Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“Married,” I breathe, between kisses.
He pulls away, breathing hard.
I’m reminded of another alley on another night—the night he said he loved me in that club we’d gone to. I smooth my hand over his strong neck. “Hey, my buddy. You okay?”
He nods. He kisses my jaw gently, and his eyes feel wet against my throat. “I’m good.” His voice is soft and low and sends a trill of pleasure through me. He looks up and grins. “You regretting this yet?”
“Fuck no I’m not, Skywalker. Not even a little bit. You worried someone’s gonna get me?”
He bows his head, his shoulders rising as he breathes deep.
“Lightning never strikes the same spot twice, Sky. Also, this is Vegas.” I wrap my hand around his coat’s front, tugging lightly. “It’s queer as shit here. Let’s go get a funnel cake and then blow this joint.”
I’m being corny, trying to make him laugh, and it works. He smirks, and I can see him composing himself again, doing the fake-it-till-you-make-it thing. I wonder why we didn’t bring baseball caps, something to ensure we’re not recognized…
We have to face the music sometime.
Tonight, though?
“C’mon,” he says, looking solid again. “Let’s find a shop and grab me a hat. A rainbow top hat.”
I laugh, and Sky laughs, and our gazes lock, and for a striking second, I feel lit up by a rush of we-just-fucking-did-it. Then he clasps my hand, and we walk to the alley’s mouth. We find the sidewalk crowded, but no one calls us out as we cross the street, in search of a hat shop. We find one after just a few blocks. We end up with sequined pink, purple, and white beanies—topped with pink fluffballs—that might be even gayer than we are. But it’s magic.
Sky looks ridiculously good, and happy—now that he’s worked through his nerves. He keeps squeezing my ass in the shadows as we wait in a short line for rainbow daiquiris someone’s selling in mini-milk-jug-type bottles at a walk-thru in an alley.
“This is probably a bad idea.” He smiles after gulping from his.
“If by bad idea you mean you need to drink more.”
“What?” He screws his face up in surprised amusement, like the golden boy he is.
“Sometimes you gotta relax, Sky babe.”
“Like wandering along the Strip in a gumball machine wedding band, drinking-food cart alcohol that’s one-tenth straight food coloring?”
That makes me laugh my ass off. I tap my head. “Gotta have an estimated ratio for the harmful additives, mm?”
He snorts. “I’m not wrong.” Then he takes another long swig. He makes a face and does sort of a shiver, and I press my arm against his. “Couple of lightweights.”
“Just as long as it’s a couple,” he says quietly.
We finish the drinks fast, toss the bottles into a trash can, and Sky’s about to call for our car when we come across a mini golf course. I think he sees my eyes light up, because he says, “We should do it.”
“Not too tired?”
“Never too tired to see you lose.”
I snort. “They got mini golf up in the Ivy League?”
“Mini golf is everywhere, V.”
He takes the challenge seriously, and I’m not thrilled to find he’s pretty damn good.
“Business golf,” he tells me smugly, looking like some kind of buff snow bunny with that beanie on his head as he leans on his golf club. He took his coat off and hung it on a hook in the front office of this place, as if it’s not worth more than most sedans.
“Yeah, you put a lot of balls in holes for business?”
He gives me an oh-no-you-don’t look. “You wanna see what I can put in that hole?” He putts his damn golf ball under a moving windmill arm, and I run mine into it three times.
He’s got his arm around my neck, doing this move where he ruffles my beanie like you’d ruffle someone’s hair, when someone whistles.
“HAWK! I FUCKIN’ FOUND ’EM!”
I turn around, and there’s a crowd behind the chainlink fence that frames the golf course.
“FUCK YEAH, BABY!”
“Look at that ass.”
My heart’s pounding as my eyes move over them, searching for threats. I step in front of Luke, and someone boos. Another murmurs, “That’s who I wanna see.”
That’s when I realize—all of them are guys.
14
Luke
I get a burst of adrenaline so heady my skin tingles and my pulse hammers behind my eyes.
“Get behind me.” I grab Rayne’s sleeve.
The group catcalls us, and Vance turns toward me. “They’re all dudes.”
“They followed us here,” I tell him in a low voice.
His hand touches my hip. “Sky, listen.” Rayne’s lips twist in a grin, and my heart beats harder. “Listen,” he smiles. “They’re saying ‘kings.’” Rayne leans in closer. “Luke, I think they’re gay. I think they’re fans. They’re not here to throw tomatoes.”
I lift my head and look over his shoulder, and it’s true, the group looks mostly male.