Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
If I’m making a clean break, Grant probably is too.
But hell, does it ever hurt, this silence.
I suppose I ought to be grateful for it. If Grant had called, he might have tried to talk me out of breaking things off. If I heard his voice, I’d give in. Go back.
In a heartbeat.
I can’t. I just can’t. I’m no good for him, and I have to think about him now. Not me.
Besides, what kind of coward wants his boyfriend to talk him out of breaking up?
I don’t deserve him.
I focus on the here and now.
Before I go to the ballpark, I check out of the hotel, take my dad to the airport, and walk him to security. Before he goes through the turnstile, I transfer him money. More than five figures.
It feels like hush money.
Probably because it is.
3
Declan
Thirteen years ago
Age thirteen
* * *
As I walked to the plate, I peered up at the stands, hunting for a familiar face.
One with eyes the same shade as mine.
One that came with a voice like a warm hug.
But the last several games—heck, for most of last season—my dad hadn’t been there as regularly as before. He hadn’t shown up next to my mom, leaving her alone in the stands.
She’d waved and cheered me on just the same, and I smiled and waved back, but I’d wished he’d been there.
I missed him.
Missed my dad, my coach, my hero.
When I reached the plate, I took a few practice swings and the pang of missing was so intense, it felt like a hole, tunneling into my heart.
Ignore it.
As I shifted my focus to the pitcher, I said it again.
Ignore this pain. Be stronger.
That was how I had to be.
I had to play like that.
I zoned in on the moment, and I whacked a triple into center field.
That approach worked for a few more games.
Deny, pretend, ignore.
I didn’t miss him anyway.
Who cared? I didn’t need him.
And still, he didn’t show up.
We made it to the championships, and I played my heart out without him, hoping he’d show.
In the last game, I launched a rocket over the fence, and a voice shouted from the stands. “That’s my son!”
My wish was coming true.
As I ran, I snapped my gaze to the stands, excitement curling through my body.
Until I found him, stumbling down the bleachers.
Ignore it.
But I couldn’t pretend.
As I crossed home plate, he clambered over the final seat and ran onto the field to give me a hug, but tripped and fell—a drunken, stinking mess.
His scent clogged my nostrils. That had to be alcohol. Later, I’d learn it was tequila.
He lifted his arm, a plaintive plea, laughing, like this was all so funny.
Nothing was funny. This wasn’t what I’d wished for.
Heat flooded my cheeks, the surge of embarrassment. Shame filled my body.
“Give me a lift, son,” he said, chuckling.
As my throat tightened, I spotted movement on the edge of my vision—a bird swooping by. No, a falcon. I wanted to be that falcon and fly away from here.
From all the eyes watching me. Watching us.
They looked away when my mother ran down from the stands to help, embarrassed for her.
I was keenly, horrifically aware of every stare as I left the field with my parents. I longed, again, to be that bird arrowing away from here, swift and powerful.
And I hoped, then I hoped harder, that this would never happen to me again.
4
Grant
Present Day
The night before
* * *
After an hour of Xbox with the guys, I return to my room, ready to snag a good night’s sleep. Ready, too, for another epic game tomorrow. After I shower and dry off, I get into bed.
Naked.
Why bother with clothes? I’m alone and I’m going to jerk off to the brand-new beautiful, filthy, fantastic images roaming through my mind.
Last night with Declan Steele.
Another first.
Another incredible, amazing first when we fucked, and he set my body on fire. I shudder as I replay yesterday evening in his hotel, how my world turned hot and electric when his body hugged my cock for the first time. When he urged me on, drew me closer, whispered filthy words to me.
Like he’d done the night before when he fucked me.
With those twin memories, a jolt of wicked pleasure hits me like a strobe light. I am rock hard and ready to indulge in images of him and us.
My man just does it for me, in every single way.
My man.
I grin, savoring the knowledge that that’s who he is.
The guy I’ll be seeing in November.
But before I take a trip to Dirty Declan Land, I’ll just send him a note. Nothing too boyfriend-y, since I know fuck-all about being a boyfriend. Something simple. Something that’s focused on the thing we have most in common.
The game.
I tell him how I played tonight, then hit send.
Setting my phone down, I shut my eyes, take my cock in my hand, and imagine the next time I’ll see him.