Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” I was curious about what this big guy needed reassurance for, but I wasn’t sure how to ask the question without being overly nosey. “Read more.”
“At your command.” Jonas winked at me, and my stomach did a strange little dance.
“Wait.” I interrupted the story again a few pages later. “Why does the vicar keep talking to the other stranger? Dude’s shifty and probably the murderer, but the vicar keeps noticing how he smells.”
“He’s the love interest,” Jonas said mildly.
“It’s a gay mystery?” My eyes and jaw dropped open, which hurt, underused facial muscles tugging on various cuts and bruises.
“I read all sorts, but this one happens to be.” Jonas shrugged. “Problem?”
He’d asked that earlier when he’d come out to me. Come out. Such a strange turn of phrase and one that never failed to ignite an almost visceral response in me. That Jonas and this book character were gay wasn’t my issue. No, my problem was the wave of mingled nausea, jealousy, fear, and longing. Coming out was a luxury some of us would simply never get.
I first heard a slur against gay people in third or fourth grade. Yes, even in my Seattle-area school. Then I spent time in sports and motocross and, well, I heard a lot worse. For a multitude of reasons, I’d always known I was different and that coming out wasn’t an option for me.
“Nah.” Mindful of my IV, I carefully waved my hand. “You can continue.”
“Thank you.” Jonas chuckled, but there was an edge that hadn’t been there before. “And the series is what they call a slow burn. I started again at book one for you, and it’s book three before anything…spicy happens. Wouldn’t want to singe your delicate ears.”
“I can handle whatever,” I boasted. I was lying, but curiosity made me bold. Also, Jonas seemed safe in a way that most people weren’t. He wasn’t the type to make assumptions or gossip about what we were reading together. “Let the vicar sniff away if that’s his deal.”
“Good to know.” Jonas’s voice was crisp and skeptical.
“I’m serious.” I forced myself to stare him down. Mistake. His eyes were easy to get lost in. “Bring on the kissing.”
“It’s okay to be uncomfortable, Declan.” He sounded all academic now, none of the joking from earlier. “You don’t have to suffer through a love scene simply to prove you’re not homophobic.”
“I’m not.” I made a wounded noise before mumbling, “And it wouldn’t be suffering.”
Jonas gave me a long look. Too long. “Okay then.”
He returned his attention to the book, but a few minutes into the vicar questioning the stranger, my phone beeped from over on the hospital table, which a nurse had rolled away earlier.
“Hand me my phone.” Damn. The order sounded spoiled. “Please.”
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Jonas scolded as he handed over my phone. “And don’t be surprised if looking at the screen hurts.”
Brian, our team manager, was already at the airport with Joey and Miles, and he’d predictably waited until minutes before boarding his flight to deliver bad news. And he’d clearly told others first because my phone was clogged with a host of other messages as well.
“Fuck me running.” Anger made my sore ribs start hurting again, along with a dull pounding in my head made way worse by the glow of the phone screen, not that I was going to admit it. “They’re calling up Cyrus to train with my team. Can’t be a rider short blah, blah, blah.”
“A competitor?” Jonas didn’t seem too surprised at the news. It would have been just like Brian and Miles to run their mouths where others could hear.
“Competitor would imply he’s as good as me.” I snorted. I wasn’t bragging either. Cyrus was decent, but he’d only made a handful of finals, usually as a last-chance qualifier. “He’s not. But this is the big break young guys like him wait for. Riding for a premiere team.”
Being older than rookies and young guns like Cyrus was an odd feeling. But each year, a fresh crop of challengers arrived, and I moved closer to being one of the old guys on tour.
“Ah. But will the team save you a spot if you’re able to return?”
“You said if.” I glowered at him. “It’s when. And yeah, I’ll get my spot back. Just part of the fucking sport. Everyone wants a part of the sponsorship dollars and to ride for the best manufacturers. Cyrus texted me all, Sorry you’re hurt, bro, but I know he’s stoked. I would be.”
I sounded damn bitter, but Jonas kept his calm demeanor. “Hopefully, you can get back out there and prove your doubters wrong.”
“What’s with this if and hope?” I pursed my lips. “You and my dad, I swear. Worrywarts.”
I’d thought maybe Jonas was different. Guess not.
“Your dad is a typical dad and would undoubtedly rather you not risk your life—”