Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Connor studied me for a few seconds. "You really believe that, don't you?"
I realized I did believe Connor was a man who could accomplish anything, and I wanted him to believe it too. "Yes, I do."
Connor smiled, a soft smile with none of the commanding presence he'd shown earlier.
After ordering a mocha and a slice of spinach-and-onion quiche, I found a table by the window. I resisted the sticky bun I really wanted, but there was a huge chance I'd return to the counter for it later, after a dose of protein and vegetables.
I opened the file for my book and sighed. How could someone want to write a book so badly, complain endlessly about not having the time for it, and then resist writing it with every fiber of his being once he had time? I clicked on my browser and scrolled aimlessly through social media, not caring about the posts I read. People sharing their own coffee and breakfast choices. Complaints. Bragging. Ads. I rarely posted anything myself. I was one of those social media spies, watching everyone else's life but not contributing.
Email came next. Nothing of consequence there. I could always read some blog posts by other professors not doing their work. Or I could actually write the book I said I wanted to write.
Several minutes later, I found myself taking a quiz on which career I should have. Writer, it said. As if. I hadn't written one word yet.
Get to work.
Right. Work. I pulled out the notebook I'd scribbled some ideas in—references to track down and poems to re-read. That wasn't writing either, but at least it had to do with my book. I made a few more notes, but internet puppies were calling me. Surely I needed to see more puppies being cute and puppyish.
Several hours later, I'd managed a few thousand words—all of it crap—and was ready for lunch. There was a sandwich shop down the street; I could head there and keep working. As I packed up my laptop, a man I knew I should recognize walked in. He was tall, with exquisitely styled auburn hair and broad shoulders, his muscular arms shown off by his tailored dress shirt. I should be salivating over him, but there was something off-putting about him.
"Jeremy Parks!" he boomed.
I resisted the urge to lean away from the sound. "Hi." Who the hell are you?
"You remember me, right?"
No. “Um…”
"Tony, from the lit magazine."
Oh, Tony. The beautiful, popular boy from my class who got caught cheating on an English test and was forced to work on the literary magazine with the nerd crowd. "Of course. How are you?" Still bullshitting people, if I guessed right.
"Great. I own a dealership on Patton Avenue."
"Of course you do. I mean… that's great."
"You live in the neighborhood now?"
"Temporarily. My aunt and uncle passed away recently, and I'm staying in their house while I get it ready to sell."
"Ah. I'm sorry for your loss, but it's great that you're close by now."
Seriously? I hadn't spoken to him in over ten years. Tony sat down without asking and looked me over like he was assessing my worth. "We should get together. Do you have plans tonight?"
Wait. Was he flirting with me? He was straight, wasn’t he? Or did he think I was going to do his bidding like I'd very stupidly done in high school? God, how I had wanted him then. My teenage hormones had gone nuts over the body Tony had honed playing every major sport he could fit into his schedule. I might have been a sex-crazed idiot back then, one who'd "helped" Tony with his articles—aka written them for him—but I had no need for Tony's shit now.
"I'm gay." The words burst out of my mouth with no warning. What was wrong with me? Maybe I really was as socially hopeless as David feared.
I half expected Tony to shove his chair back and run so no one would see him sitting with a gay man. Instead, he grinned. "I know. That's why I asked you out."
I frowned in confusion. "You're looking for a gay friend?"
Tony's boisterous laugh seemed to fill the whole shop. "That's a good one! No, I'm gay too, and I want you."
I stared, trying to make sense of Tony's words. "W-what?"
"Don't be coy. You had to know back in high school."
I glanced around for hidden cameras. This had to be a prank, a weird, creepy prank. "No, I promise I had no clue."
"You wanted me, admit it."
"I…" I almost did admit it, but I cut the words off quickly enough. The smug look on Tony's face, the absolute certainty that he could have whatever he wanted from me—my help on writing assignments, my favorite pen, a copy of the novel we were reading for class, my ass—stopped me. "I may have made some unwise decisions in high school, but I'm smarter now."