Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
He nodded. “That makes sense.”
I handed Declan the towel, and he dried his hands.
“You should draw.”
“You’re bossy.”
“You should come up with a better way to change the subject.”
He laughed, then sobered as if he hadn’t meant to do it and didn’t want me to know he thought it was funny. “And you wonder why I don’t like people.”
“Are you going to help me or what?”
“With all the food you got out for us, or am I supposed to be doing that too?”
Oh. He had a point. A fact I was going to do my best to ignore.
I grabbed everything we needed and put it on one of the counters. I had a lot of kitchen space, something I remembered my mom complaining about her lack of when I was growing up.
“I like cooking,” I told him as we sliced the tomatoes and peeled and cut the avocados. “I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like. I mean, I could, but I don’t. Most of the time it’s easier to order out.”
“You should cook more,” Declan countered.
I’d walked straight into that one, hadn’t I?
“I will if you draw.”
“You don’t give up when you want something, do you?”
“Nope.” I almost threw in that that’s why he was here in the first place, because I’d wanted him for a friend and hadn’t been willing to give up, but I didn’t add that little tidbit. “You want to cut the chicken while I mix the spices?”
“I can handle that.”
So that’s what we did. I told Declan what to do while we prepared dinner together. After the spices, I started the grill and got the meat cooking. We topped it with the cheese, pesto, tomato, and balsamic glaze. We’d paired it with roasted red potatoes and green beans.
We sat at the table outside with our plates and wine for me and a beer for Declan. I couldn’t help staring at him as he cut into the meat and took a bite.
When he noticed me watching, he said, “It’s good,” and I smiled, enjoying more than I should that he liked it. He added, “It’s fancier than I would usually do on my own, but Marcus is always saying I need to expand my palate. Once a month or so he’ll drag me to some restaurant I never would have gone to otherwise.”
He mentioned his friends a lot. He never said anything about family, though. I was curious about them—both his family and his trio of friends, and if I were honest with myself, I’d admit I was jealous of the latter. I wanted that kind of bond with people. Part of me wanted it with Declan. “How’d you all meet?”
He paused for a moment like he wasn’t sure he was going to answer, then popped a potato into his mouth and took his time with it, looking down at his plate. Eventually, he said, “I met Parker first. We were in sixth grade. He was getting picked on. Me, him, and Corbin went to the same school. Parker wasn’t officially out, but people made their assumptions. These two boys stole his notebook, and he’d been writing a story—a gay fairy tale or something. Anyway, I went to take a piss, and they were reading it and laughing. I was…a loner.” He winked.
“Was, huh?”
“Yeah, but in a different way. I didn’t talk much. People were scared of me.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Why hadn’t he spoken much? What happened to him? So many questions swirled around in my head. “Anyway, I got the notebook back, told them I’d beat their asses if they told anyone about his story, and Parker started…hell, he was fucking following me after that. He’d seek me out, kept trying to be friends. He had other friends who probably thought he was out of his mind for trying to spend time with me, but he didn’t give up, and somehow, I eventually noticed I looked for him at school too, that I liked having him around. We’re complete opposites, but for whatever reason, we just work.”
I was shocked he’d shared that with me, and I wanted more, wanted to gather every bit of information about Declan I could to help me put together this puzzle of a man. “He sounds great. What about the other guys?”
“We met Corbin next. He was a lot different than he is now. He struggled with his weight and had an acne problem, things like that, and it affected his confidence. His story is his own to share, but anyway, we first met him after a football game Park had forced me to go to. We were in seventh grade then, and Corbin played the trombone in the marching band. He’d fallen, and a few people then tripped over him and fell too. It was like a scene out of a movie, and Corb ran off the field, embarrassed. Parker said we should go and find him—and Parker is a spoiled little shit; there’s not much he can’t talk me into, so I went with him.