Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“Perfect for someone who loves to meddle.”
“I don’t meddle—” At Grayson’s arched brow, Carl relented. “Yeah, okay.”
“It sounds cosy.”
Carl hummed dreamily as they stared towards the horizon and the nice surfing swells rushing to shore. After a moment, Carl gestured for Grayson to head in. “I’ll sit and enjoy the view.”
“No doubt,” Grayson said.
Carl kicked up a spray of sand and Grayson dodged it, racing into the frigid water with his board.
From a sturdy log, Carl breathed in the salty air and smiled. The vast sky, the ragged hills, the wide-open sea. What more was there to enjoy on this early morning—
Wow. Grayson!
Carl sat straighter, keenly watching his every move. How smoothly he mounted his board, the harmony he had with the ocean . . . Wave after wave he caught with grace and style, and as the sun rose higher, his athletic figure zipped along the golden water and rode all the way to shore.
Carl choked on a hoppy-electric laugh as Grayson emerged from the water. Seriously? He looked like he was putting on a show—or acting in one.
He shimmered from the surf. Water dripped from his wetsuit, ran down his ridiculously chiselled face from hair that clung in tendrils around it. He shook his head and light hit the droplets that sprayed around him, making them glisten like crystals.
Carl shook his head in horrified amazement. Life had to be shitting him right now. No way were people this glorious in real life. This looked staged.
Carl couldn’t help darting his head around.
He didn’t spot any cameras, but he did spot two familiar figures jogging down the steps to the beach. His old high-school mates, now successful lawyers and general winners at life.
His stomach sank. Hurriedly, he shielded his flushing face with a splayed hand.
Grayson grabbed his yellow towel from beside Carl and scrubbed his hair, eyeing him. “What are you doing?”
“Shh.” Carl grabbed Grayson by a wet knee and steered him closer, hopefully blocking himself from view. He peeked around Grayson’s thigh.
“Who are you hiding from?” Grayson murmured from above.
Carl glanced up at his curious, somewhat bemused expression, and beckoned him closer with four curling fingers. Grayson leaned down and drops from his hair pattered over Carl’s face. “I can’t with them.”
Grayson shuffled and crouched, a barrier between Carl and Classmates.
“They think I’m an uneducated bum stuck in my small town with no prospects.”
A heavy growl had Carl snapping his gaze away from impending discovery to Grayson’s very pink and very pinched lips. He looked about ready to whirl around and confront the fellows and Carl grabbed his wrist to keep him close. “That’s what I took from subtext. They didn’t say anything outright.”
“You got all that from subtext?”
“They paid for my lunch.”
Grayson cocked his head and repeated softly. “They paid for your lunch?”
Carl squeezed Grayson’s wrist. “It was the way they paid for it.”
A hand landed atop Carl’s. “It’s enough if you felt down after seeing them.”
Carl looked into Grayson’s determined gaze and once again his belly fluttered . . . “Ugh, they’re coming our way.” Eventually there wouldn’t be enough Grayson to hide him from view.
He squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for some awkward conversation—
A damp towel landed over his head.
Carl opened his eyes and blinked. Grayson was holding his towel over both of them like they were in a secret blanket fort. Sunlight filtered through the yellow fabric in a warm glow, and their breaths mingled in the sudden tight space.
Dark eyes stayed on Carl, warm and understanding, with that signature hint of mischief. Like he genuinely wanted to help, but also found the situation somewhat amusing and wanted to tease him. It made it difficult to know how to respond. Squeeze his wrist tightly until that slight smirk disappeared? Or squeeze him gently with a mouthed ‘thank you’?
Carl squeezed midway between tight and gentle and felt Grayson’s pulse ticking under his fingers. The rhythmic beat against him while they sat so close made Carl’s squeeze feel . . . intense. He could see the trace of stubble along Grayson’s strong jawline.
A moment of brighter sunshine illuminated Grayson’s expression—his darkening eyes, his fading smile—
Too much!
Carl ripped his hand away and brought the towel crashing down between them. That was not intended to be a romantic squeeze. Now Grayson would never believe he wasn’t interested.
If that wasn’t enough to have his heart pounding, his old classmate-lawyers had crossed the beach and were within inevitable spotting distance . . .
Their heads lifted . . .
They glanced at him—
And looked hurriedly away again.
One pointed towards the water, as if they’d seen something worthy of their attention, and they angled themselves away from Carl towards it. As if . . . they didn’t want Carl to spot them.
That . . . should be fine. Carl hadn’t wanted to be spotted, either.