Read Online Books/Novels:
Fearless (The Finn Factor #7)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author R.G. Alexander
Warning: This book has male/male/male nookie. (Gay for you, Pan for you, Bi for you, Try for you.) That’s right, three sexy guys, nerdy references, vampire love triangle obsessions and a game of X-rated trivia that everybody wins. I won’t bother listing all the things they do to each other. If you’ve read the warning to this point and you know the Finn Factor series at all? You can probably guess. *some sensitive elements-past trauma*
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“Dude, do not throw up in this car.”
“If you’d stop talking about it I might stop thinking about it,” Rory grumbled at the back of the driver’s bowl-shaped haircut, wishing for the millionth time he’d accepted his cousin Stephen’s invitation to join some of the family for pizza instead of meeting his friend Rig at a bar.
Precocious twin toddlers and nosy personal questions aside—free food had its charm. But no. He’d made a bad decision, culminating in this unfriendly ride home via an Uber loser.
How had he sunk so low? Here he was, a grown-ass man who could drive anything and knew each backstreet, shortcut and traffic light in town—as any self-respecting ambulance jockey should—yet he was currently at the mercy of some paranoid stranger whose dashboard sported more than one animated bobble head, all of them nodding manically as if to say, “You’re right to worry, this guy’s nuts.”
He should have called a damn taxi instead of letting Rig use the app, but at least Little Lord Phobic-of-Bodily-Fluids was taking Rory’s mind off the fucktastic news he’d gotten tonight.
“I didn’t plan it, Rory.”
He didn’t plan on his heart breaking, either. Shit happens.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fumbled for it with fingers that felt clumsy and awkward. Maybe it was Rig texting to tell him his confession had been pure mind-fuckery. A prank between old friends. A lie so ridiculous it sounded like the truth.
But he wasn’t that lucky.
Resentment and relief flooded him simultaneously when he saw the familiar name pop up on his screen. David Mills. What were the odds? Rory wondered if his ears were ringing after being discussed all night.
It was too much to hope that he’d just been on his mind.
He sighed, automatically adding regret to his mixed bag of emotions-starting-with-R. Regret was like Jell-O when it came to David lately. There was always room for more.
Was everything okay? No. Everything was the opposite of okay. To put it in terms even geek-boy David could understand, the planet of Okay was in a different solar system now, and they might not see it again in their lifetime.
The reason might have to do with the fact that while Rory had been reevaluating his life and trying to be a better man, his two best friends—his wingmen—had gone flying without him. Together.
So no. Not okay.
He replied before he could stop himself, trying to keep it light. Sure. Great. Why wouldn’t it be?
David was already responding. I heard you drank the club dry. Worried, man. Remember? Senior Prom is Poison?
“A man gets his stomach pumped one time and he never lives it down,” Rory muttered, rolling his eyes.
Rig must have dialed David as soon as he’d tossed Rory into this Lysol-dowsed clown car. Did he tell him why he’d been drinking? Did he have any idea what Rig had been admitting to? Had they planned it together?
Were they officially together?
No. David would have told him that to his face. Believing anything else would break him.
His phone buzzed again. Still there, Roar?
His throat went dry at the nickname David had given him the first time he’d seen Rory dressed in his mascot gear. “Hold that Tiger. See Rory Roar!” It brought back memories of laughter and unrequited adoration. He blamed his blurry vision on the alcohol as he swiped at his phone.
I’ll never get prom drunk again, but this came close. BTW Rig gossips like an Italian grandmother and he took my keys. Don’t listen to anything he says.
He snorted at David’s quick response. I’ll tell his Nonna you said that.
Shit. Nonna Gina loved him, but the last thing he needed was to get on her bad side. The woman who lived in the decked-out mother-in-law loft above Rig’s garage kept Rory well fed between Finn family dinners, and up to date on everything going on in the world of fictional vampires.
That sassy little fireplug loved her some Netflix with a side of fang. They had that in common.
Italian grandmothers are sexy. Tell her I said THAT. FYI, my Uber guy is a Belieber with a Minion fetish. AND NOW HE KNOWS WHERE I LIVE. If I disappear tonight avenge me.
There. He sounded like his old self, right? Fun Rory. Unflappable and charming, even when impaired. Fun Rory never took anything seriously, especially sex. ‘Live and let’s fuck’ was his personal motto. Fun Rory would never be found choking down the desire to throw a temper tantrum for the record books just because David and Rig had some fun of their own.
Jealousy sucked balls.
And so did Rig.
David sent him an emoji with a raised eyebrow. Maybe you should have let Rig take you home.
Did he honestly believe that Rory would let Rig take him home and tuck him in as if nothing had changed? As if he didn’t care about a little blowy between friends?