, well, with five extra mouths to feed, I figured…” Kenji shrugged. “Easier to just get it on the way. Hey, Rowe.”
“Uh… hey?” Rowe said, at the same time I said, “Five extra mouths?” both of which were practically drowned out by what sounded like a jet airplane landing on the lawn.
“Sick,” Landry said, running to the door like a little kid. “Zane brought the Spider.”
“Zane?” I demanded.
But Zane wasn’t the next person in the door. That was Silas, carrying a giant leather duffel bag he threw onto the living room sofa… right where I’d planned to get Rowe naked before continuing our room-by-room christening tour of the house.
“Why buy an Aston Martin if you’re going to end up with a car that sounds like a leaf blower?” he demanded of no one in particular before walking directly to the coffeepot. “Hey, is this still fresh?”
Dev appeared right behind him, looking shaky. “At least the Spider isn’t made of tissue paper and daydreams, like the Smartcar you just made me ride in. I swear they designed it with no legroom so passengers are forced to sit in the crash position the whole time.” He plopped on a stool, gave my arm a friendly shove, and said gruffly, “Hey there, Rowe.”
Rowe lifted his hand in a tiny half wave.
“You can ride home with Zane, then,” Silas said, grabbing a mug from my cabinet. “Good luck getting him to listen to your sad-as-fuck country ballads the whole way.”
“Holy shit, you guys!” Zane appeared in the doorway, face flushed and dark hair mussed. “I only rolled out of bed twenty minutes ago! That car broke the fucking sound barrier. It’s a great day to be alive! Oooh! Cinnamon rolls!”