Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“It is,” Woods swiftly reassures on a head nod. “He’s basically saying you always look good, which you do.”
Ignoring her grin growing is impossible. “You boys are too sweet.”
“But could use a lección básica de inglés, no?” haughtily teases Dad.
Basic English for those in their 20s – Woods and Zero – is a bit different than those of us in our 40s – me and Ace – or beyond – my parents.
“Come in, come in!” Mom enthusiastically insists. “We’ve got plenty of food!”
“I-”
“And I used Hatch for the rellenos!”
“I-”
“I know those are your favorite! Vic mentions it every time we have them!”
“Mom,” escapes in a scolding hiss.
“Es la verdad,” mumbles my father.
“Thanks for the invitation,” the younger, brown-eyed hacker coos, smile so irresistibly delicious my shaft can barely be stopped from stirring, “I abz appreesh. I really do-”
“Then come in!” insists the man I get most of my looks from alongside an enthusiastic hand wave. “Come in!”
“I kind of need to chat with Garcia alone for a hot min,” Zero politely announces. At that, he connects his glare to mine. “Characters, my guy?”
“Characters?” Dad confusedly grumbles. “¿Qué significa eso?”
“Tech speak for wanting a word,” I clarify and prepare to rise to my feet.
“Again,” the man of the house grunts. “What’s wrong with basic English?”
“Says the man who asked what it meant in Spanish,” my sister snipes back with a snarky smirk encouraging the group to snicker at their antics.
Hesitation to toss back the little that’s left in my glass and hastily dismiss myself from the table is non-existent.
Despite the unfortunate climate we’ve managed to find ourselves in over the past few months, he still means everything to me.
He always has.
He always will.
That’ll never change even as our friendship does.
From the first time he asked me for a Cheeze-It, I knew in my soul that he belonged in my life.
To me.
With me.
Mygod, I can’t tell if I need more or less tequila to prevent myself from saying that shit out loud.
Once outside, I shut the door and good naturedly poke, “How’d you know where to find me?”
The slender yet fit younger male’s shoulders bounce prior to him hiding his hands in his pockets. “I always know where to find you.”
“Must be nice.”
“It is ‘til I realize you’re probably balls deep in someone who isn’t me.”
Surprise has my jaw cracking on its own volition.
Fuck, he says that shit like that’s not where I wanna be.
Like it’s not him I want gagging on my dick while someone else rides his.
On the record?
On the – will the prosecution please read back the court reporters notes record – I want what Ace, Bunny, and Woods have.
I want us to have what they have.
I want us to have someone we share.
I know we’re both into men and women and the notion of getting to have it all in one relationship.
That shit would work for us if I let it.
And it’s me that’s the problem.
I know that.
I don’t need a jury of twelve strangers to tell me that.
It’s just…complicated.
It’s not a cut and dry decision.
It never has been.
Sure, my familia understands.
They’ve proven that ten times over.
They’re in the house right now, entering additional examples into evidence.
It’s not them that is the concern.
It’s the public.
Society.
High society at that.
And those are – unfortunately – hard to dispute facts.
Whether I introduce statics or firsthand testimony, it won’t land in my favor in the court of wealthy public reception.
That’s the main shit I have to constantly consider.
Image is so much in my world.
Even when I wish it weren’t.
And my image wouldn’t allow myself to be openly seen dating a man let alone a man as well as a woman at the same time in the same relationship.
“Or it’s nice ‘til I realize I wasn’t even invited to have my balls included in the algorithm,” he bitterly remarks, once more reminding me that sharing someone isn’t out of the question for him at all.
That I’m the obstacle.
That I’ve always been the obstacle.
“Look,” Zero quickly states with a shake of the head, “that shit’s not why I’m here.”
“Sounds like that’s why you’re here.”
“Okay, my guy, fair-”
“More than fair.”
“Fine, but it’s not.”
“Then why?” Folding my arms across my button up dress shirt occurs between sentences. “Why are you on my parents’ porch begging-”
“I didn’t beg.”
“You begged.”
“I asked.”
“You forcefully asked linking it to the definition of begging.”
“You know the dictionary.com def off the top of your head?”
“It’d be borderline malpractice not to.”
Frustration flares in his brown gaze alongside a dramatic bounce. “I need your help, Garcia.”
“Of course, you do.” My eyes roll on their accord. “Which law did you think was ‘optional’ now?”
“Yeah, it’s…a littttleeeeee more complicated than that this sesh.”
“Meaning?”
“Once upon a time-”
“Never a good start.”
“-long, long ago-”
“Getting worse.”
“-I might’ve…accidently…on purpose…did some hacking that the prince of a country now may or may not be labeling as foreign terrorism.”