Mr. Picture Perfect – Spruce Texas Read Online Daryl Banner

Categories Genre: M-M Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
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Including Mae’s brother’s eyes.

Which are fixed upon the stage with lip-licking interest.

His handsome eyebrows lifted, as if pleasantly surprised.

This person who doesn’t even have a name.

It would be ridiculous for me to assume that Mae’s brother is the demon who stands between me and my paladin. It’s silly, even. He’s just one guy, right?

Just one guy.

Actually, that thought makes it worse.

Because in reality, he’s one guy in a sea of single young men from every neighboring city and town who will also be here at the actual event in a few days. Their eyes will be similarly glued to the stage, drinking up all of the beauty and glory that is Cole Harding, imagining their lives with him, conjuring dreams the way a demon conjures realities to trap their victims in, fantasizing endlessly with stars in their eyes.

I can already imagine the gasps among the crowd when the real auction happens and Mae’s brother makes his bid—and their eyes fall upon him with surprise, like he’s an undiscovered gem that has been hiding beneath their noses all along. They’ll see his handsomeness. They’ll connect him to Cole at once. Without any knowledge of him, they’ll become his number one fan and fight for him to win. They’ll believe he deserves to be with Cole. The whole pavilion will fill with the chanting of their names. The crowd will break bottles against the ass of the ship they send away with Cole and this nameless demon embracing on its bow.

Mae’s brother is a man everyone can easily root for.

Not me.

But even that horrifying reality pales in comparison to the reality that will follow the maiden voyage of their ship: when the two of them go on the actual date together.

Mae’s brother will have every opportunity to win over Cole, to make him see how much better it could be with someone else, to make him live a day in the life with someone more beautiful than me, to force Cole to finally realize what I could never make him see: that the world is so much bigger outside the borders of this dusty town we call home.

That I was never his only option.

That with me, he might come to realize he’s settled.

And what if the nightmare doesn’t stop there? What if the press, desperate for a follow-up to the story of the handsome Spruce bachelor’s quest for love, pursue more about Cole and his new soulmate? After Cole’s finally come to his senses and dumped me, the press will become an appendage of those chanting crowds from the event itself, rooting the new couple on, pushing them closer and closer together with every new article written, their appetites bottomless. These might be articles I have to edit, forced to pay witness to this ship I helped build, watching as it sails far away from me … like everything in my life, out of my control, out of my reach, pushing me right back into my seat as a spectator of everyone else’s far more interesting lives.

Cole doesn’t see it now, proudly strutting across the stage, but I can see it as clearly as code written in perfect syntax, not a single variable or operant out of place.

I’m about to become a speck in his rearview mirror, shrinking as he drives away with another man.

I won’t even be a memory.

“Give it up for Cole Harding!” cries the emcee, clapping. Our scattered audience cheers. Cole obliviously waves back, proud of himself, as I watch Mae’s brother clap slowly and contemplatively, curiosity in his eyes, lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

Chapter 19

Cole

“This is the life,” exclaims a freshly-showered Anthony after he drops onto the couch in the middle of what I’ve decided to call the “guest wing lounge”. He wears nothing but a robe and a pair of fluffy white slippers, palming a beer bottle in one hand and a TV remote in the other. “What’re you doin’ pacing around? Kick back with me, man. Shit, you’re makin’ me nervous.”

I check my phone. No messages. “Don’t mind me,” I tell him. “I just can’t sit still right now.”

Anthony shifts on the couch to face me. It’s enormous, by the way—the couch and the room. “Waiting on Noah, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” I answer casually, then check my phone once again. “Any minute now.”

“Come chill with me.” He slaps the spot next to him with his remote-holding hand. “Plenty a’ room. Baseball game’s on.”

The room is filled with an assortment of eclectic artwork no matter which way you look. In one corner stands a sculpture of a horse on its hind legs made entirely out of copper wire. In the other, an oddly-bent, asymmetrical vase made out of some kind of polished black stone that looks like obsidian. Right beneath the unforgivably large mounted TV is another sculpture I can’t even properly identify. Earlier, Anthony and I played a few rounds at a foosball table nearby, one of a few generously provided options for entertainment in the room. Across from that is an octagonal card table lined with maroon felt, sitting near a set of tall French doors that lead out to a sprawling garden, which is impressively lit with decorative lights and sconces along the brick.



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