Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I glance at Rainn behind the bar, and as if sensing my stare, he looks our way, checks out the guy opposite me, and gives me a thumbs-up. That pretty much explains my deal.
I have a brief memory of his advice—be myself but don’t talk this guy’s head off, but … Wait, what was the question again?
Ian laughs. “The talkative kind, huh?”
“Sorry. I’ve been told I talk a lot, so I’m trying to think of the shortest answer possible. I didn’t know whether to say hockey or farm, and so I almost said hockey farm, and then I thought of a farm where they grow hockey players, and then I remembered people farms don’t exist yet, but it could totally be a thing. Like Build-A-Bear but with hockey players. And now I’m doing the overtalking thing again.”
Ian looks amused, at least. “If I’ve deciphered that properly, you live on a farm and play hockey. Or like hockey.”
“Play. For Moo U.”
“Ah, nice. I didn’t go to college.”
“What do you do?”
“Work construction.”
I eye him.
He laughs again. “No one believes me when I say that, and I guess I can see why.” He looks down at his small frame. “I work in the office of a construction company.”
We talk some more, and the live music kicks in at some point.
Ian is nice and normal. He doesn’t have self-esteem issues, and he isn’t intense, but he’s all blond and pretty and a little femme, which isn’t my type at all.
Maybe Rainn is right and I’m too picky, but hey, at least this one is clearly into dudes.
We talk and listen to the music. He buys me a drink, and when I tell him it’s my round, he insists he’ll get it and buys me another one.
At one point, he invites me over to his side of the booth so I can see the musician play. I take a seat beside him, and he immediately begins to make the gap between us smaller and smaller.
Honestly, the guy playing his guitar onstage, the way his long fingers work the strings, the soft tone of his voice as he sings … he’s turning me on more than the guy next to me, and he’s at least twenty years older than me.
I don’t know what’s wrong.
Then my eyes lock on Rainn again, and I realize exactly what’s wrong.
I turn to Ian. “Have you ever had a crush on a straight guy?”
“Ah. So that’s why you’ve been moving every time I inch a little closer. Good to know. I was thinking I’d lost my game.”
“Nothing to do with you. I can’t get this other guy out of my head, which is ridiculous.”
“Been there. Done that. Have the T-shirt. My only advice would be to not get a crush on a straight guy, but I’m guessing that’s a little too late.”
I take another sip of my drink. “Way too late.”
“I’m sorry, man. That’s rough. But I think we’ve all been there at some point.”
“How do I get it to stop?”
He gives me a sympathetic stare. “There are two ways. Time—”
“Which I don’t have.”
“Or getting under someone else. I can totally help with that if you want.”
“Time it is.”
“Ouch.” He chuckles.
“Sorry.”
He elbows me. “I’m messing with you.”
I like Ian. Damn it. Why can’t I be attracted to him?
And how long do crushes last?
7
Rainn
My gaze keeps gravitating toward Whit and the guy he’s hitting it off with.
At first, I was happy he was carrying on a good conversation, with appropriate-looking levels of back-and-forth with a guy. But the longer they sit there, the more unsettled I become.
I can’t figure out why.
The guy he’s with has a nice smile, but I don’t like the way he’s looking at Whit. It’s somehow predatory but inviting at the same time. Like he wants to take Whit home and do wicked things to him … or have Whit be the one doing wicked things.
The image of Whit pinning this guy down and fucking him invades my mind without permission.
I don’t like it. But not for any reason that makes sense.
With every flirtatious touch the dude lays on Whit, the urge to go over there and tell him to back off grows stronger. Which is very what the fuck in my world.
I don’t know where those thoughts are coming from. This is what Whit wants, and I promised him I would help. So why am I fantasizing about marching over there and kicking this random guy out of my bar?
They climb out of the booth, both smiling at each other, as Tanner calls my name. I’m torn between turning to my boss and chasing after Whit as he makes his way toward the door.
Is he really going to give it up this easy?
“Rainn,” Tanner says again.
I shake it off. “I have to do a trash run.”
My boss looks at me with a confused expression because the bar is busy and now is definitely not the time for a trash run, but I escape too quickly for him to stop me.