Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
For a moment, I’ll admit I was carried off along with him as he described that dream.
It’s short-lived. “Doesn’t always work out that way, Samuel.”
He shrugs, his dream-filled eyes still on me. “Heck, a boy can still hope, can’t he?”
I suck on my tongue in thought, then look away. “I would still rather skip all of the uncertainty.”
“Hmm.” He lets out a soft snort. “So … in other words … you secretly, totally, wholeheartedly loathed your lovely little day out with Cole. That feels strangely satisfying.”
I turn my face to him, startled. “What? I didn’t say that.”
“Isn’t that what your day was? The awkward first-date stuff? Getting to know each other? Fearing rejection? Blah, blah, blah?”
“It wasn’t a date. It was lunch and … and a walk around town.”
“And you had to make sure you looked your best all the time. I bet you checked your hair in every reflective surface you passed.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Oh, yes, you did. I bet you even looked at your reflection in the sides of shiny metal trashcans. Or the front of the antique shop with its big reflective windows, some old typewriter on the other side, superimposed on your cute face.”
“I did not.”
“Bet you checked your breath a dozen times, too. Bet you had to make sure your clothes weren’t wrinkled in any way. I mean, next to a guy like Cole? Must’ve driven you downright crazy.”
I blink. It’s alarming—and annoying—how accurate he is. “My day with Cole did not happen like that. At all. He was patient with me. Kind. A total gentleman. He even showed me the Christmas tree at the Spruce park, and he bought me an ice cream cone. The ice cream even ran down my fingers, and we laughed about it. A lot. See? I didn’t care. Our day out together was fun.”
“You know what I think? Other than half of that was bull and the other half was crap?” He props his elbow up on the railing and faces me fully. “The reason you fight with me so dang much isn’t because you hate me. It’s ‘cause you secretly wish you were more like me.”
“What??”
“You’re so uptight all the time. You wish you could be loose. Wish you could fuss over things less. You envy how carefree I am—so much so that it bothers you to no end, like a nagging itch right in the center of your back, just out of reach, driving you crazy.” He nudges me. “I bet you wish someday you could break free from the confines of your own brain. Just do whatever it is you wanted. No rules … no worries … like an animal who apologizes for nothin’.”
“I can do whatever I want,” I insist, annoyed at his insinuations.
“That so?”
“Yeah, that’s so.”
“Just like Mister Billy and Tanner down there?”
“I’m even more free than them. I can kiss any guy I want. I can sleep with any guy I want.” My elbow presses against his side on the banister as I come even closer. “I wasn’t awkward today with Cole, not in the least—I was just doing whatever the hell I wanted.”
He brings his face closer to mine. “No, you weren’t.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I don’t think you even believe yourself, Malcolm.”
“There you go, using my full name again.”
“What? You miss me using your cute pet name?”
“No.”
“Want me to call you Malckie again?”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what? Calling you Malckie?”
“Stop being you. Stop being annoying. Stop getting in my face with your stupid, pretty eyes, talking like you know me so well.”
“Yeah? Maybe I won’t stop.”
“If you don’t—”
“What’re you gonna do about it?”
I grab the neck of his shirt and pull his face to mine, bringing our lips together and shutting us the hell up.
Chapter 12
Lip Service.
Fuck me, this kiss could last forever for all I care.
Those lips, just as sweet and pliable and perfect as our moment under the Christmas tree, when the whole world flipped over and I knew nothing but these lips.
Samuel Buckley’s lips.
His hand comes up to the side of my cheek, caressing my face like precious porcelain.
Our hips press together, as if our bodies are trying to become one. Somehow, the first aid kit drops to the floor with a bang and my hands go to his body, hungry for him. My fingers curl around the soft material of his shirt. I tug, unsure whether I want the shirt off of him or am just using it like a makeshift leash to pull his body closer to mine.
Neither of us want to pull away.
Neither of us want to stop.
I never allowed myself to realize how desperately starved I was for this kind of affection—for the touch of another man.
The way he clings to me as we kiss, like I’m the very last hope he has left in the world for true happiness.