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 kept my cool as I flashed my stamped hand at the bouncer, my mind whirling at a million RPMs a second.
I’d just witnessed an unknown guy performing fellatio on Ty’s cock in an alley. A fellow jock, by the look of him. That hadn’t been a figment of my sometimes X-rated imagination. That had been real.
Of course Ty’s queerness wasn’t my business. At all. It was just a surprise to see him with a man. A teammate? I had no idea, but he was vaguely familiar. Not a hockey player. A football player. Yes! That was it. Someone I’d seen recently. Someone who—never mind. It didn’t matter.
Again, private affairs of the heart or penis were between consenting adults and no one else. My new knowledge or suspicion regarding the hockey hunk’s partner wasn’t to be shared. Ever.
Why did this feel like déjà vu? The bad kind that led to me falling on my sword.
I’d apologized profusely after the Valentine incident, and I’d promised to do better in the future.
This was the future.
No wonder Ty was holding a grudge. It wasn’t just on his friend’s behalf—it was even more personal because evidently, Ty had a big secret too. He had a boyfriend.
Message received, and now…I’d file the information in a rarely used storage facility in my noggin and forget about it. I had to. Ty didn’t want me to know and if he thought I’d been hiding in the shadows, hoping to catch him unaware, he wouldn’t just hate me, he’d want blood.
Final thought on this curious incident: Thank God he didn’t see me.
CHAPTER 4
TY
“What was that?”
I tucked my shirt in, swiveling toward the squeak coming from the end of the alley. A large rodent skittered near the trash bins with a clang…just as a shock of red hair blazed around the corner.
Walker?
Holy fuck.
That little shit.
My nostrils flared with an automatic surge of anger. I’d spotted Walker at the bar on my way out the door. It was hard to miss him. First of all, he was the only redhead I knew at school whose hair was that particular shade and the only one who’d dress like a Brooks Brothers model at a campus pub. The khakis, the meticulously rolled-up sleeves of his striped oxford shirt…yeah, that was Walker.
He'd followed me. Un-fucking-believable.
I was always so careful. I chose my partners wisely and checked, double-checked, triple checked my surroundings before I considered whipping out my cock.
Okay…yes, it would have been smarter to go to my place or his. In my defense, fumbling in a dark alley with a football player who was the definition of a casual hookup hadn’t felt particularly dangerous. The surrounding brick walls were high as fuck, and it was nearly impossible to see anything…unless you were looking. Fuck you very much, Woodrow.
Carson was the epitome of a safe lay. Eager, willing, and so deep in the closet that he seemed truly comfortable there. Other than being bi athletes, we had nothing in common and we didn’t bother trying. In fact, we usually avoided real conversation and never touched each other more than strictly necessary.
And we never kissed.
We fucked around. That was all.
I studied the quiet alley. Dull light from a parking lot streetlamp spilled over the trash bins near the entrance, but there was no sign of life.
“Must have been a rat,” I replied.
Accurate.
Carson pulled keys from his pocket. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something but gave an up nod instead and strode away. No good-byes, no uncomfortable attempts at making future plans, no complications. Perfect.
Unfortunately, I had a new complication named Walker Woodrow.
“Do the fucking interview.”
My agent was a notoriously cranky asshole who rarely minced his words. I’d been assured that Toby Guzman’s abrasive approach was effective and it had definitely worked in my favor, but every once in a while, he just confused me.
“Hello to you too,” I mumbled, rubbing sleep from my eyes before taking a tentative sip of my morning joe.
“Yeah, yeah. I did some research and the kid from What’s New, Smithton? is the real deal.”
I sat up so fast I almost spilled coffee on my T-shirt. I frowned at the TV tuned into one of those home renovation channels my roommate, Brady, liked while my heart slammed in my chest.
What had Walker done? Had he taken photos and contacted my agent already? It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. Was this blackmail? Fuck me. I was barely awake, for fuck’s sake. I wasn’t ready to go to war yet.
I cleared my throat and set my mug aside, checking over my shoulder to see if Brady was around.
“I don’t care. I refuse on principle,” I bluffed.
“Fuck your principles, Ty. Woodrow is well connected, and—”
“So what? It’s a hard no. And how did you know about the interview anyway?”