Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He fights me again, but he doesn’t resist enough for me to believe he wants to follow through with this horrible decision.
“How about we get back to my condo,” I say, “and we can discuss how you aren’t able to consent right now.”
“Consent? I would consent to anything that man wanted.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
He pouts. “This sucks. I am so clean right now. I took a laxative two days ago. I fucking cleaned the hell out of this thing this afternoon.”
“That’s…incredible information to be aware of.”
I continue guiding him back to the building. We live in separate towers of Metropolis, which people refer to as the only unofficial gay building in Atlanta. Straight people live here, too, but we have an unusually high demographic of young, gay tenants. Derek lives in the North Tower, while I’m in the South.
I take him up to my unit on the fifteenth floor. I’m fine with him crashing on the couch tonight as he sometimes does, so we can run out in the morning and get donuts and coffee…or as Derek calls them, “carbs and happy.”
We stumble into my place.
I’d be a little worried about my new roommate, but we saw him on the dance floor less than thirty minutes ago, and he was on the prowl. I doubt he’ll be home before Derek passes out.
“You so should have fucked one of those guys,” Derek says as he makes himself cozy on the couch. “Gary…Gare…Garusula…listen to me.” He runs his fingers through his lengthy bangs again. “Peter was a douchebag to you. He was seeing a guy for two years of your four-year relationship.”
“Five years.”
“You guys were together five years? Really? I would say that’s impressive, but I know a little too much now to be impressed.”
“Can we just go to bed?”
The room is spinning, and all I want to do is climb into bed and pass the fuck out.
“No!” Derek shouts. “Not until you promise me you will move the fuck on.”
“It’s been three weeks since I broke up with him.”
Three weeks since I found the message on his Facebook Messenger. Three weeks since I found the vids on his phone. Three weeks since everything I thought was safe and secure blew up into the biggest fucking catastrophe ever.
“Most people need more time than three weeks,” I insist.
He rolls his eyes—a big dramatic roll—before falling back on the couch.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls across the screen.
We chat a bit more, Derek’s energy fading as he lectures me about needing to move on. When he passes out, I make my escape into my room, adjacent to the living room Derek’s sleeping in. I take off my clothes.
Just gonna take a quick shower. But the bed is too tempting to resist—I’ll take a shower after a brief nap. I need a minute to rest.
***
My head. Oh, my fucking head. The pressure is so intense it feels like I need to dig a knife into my skull to relieve it.
The night returns to me in a series of flashbacks: a wide-eyed Derek shouting “shots” at the top of his lungs before downing Fireballs, the music blaring so loud I thought my eardrums were going to pop, and the awkward feeling that everyone was watching and judging me while I was on the dance floor.
The comfort of Peter’s arm around me is the only thing that brings me some ease.
I scoot back across the bed, tucking my ass against his pelvis.
He clings to me a little tighter.
Wait a second. I’m not with Peter anymore.
Must be Derek. He’s only slept in the bed with me a few times and definitely never cuddled with me before, but it’s gonna be funny to give him shit about it before we go out for carbs and happy.
I roll around to face him, a grin sweeping across my face. He’s going to feel so fucking silly. But it’s not Derek. There’s someone else in my bed. There’s someone fucking else in my bed!
“Holy shit!” I exclaim, crawling across the mattress and jumping off the foot of the bed. I land on my feet, and in my rush to get away from the stranger, I hit my heel against the metal frame of my desk.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I say, before losing my footing and falling on my ass.
The guy in the bed sits up quickly, his eyes wide, as though he’s as surprised by all this as I am.
All the craziness in my brain settles as I realize I know this guy.
His dark brown hair. Those jacked arms, stacked with muscles. The dip between his abs that hints at the incredible six-pack I know is concealed under those covers.
The guy lives in the tower across from me, two floors below. I’ve caught him a few times working out on a mat in his living room, doing Pilates and some sort of ab workout video. His body would glisten with sweat as he committed hardcore to whatever exercise he was in the middle of.