Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
I mime zipping my lips. Owen’s the PR guy on Declan’s baseball team, and it’s up to these two athletes what they share. But these guys did indulge in a few secret dates back at my bar in Phoenix at Grant’s first spring training years ago.
“You’re the worst at sharing anything,” Owen says, huffing as I pour a Diet Coke for Grant.
“I know. I’m terrible, and you hate spending time with me,” I say, then flash a smile at the pair of fiancés. “Seriously, I am so happy for you two, but let’s talk about me for a second, please.”
“By all means,” Declan says, sweeping out his arm to indicate the floor is mine.
“Here’s the thing. How does this keep happening?”
“And what is this?” Declan queries.
“This gross injustice when it comes to love and hot men. You two met and fell like that. As for me, I meet all the sexy, charming gay men in San Francisco, and I’m wretchedly single. What gives? I’m like the mayor of gay San Francisco.” I wave a hand at this establishment teeming with queer guys. “Literally every guy I meet in any given night bats for my team, and still, here I am, single at twenty-nine. When you, Grant,” I say, gesturing to the catcher, “fell in love with the only other out baseball player in the freaking city. Not that I begrudge you two, but would it kill either the Greek heartthrob or the smug little Valentine’s baby to throw some arrows my way?”
After all, it’s been a while.
And I don’t mean for sex.
Though that’s sadly true too.
It’s been a while since I had a great date—since I wanted to spend time with someone.
Several years ago, I met a guy at a local hiking club, and Hayden and I hit it off so well he asked me to move to Phoenix to be with him. I happily trotted along to the desert, opened my first bar, and was generally loving life with a guy I thought I’d maybe someday settle down with.
Then I caught Hayden cheating.
With the pool boy.
My life was a porno, and I didn’t even get off at the end.
I’ve dated plenty since then.
A couple years ago, I met Mateo at a coffee shop in my neighborhood after I finished a run. I was hot and sweaty and needed an iced coffee, and he did too. We clicked, then got hot and sweaty together for several months.
But the conversation started to fade, and sometimes he was too quiet. I’m chatty by nature, but I do like it when someone talks with me. I was the nixer in that relationship—I ended things with Mateo on account of the zing fading.
There have been a few others in between. I’m into serial monogamy and flirting my ass off, but I haven’t met anyone in a while who makes my heart and cock flutter. They’re a package deal and I need both reacting hard and strong, and all night long.
As I slide napkins to the ballplayers, Grant, the he-devil, tips his forehead to Owen. “Owen’s out and cute.”
No fucking kidding.
But Owen has been off-limits for years, and Grant damn well knows it.
“I’m more than cute,” Owen says, squaring his shoulders. “Matt Bomer, eat your heart out.”
Owen’s not far off in the self-assessment. He’s got the sweet smile of the TV star, as well as the chiseled looks and tight body. Owen’s more handsome now than he was back in college, and he was a smoke show then when we made our pact. Now, he’s grown broader, bigger, and I don’t mind the time he logs at the gym at all.
Plus, with blue eyes like the sea, carved cheekbones, and a jaw that would make other jawlines weep with jealousy, the man is simply . . . hot.
Seriously, if he weren’t my friend, I would be all over that body. He’s entirely yum.
But I won’t go there. Too many men come and go, so why even entertain the thought of boning a friend? Best to keep bangable friends in the no-bang category. “Yes, Owen is cuter than Matt Bomer, plus he has the whole cute-guy-in-glasses vibe that makes all the men want to buy his drinks. Seriously, do you ever buy a drink here?” I ask Owen.
“Why would I? I know the bartender,” he says with a grin.
“True. Either way, Owen and I are just friends,” I say, reminding Grant yet again. Maybe reminding myself a little too. The way my mind’s been wandering to Owen lately, Lord knows I need a fridge covered in Post-it notes.
“Good thing you two have your pact then,” Grant adds, sketching air quotes.
“Respect the pact,” I say, since that pact has saved my ass from temptation. Owen’s in my life, and I want him to stay put. Sure, he likes cats, and I like dogs, while he prefers the gym, and I love the great outdoors. But we rely on each other, we go to family events together, and we even volunteer together at an LGBTQ teen athlete organization. No way am I going to let a few risqué thoughts about his eyes or his mouth upend all that.