Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91914 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91914 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Miller takes a deep breath and looks at the roof. His mouth moves silently as if counting or talking to himself, and it’s not until I look down I realize he’s even harder than before. I wrote it off earlier because of the drugs, but now?
“You’re not having another orgy in there, are you? Because I can come back,” Jackson says through the door.
“So glad you’re able to make jokes about that now,” I yell back.
Jackson was out with us the night we took those girls home, and he warned Miller to be careful so the tabloids didn’t find out, but he hasn’t mentioned it since. I thought it was going to be one of those things we don’t mention—like me walking in on him and his boyfriend.
We fumble our way to the door and tumble out into Miller’s room while I try to think of disturbing things to deflate my cock like unicorns and cute cats—those evil bastards.
Jackson’s eyebrows shoot up when Miller and I leave the bathroom together. Alone … well, with each other and no girl sandwiched between us.
“Ah, your timing is off,” I say. “If you’d been here five minutes ago, you could’ve held Miller’s dick while he peed, because, you know, you’re into that.”
Shit. Even I know when I tip the smartass scale too far, and that totally came out homophobic and like I didn’t like what just happened. Like I’m pulling scared straight guy shit when I’m not.
Scared, that is.
My level of straightness is still up for debate. After that kiss, I’m leaning toward not straight at all.
“Yeah, shame,” Jackson says dryly. “Although something tells me you enjoyed it anyway.”
My mouth slams shut, because I don’t know if he’s finally calling me on it or if he’s implying he knows I got hard over the thing me and him agreed to never speak about again.
“No one’s holding my dick but me,” Miller says, “but I do need help getting back to bed, so can you assholes please lose your egos and help a guy out?”
“Sorry,” we both mutter and then help him.
“Tina tells me you need surgery,” Jackson says. “That sucks.”
“What’s even suckier is he’s going back to New York for it.”
Miller scowls at me. “Way to sell me out.”
“Was your plan to leave without anyone knowing?” I ask.
“Well, yeah, was kinda hoping. My family wants me back home, and I’m out for the season anyway.”
“When do you need the surgery?” Jackson asks.
“As soon as possible. They’re trying to figure out a way to get me there that’ll be comfortable. It’s not like this is an emergency where they can use a medivac or anything.”
Jackson pulls out his phone. “I’m on it.”
“On what?” I ask.
“Noah has a private plane on standby.”
“No fucking way,” I say. “I want a private plane. Imagine all the type of mile high shit you could do.”
Jackson grins. “I don’t need to imagine.”
Miller grimaces. “Okay, I’ll book a first-class ticket with someone. That’s gotta be better than flying in a sex plane, right?”
“It’s like I don’t even know you at all,” I say. “Talon’s words of wisdom: never say no to a sex plane.”
“It’s not a sex plane.” Jackson doesn’t look up from his phone as he shoots off a text. “I was joking.” He lowers his voice and mumbles, “Mostly.”
There’s a knock on Miller’s door, and a nurse walks in. “Hi, guys, I’m sorry, but it’s actually past visiting hours.”
Flirt switch: turned on. “Aww, precious, can we maybe get five more minutes with our boy here?”
The young nurse blushes but stands her ground. “Don’t bat those pretty quarterback eyes at me, mister. I’ll give you thirty seconds.”
When she walks out, Jackson laughs. “I like her.”
“I’m losing my touch,” I say, but when I turn back to them, Miller’s scowling at me.
We have thirty seconds to talk about whatever happened in the bathroom with Jackson here to hear it all.
“Twenty-five seconds!” The nurse yells from her station.
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair.
Jackson’s phone chimes. “The jet can come get you tomorrow morning first thing.”
Miller nods. “Thanks.”
Silence falls, and I have no idea what to say.
“So, this is it?” I ask. “You’re done for the season.” And leaving me to figure this out on my own. But that goes unsaid.
Chapter Eight
MILLER
Why did I think coming home would be less stressful than recovering in Chicago? Oh right, because it’s away from Talon.
I still don’t know what happened in that hospital bathroom. Part of me wonders if the painkillers made me loopy and if it actually happened at all.
Marcus Talon kissing me.
Nope, no way. That’s what fantasies and wet dreams are made of.
Right now, I’d take dealing with him and my temporary insanity over this torture any day.
I’m in my childhood bedroom where all my football memorabilia and shit from high school hasn’t even been touched since I left home for college. The house is a single-story home on Staten Island, and living here again is surreal.