Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“I do what I want.”
And now he just sounded like Cartman. Judging by his snicker, that had been his intention. It would have been annoying if it wasn’t so endearing, and now I had to stop and wonder if this is how Marcus and Gavin felt about me. For the past few years, I’d been the cavalier joker who acted before thinking, Marcus had been the level-headed planner, and Gavin the hotheaded, overprotective one. With Adrián in my role of joker, I had no idea what my role was. Less obnoxious joker? Enthusiastic camp counselor?
Whatever. Instead of dwelling on my identity crisis, I drooled over the millions of kinds of pancakes this place had to offer. They apparently were known for their pancakes and their pie, and I was down for both.
“Fuck, this menu is turning me on.”
“I know, right?”
Adrián hadn’t even opened his. His arms were draped along the back of the booth as he sat slumped with his thighs spread open. His knees were touching mine, a detail I shouldn’t have noticed but couldn’t help fixating on. What was it about this kid that had me acting like a teenager all over again? I couldn’t even stand his ass, and yet he had that whole badass-in-the-back-of-the-class charm that drew me in like candied bacon.
“Whatchu getting?”
“My usual,” he drawled. “Pile of bacon, an omelet, and a stack of pancakes with a side of hash browns.”
“Oh, man. I’m really turned on now. I’m copying you but getting pecan pancakes.”
“Biter.”
“I am a biter.” I wagged my eyebrows, leering and knocking my knee against his. “And a hair-puller, and a moaner . . .”
“Moaner or screamer?”
The waitress swooped in and saved me from spilling too much information all over the checked tablecloth. We both ordered, me swapping maple-crusted pecan pancakes for the bananas Foster, and then we both snickered because she’d barely batted an eye at either of us.
“Don’t dodge the question, Boudreaux.” Adrián hunched forward with his elbows on the table and a naughty smile spreading on his face. “How loud are you?”
“Loud enough,” I said vaguely. “Haven’t you seen the video?”
“Fuck no, I didn’t watch that video.”
“Oh-ho. Now I know what would make you nervous.”
Adrián had a more interesting reaction than I’d expected. Instead of blustering and posturing about why he would never spend his time watching some homo shit, he flushed.
“Unlike the rest of our crap society, I don’t peep sex tapes and leaked pics, okay? I take privacy seriously and that’s an invasion of it. I wouldn’t like it if some girl I fuck took secret pics and suddenly has my cock on Snapchat.”
“Why not?” I tilted my head, biting my lip with big sympathetic eyes. “Is it small?”
Adrián had been mid sip from a glass of water and spat it all over me. He choked and slapped his hand against the table, laughing and coughing at the same time.
“Fuck you, Booty. That’s bullshit you’re talking right now.”
“It’s okay if it is. Sometimes the smaller guys put more effort in and really know how to work it.”
“Motherfucker, I do not have no small dick.”
“If you say so, partner. No judgment here in the land of seven inches.”
“And ain’t no need to front over here in the land of eight.” Adrián leaned farther across the table. “Wanna check?”
“Yeah, whip it out. I’ll measure with my straw. It’s at least four inches in real time, right?”
Adrián kicked me, and we both cut up laughing. It was the most normal I’d felt in a while, and it was funny as hell that dick jokes took me to that place. But that was the nature of the beast in the locker room. We all sat around each other naked in there or with the trainers so much that players probably saw each other’s pieces more than their significant others did. Talking about cock, and making jokes about each other’s cocks, was our version of bonding.
And that was part of the reason why some of the guys, even my boys in the Barons, had started shying away from me and Gavin after we’d come out. They were still friendly enough, but there were subtle differences. The absence of dick jokes was one of them. A weird thing to miss, but it was part of the comradery I’d come to appreciate.
“What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Nah, something’s up.” Adrián wagged his finger at me. “You went from filling this room with that funny-ass laugh of yours to scowling at the Stevia like you’re feeling salty that there’s no Equal.”
“And he says I’m bad at analogies.”
Adrián smacked my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I insisted. “Just thinking thoughts.”
“Deep.”
I flipped him off just as the waitress returned with a giant tray of food. We started putting it away without comment, but once I was halfway into my pancakes I couldn’t help casting another cursory glance around. Yeah, the place was empty, but I usually had a couple of people ask for an autograph by now.