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)
Jeremy frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s totally my fault.” I pulled on my shirt. “I lost track of time. Sabrina’s probably doing everything herself right now.”
“Is she feeling better?” he asked.
"Yes, but she shouldn’t be pushing herself this hard. And this is the first time I’ve ever been late since we started the business.”
“I want to say I’m sorry again,” Jeremy said, and he gave me this crooked grin that hit me right in the chest, “but I think I’m actually flattered.”
That smile should’ve been illegal.
“Do you need me to help you?” he asked, and I stared at him, thrown.
“With the cleaning?” I asked, thinking maybe I’d misunderstood.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“You would do that?”
“Sure. I can clean things, I just usually don’t.”
I couldn’t help it—I grinned. “Thanks. That’s… thanks. I really appreciate the offer. But Sabrina and I can handle it. The place is already empty, so it should be pretty simple. I just hate that I have to leave right now.”
Jeremy looked me over like he was already imagining what round three might’ve been like. “Me too. Come back when you’re done.”
I blinked. I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t let myself expect much of anything. “You sure?”
“Very sure.”
“Then you can count on it,” I said, trying not to grin like a total idiot. “We should be done by six.”
17
Jeremy
For the next few weeks, Connor came over every day and sometimes stayed the whole night at my house. We spent most of our time together in bed. I hadn’t dared ask him if we could go out yet. I didn’t want to jinx what was working so well between us, but I also knew this couldn’t go on forever—him showing up to fuck me six ways from Sunday, then slipping away before dawn like a beautiful, secret sin.
Still, I had to admit there was something delicious about the clandestine nature of it all. No one knew. Not even David. All I’d told him was that Connor and I had talked, and I’d forgiven him. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Just not the whole truth.
It’s not like I’m someone who needs to go out. During school breaks, I could spend weeks in my cabin without seeing another soul—just writing, watching old movies, and ignoring the world. But this summer felt different. I was trying to start over. The sun was shining, the neighborhood was alive, and even an introvert like me wanted to take a damn walk. Get ice cream. Grab a beer. Just… exist in the world with Connor next to me.
Would he even want that?
I wondered what he’d say if I suggested it. A walk. Even friends take walks. But then my conscience, which often spoke with David’s voice, piped up: What are you thinking? Are you really going to pretend to be just friends with your lover after years of being out?
Was I?
The fact that I was hiding this from David felt worse than Connor hiding his sexuality. Connor had never lied to me. I was the one being deceptive now, and I sucked at keeping secrets. I’d been avoiding David for almost a week because every conversation was a minefield, and it was getting harder and harder not to mention Connor’s name.
So, I gave in. I pulled out my phone and texted David: Dinner tonight? My place?
His response was instant. I’ll be there at 7:30. Glad you realize you’ve hidden from me long enough.
What do you mean?
He sent me a raised-eyebrow emoji. Damn it. Of course he knew about Connor. He could basically read my mind.
I sighed and texted Connor next. I have plans with David tonight. You want to come over tomorrow morning instead?
I stared at the screen like a nervous teenager.
A few minutes later, he replied: Ok. See you then.
Hmmm. No emoji, no exclamation mark. Hard to tell what that “ok” meant. Why the hell was I analyzing it like some lovesick kid?
Because you’re in love, my brain answered.
Ugh.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!” David’s voice called out through the front door as he let himself in.
I couldn’t help smiling. God, I’d missed him. “In the sitting room, dear,” I called back.
That had always been our little joke. The sitting room—Aunt Irene’s overly formal living room—had been the setting for many miserable afternoons when I was a kid, forced to sit silently while my aunt entertained boring people I had no patience for. David and I renamed it years ago and the nickname stuck.
He appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, looking at me like I was a very suspicious creature under a microscope.
“You’ve been seeing him, haven’t you?”
I didn’t insult his intelligence by pretending not to know who “him” was. “Yes.”
“And by seeing him, I mean sleeping with him.”
I nodded.
David let out an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose it was inevitable.”
“Was it?” Maybe it was. At least after Shakespeare in the Park.