Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
But I’ll break all my own rules for my best friend.
One thing is true about Ori he hates small town Tennessee. We were always I played football, he was in art class. I was straight, he was gay. I was popular in school, he never fit in. He fled to the city the moment we graduated.
It ain’t perfect here, but I love our country home. I missed Ori like hell, but now he’s back, living in my guest room after years apart.
Best friends reunited, right? …Like hell.
He says I’m too Tennessee for him now. So what if I love the local saloon, volunteer with horses, and wear a Stetson hat? I want a white-picket-fence life, and he wants all things casual. When I try to show him how good it can be here, he tells me to back off.
But I’ll check his cocky attitude when he calls me stubborn. He pushes? I push back.
I’ve got him up against the wall within 24 hours.
It’s a full-on fight, but it turns into… something else. A craving. Some twisted need to be close to him.
Being physical with him was what I missed most, but we were never physical like this before.
…He sure doesn’t mind how country I am when he’s in my bed.
Now I can’t get enough. But if he won’t commit to anyone, why would he with me? And how can I show him exactly how deep I’m willing to go?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
ORI
They say you can never really go home. Well, try telling that to the state of Tennessee… Or to Finn Hardy.
Do you ever get the feeling that you’re kind of trying to get hurt?
Not in a fun, spank-me, toss-me-in-bed kind of way. That type of hurt is just another fun night.
More like the kind of hurt where you’re pushing ninety miles an hour in your old beat-up blue Volkswagen with your ass glued to the driver’s seat, winding through Tennessee country roads with golden sunlight filtering through tall trees… and you want to take a bulldozer to every acre of it?
I let my foot off the gas before the needle on the dash reached 100.
The car lurched a little before it slowed. I sucked in a slow breath, squinting at my rearview mirror. The last thing I needed was a face full of rage from a Tennessee cop, and the old car couldn’t take it, anyway.
Maybe I wouldn’t bulldoze the whole state of Tennessee.
A lot of people say they’d never move back to their hometown, but I’d really meant it when I said it—I was 18 when I left, 24 now, and it had taken a whole lot to make me break that promise.
The Beetle rattled as I hit a bump in the road. A big blue sign at the side of the road whizzed by: Bestens, Tennessee, 6 miles.
A pit of dread formed in my stomach.
I was going to see my best friend soon.
How could things have gotten so bad with Finn that I was even dreading seeing him? Most people didn’t want to flee the moment they were in the same town as their childhood best friend, but I was already plotting my escape route in real-time.
“One year or less,” I said out loud to no one.
I vowed not to spend more time than that back in Tennessee. I repeated it now because I needed to remind myself of it, too.
But home was unfortunately the best option right now.
Even when it didn’t feel like home.
I pulled up outside Finn’s house a few minutes later, my chest twisting itself into knots as I looked outside.
I cut the engine and stayed put in the driver’s seat, staring at the front of the house through my sunglasses. I waited one minute, which became two minutes, then three. The longer I stayed parked in my car, the more it felt like a time bomb was ticking inside me, waiting to blow.
Finn’s house was a Tennessee bungalow DIY work-in-progress surrounded by oak and hackberry trees. From my car I could already see at least three projects Finn had going on: a pair of weeding gloves draped above the edge of the flower bed, some fresh two-by-fours in a stack, and a bag of fertilizer resting on one edge of the driveway.
He’d even tacked a horseshoe underneath the light on the front porch, like he was trying to signal to the whole neighborhood: trust me, a real Tennessee guy lives here. I’m just like y’all.
Which was true.
Finn really did fit in here.
That had always been the biggest difference between us.
I shifted my ass on the driver's seat, knowing I was stalling by now. I didn’t want the road trip to be over, because that meant I’d really done it, and I was really back.
And I sure as fuck wasn’t ready to see him.
But the ruby-red front door of Finn’s house finally swung open, and the decision was made for me. I held my breath, the time bomb inside me coming to a pause.
Finn’s broad figure filled the doorframe.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said under my breath, pushing down my sunglasses.
He was actually wearing a cowboy hat. Since when did he start wearing cowboy hats for anything other than a costume?
“That hunk of metal made it all the way from California?” Finn asked, approaching the Beetle as I got out. “How do you even still fit in that thing?”
I sucked in a breath and shutting the driver’s side door behind me. Finn had always thought any vehicle other than a truck was too small.
We’d always had very different tastes in cars, clothes, music… everything, pretty much.
But when we were kids, somehow it seemed to matter less.
I ignored the fire in my veins. I stretched my arms up high above my head, loosening my muscles after the long trip.
“We can’t all be pickup truck-driving country boys like you,” I said, looking him up and down. “What’s with the hat?”
He tipped the front of it toward me. “I don’t know. Stetson hats are cool.”
“You look like the dollar-store version of a young Clint Eastwood.” I could tell he was biting back a smile, even as he lifted a hand to flip me off. “Save that shit for Halloween,” I told him.
I’d been lying. Kind of.
Finn did look good, even if the country-boy thing was the polar opposite of my style, and every move he made confused me these days. His build was still as muscular as it had been in high school—he needed to stay fit working as a massage therapist.