Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
The warmth of this home overlooking the water surprises me. A soft, chocolate-brown couch commands the center of the room. Throw pillows in purples, golds, and oranges line the cushions. Photos of endangered animals fill the walls with descriptions of where they live, what they eat, and what humans can do to save them. At the bottom of each frame are the words Thanks for your platinum-level support, then the name of a charity.
Nice. The man gives a lot away to save our furry friends.
I want to ask him questions. Find out about his passions. His likes and dislikes.
I want to know a little more about the superstar athlete who treated me like I gave him something special when the opposite is true. He gave me a fantastic encounter.
But the clock is ticking. I’ve got to grab my suitcase at my hotel, catch a Lyft, and go through security.
When Nate strides downstairs, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, he studies me thoughtfully. “Do you have to take off now?”
I’m not sure how he means that—Does he want me to stay or is he asking as a formality?—so I speak the truth. “In about an hour.”
“Want to watch a show? Grab some food?”
“Sure. A show sounds good,” I say, and the offer makes me feel warm and cozy, on top of the sexiness.
I join him on his comfy couch where he grabs a remote and flicks through the streaming options.
A Gentleman’s Deal.
“That’s new. Have you seen it?” Nate asks.
I hide my face in the pillow, nodding yes.
He tugs the pillow off me. “Hunter. Just admit you’ve seen everything on Webflix.”
I just shrug. I don’t even work on scripted shows. I work on documentaries, but it’s fun to give him a hard time. “Well, do you ever miss a football practice?”
“No fucking way.”
“So yes, I’ve seen most of my shows,” I say.
Nate aims the remote at the screen like a weapon. “Then I guess we’ll have to watch a competitor,” he teases.
“And what if I root for the New York Leopards?”
He gasps, mortally wounded. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I might,” I say. “Try me. Just try me.”
“No way. You probably want to come to one of my games next time you’re in town and root for me.” His face goes blank, slack with realization. I can almost see him winding the recording back to check his own words.
His words take the wind out of me too. Is he asking me to see him again?
That would be wild.
To do this again.
To do everything.
I want that so badly. But I don’t know when I’ll be here next.
“I’d root for you,” I say quickly. That answer seems safe enough, and sexy enough. It says thank you and I want you but we both know nothing can happen.
He pats the spot next to him. I scoot closer, and he drapes an arm around me, then clicks on A Gentleman’s Deal.
As the opening music swells, he tugs me closer, then we watch the show I’ve already seen.
But it’s better like this. With his arm around me.
It’s better, too, when the episode nears its end and he tosses the remote on the table. “Fuck TV. Let’s make out more,” he says, then he climbs on me, covers me with his body, his mouth meeting mine. He kisses me passionately, and wild thoughts swirl through my head.
I want to offer to fly back for sex.
Is that foolish?
Overeager?
Probably both.
Just enjoy the moment. Remember what this is. There are plenty of men in England.
I got what I wanted today. A bit of experience.
Soon, it’s time to go. I untangle myself from him, stand, and point to the door. Nate follows me, but before he reaches for the knob, he clears his throat. “They do this carnival every year. You should come again,” he says, sounding hopeful.
“I’d love to,” I say. I don’t bother hiding a grin.
He doesn’t, either, as he grabs his phone and sends me a text.
My grin widens as I read his note, then I say I will.
And I go.
On the plane that evening across the country, I read his message one more time.
If you’re still single, come to the carnival with me next year. Same time. We can do it all over again.
It’s an invitation that I doubt I’ll take him up on even though I desperately want to.
Who knows what will happen over a year?
I resist texting him when I’m in Chicago, then New York, and soon when home in London, too, even though I want to say things like I can’t stop thinking about that day or I haven’t met anyone else or I want to do that again.
7
LAST DUDE SYNDROME
Nate
Four Months Later
I have lots of fantasies.
Some are big—winning a Super Bowl.
Some are little—not losing a game of golf.
Others are bigger than me. I’d like to save all the endangered animals in the world and see my sister find a guy who adores her.