Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Luckily, I’m not working a closing shift tonight, so I get off at nine before things get too crazy.
The bar starts picking up, filled with more FU students. It’s Saturday night, and school starts on Monday. I don’t go to college, but considering I’m unwilling to do what I actually love, there’s no point. Still, I’ve been trying to save money just in case. It helps that Brax’s brother moved out and I’m able to rent a room in the house he shares with Ty. They give me the family discount on rent.
“Hey, there’s a party tonight at Jack Thompson’s,” I hear a guy tell a group of people as I’m getting off work.
“Who’s Jack Thompson?” I ask because I’m always down for a good time. It’s one of the things I love about living in a college town. “And can I go?”
“For sure. The more the merrier,” he says, and gives me the address.
I freshen up in the employee bathroom, then type the address into my phone. It’s within walking distance, so I decide to leave my car at the bar. Who knows what will happen once I’m at the party.
I smell the ocean behind the bar the second I step outside, sucking the air into my lungs. I love it here, can see why Ty wanted to stay here instead of going back home to Massachusetts. Not like we don’t have the ocean there, but Southern California has perfect weather year-round.
A ton of college-aged people are out and about, walking to the shops and restaurants close by. The FU campus is across the street—with the huge Spanish-style white buildings with orange-tiled roofs.
There’s a crowd going the same way as me, and while they’re not the group I saw in the bar, I’m pretty sure they’re heading to this Jack kid’s house too. I’m the kind of guy who has no trouble showing up alone somewhere I don’t know anyone, but still, I shoot off a text to Ty just in case he can drag Brax’s antisocial ass out of the house.
Me: I’m heading to a party at Jack Thompson’s.
Ty: Who is Jack Thompson?
Me: No idea. You and Daddy want to go?
I tease them by calling Brax daddy. In the beginning, his head nearly exploded, but now he just rolls his eyes.
Ty: Brax says fuck off.
I laugh.
Me: Tell Daddy I love him too. Don’t wait up. I’m hoping to get laid.
Ty: Funny. That’s what I’ll be doing too.
“Lucky bastard.” I exit out of the texts and continue to this Jack guy’s house. I can hear the music from down the street and figure that all the houses close by belong to people who go to FU, so no one gives a shit how loud it is.
Like most of the places out here, it’s a stucco house with a tiled roof, which is so different from what I’m used to back East. It’s a two-story, in a neighborhood with trees other than palms, and from the looks of it, the backyard is fenced.
I stuff my phone into my pocket and head up the porch stairs with the crowd of people. As soon as I step inside, I smell booze and weed. I’m not really a drinker—it makes me lose my head—but I like to smoke sometimes. I haven’t been to the dispensary in a while, but the good thing about pot being legal is that people tend to share it at parties the same way they do alcohol.
The house is packed. It’s hard to maneuver through the sea of bodies. There’s a rap song playing, and once I hit the living room, my gaze snags on a guy dancing on the coffee table. He’s hot, there’s no denying that, with a scruffy jaw, short, honey-brown curls, and a smile that looks like it wants to take over his face. He’s just a little shorter than me, but broader, and he has one of those little dimples in his chin.
Please be queer, please be queer, please be queer.
My feet automatically take me in his direction. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with saying hi, making a new friend and all that. As if fate is finally on my side, as soon as I get close, Hot Dancing Guy’s foot slips off the corner of the table and he starts to go down. I catch him, which isn’t super easy, and okay, it might not be a perfect catch, but at least he doesn’t go down on his ass. He’s hanging from my arms, a contagious laugh falling from his lips.
“Good thing I was here. I just saved your life.” I grin, the flirty one I know is full of mischief.
“My hero,” Hot Dancing Guy says, and I get a few small pings from my queer-o-meter. I think this guy might swing my way, but I’m not willing to bet money on it yet.