Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“Was that a joke?”
He pulled up next to her house and put the car in park. “Not a very funny one if you have to ask. Looks like your partners rubbed off on me.”
She laughed. “You’re still funnier than a bunch of primary care docs but the nurses give you a run for your money.”
“They’re the most entertaining people to talk to at your shindigs.”
“True.” Lydia smiled at him. “So, uh, what do you have going on the rest of the weekend?”
“Work.” And he’d go to the Dunworthy house to see everyone, but that wasn’t information he shared.
“Really? You’re working the entire weekend? Even on Saturday night?”
“I have a huge caseload. But I’m not going into the office. Working from home practically counts as time off.”
“I’m not sure it does. You really need to take more personal days.”
When Jule graduated and moved back home, he had lost any interest in dating. While he was living in California, it had seemed like a way to connect with people, so he made half-hearted efforts. But in reality, he hadn’t formed connections with the men he had dated, and the generous-to-describe-it-as-mediocre sex had never come close to making up for the boring-to-the-point-of-painful conversations. In Phoenix, he had the familiarity of his hometown and regular contact with Tor’s brothers and the rest of the family. That was exponentially more fulfilling than anything he could get from some random guy, so he had stopped pretending that he could actually enjoy being with anyone other than Tor.
“I guess I better go inside,” Lydia said after several long seconds of silence. Instead of opening her door, she stared at him.
He dipped his chin. “Have a good night, Lydia.”
“Right.” She sighed. “Thanks. You too.”
He watched her walk into her house, and once her door was shut, he pulled away from the curb. He hadn’t yet reached the end of the street when his phone dinged with the tone he had set for his smart doorbell. Thankfully, nobody was behind him because he slammed on his brakes without checking and scrambled for his phone. His mother would never come to his apartment unannounced, or at all really, solicitors weren’t usually working on Thursday nights, and his only friend was Tor. That gave him hope about who could be at his place.
Ten years after their lives imploded, he still never knew when he’d see Tor or for how long. He didn’t have a phone number he was willing to share. He refused to tell Jule where he was or what he was doing, though Jule was able to surmise a small bit of that by looking at publicly accessible criminal conviction information. Tor would just show up whenever it suited him and stay for whatever time period he wanted. Sometimes it was one night, sometimes a week. Sometimes he looked mostly healthy, sometimes he was worn to the bone. Almost always he had a new scar or a healing bruise. It had gotten to the point where Jule was as frustrated and resentful of him as he was of Chief Montez and his entire farce of a supposedly multi-agency task force. But no amount of anger toward Tor tamped down Jule’s need for him, so when he saw his face on his screen, his heart soared and he hurried home.
Twenty minutes later, he was racing into his apartment, excitement zinging through him. He had given Tor his door code when he moved in and he never stopped getting a thrill from finding him in his shower or in his bed or on his couch. When that happened, he lied to himself and pretended that this was his life, that he regularly got to come home to his person doing regular, everyday things.
That night, Tor was waiting for him in the entryway, eyes on fire, and Jule’s entire body went molten hot. He couldn’t get a word out before Tor was on him. Pressing him against the door with a palm firmly caging his throat. Kissing him with a harsh ferocity that pierced his lip and stole his breath. Grabbing him through his pants with enough pressure to make him cry into Tor’s mouth. Grappling with his button and zipper and then his own so he could press their dicks together. Hands on his face, his neck, his hair, while he rocked against him, thrusting and groaning. And the entire time, kissing him with such desperation that Jule wasn’t sure he’d survive it and yet he never wanted it to end. In under a minute, they were grunting, and coming, and heaving for air. And then Tor pressed his face into his neck and laughed, Jule joining him.
“Fuck, that was embarrassing,” Tor said as he peppered gentle kisses along Jule’s jawline.
“You were faster than that time you beat me in the hundred-meter dash,” Jule replied, voice breathless and amused.