Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 37055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Rossi catches my hand. “Just a few hours, right?”
“Right. We can keep our hands to ourselves until then.”
“Sure. Piece of cake.”
“Well, I won’t be able to if you keep talking about cake. Because then I think of your butt. And how I want to touch it.”
“My butt? I don’t think I’ve looked away from yours since you put on those pants. They’re obscene. What are the chances of you standing through the rest of dinner?”
“I wouldn’t want to test your self-control like that, sweetie.” But I’m preening at the fact he noticed. These swirly little nerves aren’t something I’ve felt in a long time. Hookups are fun. Getting off feels great. But being nervous? Having butterflies?
Normally, I’m immune.
Rossi both boosts my confidence and fills me with so much anxiety I could puke.
And I kind of love it.
Chapter 8
ROSSI
I get a text from my friend Dylan while we’re still at dinner. Time flies in Tyson’s company. He’s funny and unexpected, and I can’t put my finger on why I’m so drawn to him, but I don’t care to analyze it either. I’m doing what feels good, and hanging out with Tyson gives me the same kind of high playing hockey did.
Maybe I’m looking for a replacement now hockey has ended. Maybe I’ve latched on to Tyson because he was my last wild college experience and I’m not as ready as I thought I was to move on with the rest of my life.
Whatever it is, I don’t care. I don’t need to know right this minute.
What I do need is to take this guy to a club, dance, flirt, drink, and then later, if I’m brave enough, I want to give him what he’s been waiting for.
“Ready to go?” I ask. “The guys are already there.”
Tyson finishes off the rest of his cocktail. “Ready.” He goes to take out his wallet, when I stop him.
“I paid before when I went to the bathroom. I asked you out, so I pay.” That, and I know he doesn’t exactly have disposable income right now.
“I shouldn’t let you—”
“Yes, you should. I get paid the same amount as you, but I don’t have to pay rent.”
“I’ll buy you drinks at the next spot.”
“Sure,” I say, but I won’t let him pay there either. He’s insistent. I’ll give him that.
Because it’s still relatively early for going to a club, there’s barely a line, and we’re let in right away. I immediately spot my friends standing around a cocktail table near the dance floor.
“We’ll get drinks first,” I say in Tyson’s ear and drag him to the bar. “What do you want? Another cocktail?”
“Nah, I’m good with beer.”
I blink at him.
“I want to get a feel for your friends first. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. Not my first straight rodeo.”
“Do they have queer rodeos?”
“Yep. Except instead of bulls, you ride hot men.”
I’m tempted to order a cocktail for me, because Tyson’s need to dim his shine in case my friends have asshole opinions makes me want to speak out and stand up. I guess playing for CU has given me a strong will to let people be who they are no matter what.
But he’s been doing this queer thing a hell of a lot longer than I have, and if he needs to be comfortable first, then I’m not going to pressure him. So I relent and order two beers, throwing my card down on the bar before Tyson can stop me from paying.
“I was supposed to buy that,” he says.
I lean in close to his ear. “I was never going to let you pay. Just so you know.”
He scowls at me, but then I kiss his cheek, and his smile is back.
I lead him over to the table and give the guys the handshake, backslap thing guys do because … well, I don’t know why. I guess it’s society’s accepted level of affection between two male friends? I haven’t thought about it before. Which is now occurring to me that it’s weird. I mean, athletes in uniform slap their teammates’ asses. Off the field or ice, hugging a man? Not acceptable.
Go figure.
“Dylan, Lochie, Clint, this is Tyson.” I point to Tyson, who lifts a hand in a polite wave.
They all up-nod and mutter hellos.
“Our girlfriends are out there somewhere.” Dylan gestures to the dance floor.
The other two guys’ gazes flick between Tyson and me.
Tyson sips his beer and ignores the stares, looking out at all the bodies bopping to the beat. He must notice the group of girls looking our way, because he puts his drink down and says, “That looks like a lot of fun,” and before I can reply, he bounces away and joins them.
Dylan leans in close. “When you said you were bringing a friend, I thought you meant a woman. Or, you know, a hockey buddy.”