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)
“Age is just a number.”
“Yes, but you know how that meme goes. Is four dollars a lot? No. Four murders? Yes. It’s all about context. And a twenty-year age gap is too big. He’s two generations older than you.”
Whit studies my face, and I begin to think I’ve spilled something on it or missed a spot shaving, but then he smiles. “Two generations … he could teach me a few things.”
“He has a kid.”
“Ooh, yeah, I’m out. I don’t need baggage at my age.”
“I don’t need baggage ever. That’s one of my rules. No single moms.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t want to be tied down to one place.”
His eyebrows rise, and my answer doesn’t only surprise him. Even though I dropped out of college and I’m working two dead-end jobs, I haven’t made a plan or a move to change anything.
I’m scared of being tied down, yet, I’m realizing I already am.
Well, shit.
“You okay?” Whit asks and takes a sip of his drink. “You look like you’re having an epiphany. I had one of them once. It almost broke my brain.”
I laugh, but it’s forced. I need to change the subject, stat. “Why do you only drink Shipley Cider?”
He shrugs. “Support local businesses and all that. And it’s good. It tastes like sex.”
I narrow my eyes. “Like … sex? First of all, how do you know what sex tastes like? And second of all, how can a drink taste like sex?”
Last week when we sat at a booth across the room and had a couple bottles of cider, I remember it tasting nice, but … sex?
Whit’s dimples appear. “Here. Take a sip. Now that I’ve pointed it out, you won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”
I take his drink and down a huge gulp of it, and— “Holy shit, that does taste like sex.” It’s hard to explain. Maybe the smell combined with the aftertaste, I don’t know. Whit is right, though. I won’t be able to drink it again without thinking about sex.
“Can you see why I’m so eager to get laid now?”
Images. So many more images. Why can’t I turn them off?
I shake them free. “You’re obviously not too eager if you let that pretty guy go tonight. Even if he’s not your type.”
“I’m discovering that I’m a little old-fashioned on the inside. It’s embarrassing.”
“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. At all. And maybe that’s not being old-fashioned. Maybe you’re not a hookup kind of guy.”
Whit screws up his face. “Are you saying I might be …” He gasps. “The monogamous type? Eww.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that, either. It means you want to be in a relationship to sleep with someone. That’s admirable this day and age.”
“I’m an abomination to the gay community!” he cries dramatically.
“And which gay community are you talking about? Because I’ll have you know there are a lot of committed gay couples who come in here.”
“Oh, the community that I’ve seen all over mainstream media. Are … are you telling me that’s all fake news? We’re not all man-whoring slutbags? I am so disappointed.”
“You look it too.” I smile, but he doesn’t. “You really look exhausted.”
“Wow, you sound like my brother and my mom.”
“Are you okay to drive home?”
“If I stop drinking now, I’ll probably be all right by closing time. I didn’t really plan ahead.”
“Where do you live? Can you get a ride or—”
“Nah, it’s too far. It’s thirty minutes that way.” He points east. “No, that way.” Now he’s pointing at the ground.
“South?”
“Yeah. That.”
“I get off in thirty if you want me to take you home.”
His eyes widen, and I realize how it sounded.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, and thank you, but I’ll be all right.”
Customers are beginning to disperse, and I have cleanup to do before I can get out of here. When my work is done, I find Whit again. He looks like he’s falling asleep sitting up.
“I don’t think I’m comfortable with you waiting another hour before driving home.”
“Shit.” He yawns. “I think the alcohol was keeping me awake. Ever since I switched to water, all I want to do is sleep.”
I take his arm. “Come home with me. You can crash on my couch. You said Sundays are your day off, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Perfect. Then you won’t be waking me at ass o’clock to get home. Come on.” I pull him up, but he barely budges.
“Are you sure?”
“What are wingmen for?”
“Well, generally, to get someone for me to hook up with. You’re slacking.”
“It’s been one week. You still have plenty of time to find someone.”
“Right. Plenty of time.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
8
Whit
Oh, this was such a bad idea.
Rainn is being super nice and a great friend, but my little gay heart is galloping a million miles a minute and reading into everything he says and does, hoping he means it all the way I want him to.