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 over time I’d also learned that Ori was partially right. There was nothing wrong with dating many women, but I was starting to think my standards were only serving to keep me alone, more often than not.
It was exhausting. I was tired of dating, to say the least.
So damn tired of trying to find the right person for me.
Ori wasn’t back yet when I got home.
I was beat, after being up since six, running over to the ranch to shovel horse shit, then running home to shower and get ready for a long day of clients all across town.
I rinsed off in the shower. I made a rum and coke in a tall glass and parked on the living room couch with a chicken pesto sandwich.
Ori usually got home around nine. I threw on a documentary about wildlife and summoned the will to stay awake as I waited for him to walk through the front door.
I was on my second documentary, two hours later, when I finally heard the front door opening. I was struggling to keep my eyes open as I watched antelopes galloping across the screen, but as soon as Ori walked in, I perked up, nodding his way.
“Yo,” I told him.
“Oh, hey,” he said, coming through the door.
“Long night at the diner?”
He shrugged. “It was an easy night, actually.”
“You’re home a little later than usual,” I said.
He put his keys down on the little table by the door, kicking off his shoes. Ori looked good in the fitted black T-shirt and dark denim he usually wore to the diner.
When he set down his little sketchbook on the coffee table, I saw a new watercolor he’d painted of a big, iced cinnamon roll. It looked delicious.
“I got caught up,” Ori said. “I was talking to the new guy my parents hired.”
“Thomas? The baker?” I asked. “Thought he only came around to bake in the early mornings.”
Ori nodded. “My mom had apparently been nagging him about meeting me, too, so he swung by. She thinks because we’re both gay we’re going to instantly go googly-eyed and start fucking each other.”
I puffed out a laugh, shifting on the couch. “Yeah. That’ll never happen.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Too nice for you,” I said. “I’ve met him a couple of times when I’ve visited Danielle at the diner. He doesn't seem like your type.”
Ori waved a hand through the air. “I don’t have a type.”
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Bullshit.”
He stifled a yawn. “Only thing I have is an anti-type.”
“Cowboys?”
“Bingo,” Ori said. “Anyway. I’m going to go shower and crash. Tired as fuck. Night, Finn.”
He was already in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water.
Was he trying to avoid me?
I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned the blow job I’d gotten from another guy. Ori had been acting different ever since, and for once, I felt like he wasn’t saying everything that was on his mind.
“Sure you don’t want to watch a little British Baking first?” I offered. “They just put all the seasons back up on streaming. It’s been a while since I watched British people laugh and cry while they put frosting on cakes.”
“Too tired,” Ori said.
Fuck that.
I was sick of feeling like Ori was a glorified hotel guest in my house.
As if we didn’t share years and years of fucking history together.
I wanted… him.
I wanted to feel like I knew him, again. Like I could mean it when I told people he was my friend.
I’d thought the Baking Show offer would have been a surefire bet. Ori and I had both always loved any cooking or baking show. We’d watch them and try to imitate people’s voices or demeanors from the show, and he loved my shitty impressions of British accents.
It was time for a Hail Mary.
“Come on,” I said. “Cuddle with me. I’m lonely.”
He gave me a look from the kitchen that was something between a death glare and a look of pity. As if I’d said something wrong. “Need to go to bed. See you.”
He was gone a moment later, taking his glass of water off to the guest room.
That was another thing Ori used to fucking love.
He used to call me his “straight guy teddy bear.” He loved teasing me that he wanted to cuddle up while watching shows. I used to act like it pissed me off, and half the time I’d end up shoving him away and we’d get in fights, instead.
But I’d never disliked sharing the couch with him.
I missed when we were younger and we’d play video games on his parents’ big sofa, the sides of our bodies shoved up against one another as we gripped our controllers and battled it out in the games.
Some sick feeling of guilt rolled through my chest as I reached for the TV remote, turning it off.