Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Not me. I’m the first one in my family to go to college.”
“San Francisco? Is that right?”
He twisted to face me and beamed. “You were listening! Geez, it’s almost like you’re flirting with me again, Professor.”
“I don’t flirt,” I huffed.
“That’s right. I remember.” Winnie inched closer to me to give a fellow tourist room to take a selfie.
He smelled good. I fought the urge to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and breathe him in. I cleared my throat instead and tried to remember what we’d been discussing. Family, university…safe topics.
“Did you enjoy college?”
“Oh, God, yes! I met amazing friends and learned a lot about how to adult as a queer man in the big scary world. San Francisco felt like the ultimate safe space. I was out in high school, or maybe even junior high—I forget—but I didn’t really let my guard down and stretch my wings until college. I faked it well in high school. I wore wacky clothes, did my hair and makeup, and walked into every room like I had it going on.” He snapped his fingers and popped his hip out. “Long story short…I didn’t.”
“Sounds like any typical teenager.”
Winnie gasped. “Typical? Bite your tongue. I was never typical. I never wanted to blend in, but I definitely needed those college years to learn…grace, you know? I’m not graceful, so that’s probably the wrong word. What’s the word when you’re transforming into the you that you’re supposed to be and it finally feels right? Like a butterfly.”
“A chrysalis?”
“No, but you know what I mean—you go to college to get all the angst and in-your-face BS out of your system. You go to all the parties, do the drugs, drink way too much, have too much sex, and when the dust settles, if you’re lucky, something magical happens—you find your people. And if you’re extra lucky, you’ve sworn off vices that don’t serve you and men with big egos and small dicks. You figure out your worth and you stand by it. You own it. College gave me that extra boost I needed.”
“I see.”
“My mom didn’t understand, though. ‘Mijo, you waste your money!’ ” He modulated his voice a few octaves with a Mexican accent before continuing. “Sure, I’m still paying off student loans, but I have no regrets. None. Think about it…if I hadn’t gone to SFSU, I wouldn’t have met Raine and I wouldn’t be here with you now. And wow, this is amazing, Alistair. Truly amazing.”
His voice was laced with profound wonder.
Once again, Winnie confounded me. One simple “Did you enjoy college?” and he’d given me a dissertation on growth and self-affirmation. I couldn’t relate to his tale in any way, shape, or form, but I was spellbound. How could I not be?
Snap out of it, man.
“Amazing,” I repeated for lack of anything better to say.
“So…yay, college.”
I chuckled. “Yay, college. I don’t think I uttered that phrase once while I was at uni.”
“Really?” He pivoted toward me, resting his elbow on the rail. “I thought you loved learning. You’re a professor, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes, but I was there to learn, not to—how did you put it—get all the angst out of my system. I don’t have angst.” I fiddled with my glasses and slipped my free hand into my pocket to rummage for my phone as I idly watched a gaggle of tourists point out the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
Winnie arched his brow imperiously. “Everyone has angst, honey. And your cell is still in your right pocket.”
I gave a weak half laugh and pulled my phone out. “I’m forever misplacing things. That’s my angst.”
“Wrong. That’s a quirk. Angst is different. That’s the stuff inside that makes your stomach hurt at three a.m. out of the blue. Does that ever happen to you?”
“No, I’m usually working at three a.m.,” I admitted.
Winnie wrinkled his nose in distaste. “What do you do for fun?”
“I suppose I…read.”
“And?” he prodded.
I shrugged. “I watch films every now and again.”
“What’s the last film you watched in a movie theater?”
I shot him an exasperated look. “I don’t remember exactly…maybe Titanic?”
Winnie’s jaw dropped like a cartoon character. “That’s a moldy movie. That cannot be your answer.”
I snickered at his put-upon expression. “It is my answer, and what is a moldy movie, exactly?”
“Old!” He sighed and waved a diva-esque hand between us. “I loved that movie to pieces, though, so I’m only judging you for not going to the theater.”
“Why would I want to go to the cinema? People don’t behave there. They talk, put their feet on your seat, stare at their cellular devices.”
“How do you know? Cell phones didn’t exist in Titanic days.”
“They did,” I reported. “They were just heftier and texting was a bother.”
Winnie smiled. “Sounds positively prehistoric.”
We were quiet for a long moment, admiring the view. I pointed out the Place de la Concorde, the opera house, and the Hôtel des Invalides where Napoleon’s tomb was on display. It was all very neutral, so I wasn’t sure why I veered off course and made things personal. Again.