Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Not at all. I did nothing to lose it … which I guess is why I did. Apparently, when you work out every day with a football team during college and then stop, it’s the equivalent of popping your muscles with a pin like a balloon.” He gestures a bomb going off with his hands and even adds in sound effects.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I murmur into the back of his hair. “Muscles or no muscles.”
“Agreed,” Prescott says. “Actually, I might even like this itty-bitty-sized Brady.”
Brady folds his arms. “I am not itty bitty. Now, about that naked thing …”
It seems other than some new self-image insecurities, Brady’s still the bright-eyed brat that he always was.
“I figured you’d want to shower after the plane ride, maybe have something to eat and settle in,” I say.
Brady turns between us so he faces me now, and the permanent gleam in his deep brown eyes shines brighter. “Well, I am hungry for something.” He reaches for the fly on my jeans, and behind him, Prescott laughs and grips the top of Brady’s shoulders.
“You’re still a horndog.” Prescott steers him away and into the main bedroom with the giant king bed and a bathroom big enough for the three of us to fit comfortably. It was one of the reasons I chose this place. I looked through countless reviews to find somewhere that could accommodate us.
“Shower,” Prescott says, and then I hear the bathroom door close.
He comes out of the room, shaking his head. “Are you ready for this week?”
There’s more forced nonchalance on my part. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can handle him.”
Prescott smiles, and it reminds me of the smiles he used to send me. Those knowing ones he gives when he thinks I’m full of shit. Which I’m not. At least in this instance. Because Brady, I can handle. Give him attention, affection, and orgasms, and he’s happy. It’s Prescott who I’m worried about.
From best friends to … this: a weird energy that feels like running into an old coworker.
“Should we feed him first or give him an orgasm to keep him quiet while we eat afterward?” Prescott asks.
I rub my chin. “I have a better idea, but we’re going to need some rope.”
Prescott raises his eyebrows as if to say, “Go on.”
“Or did you bring a belt? We can improvise.” I take my belt off, but Prescott is only in sweats.
He grins. “I have no idea what you want to do, but I’m in.” He disappears into the bedroom, and while he’s gone, I pull out the food I cooked when I first got here and checked in.
My flight was the first to land, and I had hours to kill. Cooking helped me get over my nerves and pass the time. I take it out of the fridge and pop it in the microwave to heat it back up.
Prescott gasps when he returns from the bedroom with his belt. “Is that your famous lemon butter salmon with sweet corn fritters on the side?”
“I figured you might be missing my cooking now that you live alone.”
“I’ve banned myself from cooking because I set the kitchen on fire one night.”
I’m not surprised. “How are you surviving?”
“I’m wasting away. Feed me, Kit. Please.” He puts his belt on the counter and lifts his shirt. His abs are tight, and fuck him for doing that.
“Speaking of wasting away …” I glance toward the bedroom. “Do you think Brady’s okay?”
“Because he lost some weight? What, is he too small for you now?”
“You know that’s not it. I’m worried about him pushing too hard. Law school and interning? Not even having a chance to work out in big, corporate New York? It’s not … him. I don’t think he’s taking care of himself. I bet he skips meals.”
“You’re overthinking this,” Prescott says, using his reassuring tone and everything. I almost believe him. “He still looks healthy.”
“He can’t keep that pace though.”
Prescott lets out a sigh that sounds like a laugh. “Typical Kit. Always wanting to take care of everyone.” He moves closer to the kitchen counter. “Tell me, have you found someone to take care of you yet?”
Our eyes lock, and the air is sucked out of the room so fast my head spins.
Time apart hasn’t changed a thing. I’m still helplessly in love with him.
The microwave beeps, but I ignore it.
There are more pressing matters, and I can’t help myself. I round the counter and press against him.
When he first arrived, we shared a friendly hug, but after that, I made sure not to touch him in any affectionate way to try to keep our friendship separate from what we do with Brady. This whole trip is supposed to be about carefree fun and sex, and I’ve been failing at it since minute one.