Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I spotted Walker in the stands too. I nodded in acknowledgment and okay, maybe I smiled. He was there with Robin, same as always. Maybe they’d come by the locker room later, maybe not. I was just glad he was there, but…it didn’t mean anything special.
We were friends. That was all. Friends who secretly fucked.
At least that was what I told myself.
It was late October now, hockey season was well underway, and my classes were demanding. I had papers to write, quizzes to study for, grueling practices, and tough games. I also happened to have a new gig as an occasional guest for What’s New, Smithton?
Here’s the deal. The response to the milkshake episode had been epic. Walker gained a crazy amount of new subscribers, we both got more followers, and Smithton saw a major uptick in traffic. Coincidence? I think not. Yes, Upstate New York was beautiful at this time of year and the campus was decked in autumnal shades of stunning orange, reds, and yellows. That might have been a factor, but I’d bet big money that it had something to do with Walker, too. And maybe me.
His audience liked our playful banter and were charmed by our chemistry. They thought he was clever and quirky. They thought I was silly and occasionally funny. Together, we made an impact. I wasn’t making that shit up. They said so in the comments.
So far, I’d tagged along to a candle shop and had done a sniff test for rose essence versus plum and herbs, mango tango, and the ever-popular ocean breeze. The whole thing took less than an hour and it had been…fun.
I’d also gone to a shoe store and volunteered to help with inventory. Literally counting shoes. It was the sort of mundane shit that only someone like Walker could make interesting. And he did.
“Did you know that poorly fitted shoes can lead to health problems? Plantar fasciitis is nothing to laugh at, Ty. Did you know that high heels were originally worn by men as a status symbol?”
No, I didn’t know any of that, but I fed off his cues and told silly stories about pranking teammates by putting shaving cream in their sneakers. A lot of nonsense that the fans ate up.
My teammates thought it was all pretty hysterical. They razzed me for sucking up to our local celebrity and for sharing locker room pranks with the masses.
“You were the one with the shaving cream?” Brady had asked. “Asshole.”
“You’re a freak, Ty-man,” Gus had agreed, adding, “Walker’s okay, though, huh?”
I knew what he meant. Had I finally let go of old animosity toward Walker?
Yes…a thousand percent yes.
Was my dick doing my thinking for me? Well…maybe.
The afternoon of the milkshake episode had changed everything. I knew what Walker tasted like now. I knew what it felt like to finger his hole, stroke his cock, move inside him…come inside him. It was all so fucking good. And kissing him? I got goose bumps just thinking about licking Walker’s lips and sucking his tongue. No shit.
I hadn’t been with anyone else since that day. That was not normal for me. I had girls clinging to me at Gus’s parties, sliding sharp nails over my pecs and pushing their tits against my biceps. It didn’t take much to get my motor running. A pretty smile, cunning hands, and casual flirtation did it for me every time. Not lately, though.
I’d never fixated on a fuck-buddy…ever. Girl or guy. Now, I found myself checking the time, looking through potential lovers who’d made it clear they were very interested and wondering if Walker was still awake. This was strange behavior for me.
True statement. Normally, I was greedy as fuck.
I loved the shape and softness of a woman, I loved the hard planes and rougher touch of a man. And I’d tried it all. One partner, two, three…I liked testing limits and experimenting with toys and kinky role play, but one-night stands were my norm. I didn’t want a girlfriend or a boyfriend or any kind of complication.
Even my loose “arrangement” with Carson had felt confining at times. I had zero interest in him now. Zero. I ignored his texts and brushed off his attempts at meeting up with semi-valid excuses. I was busy, tired…whatever. I didn’t owe Carson the truth, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I could verbalize my predicament anyway.
I was addicted to Walker Woodrow.
Once wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.
I thought about him all the damn time and shamelessly conjured off-the-wall reasons to be in his orbit—Can I see the shoe store edits? I have an idea for an episode and I happen to be in the neighborhood. And the totally weird: I bought your cat a toy from the pet store. It’s no big deal, but if you’re around, I can swing by.