Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
“I know. I always felt… isolated because of it, but I didn’t want to be rejected by the people who actually treated me right, you know?”
He kisses my neck, soothing any new anxiety. “Did talking to them about it, about me, go well? Or should we expect for things to go downhill?”
I’m glad he’s only asking now, because I needed the release of having him first, of being close, and the comfort of his tenderness.
I stay quiet for a while, trying not to let negative thoughts sneak in too close, but the reality of not knowing the answer is a heavy weight inside my chest. “Creep’s gay too. Sorry…” I clear my throat. “Homosexual. So at least it’s not just us.”
Clyde rises to his elbow so fast he hits my jaw with his head. He looks straight into my eyes with a frown. “What? He told everyone?” Clyde goes on when I nod. “And your guys are okay with it?”
“I think between me being gay and me fucking a certain Clyde Turner, my sexuality doesn’t seem that big of a deal,” I tell him, calming myself down in the process, because I’m not immune to worries about the future this revelation might bring. “Oh, and Prophet was trying to be normal about this whole thing, so he told us a guy gave him head a few times. That’s what he said,” I added, keeping Clyde’s gaze. “It sounds like he’s talking about one guy, right? I’m not crazy?”
Clyde’s eyes are wide as saucers, and he seems to drift off in his mind. “No, it does sound like one guy. Okay, this is much better than I imagined.” With a sigh of relief, he drops back down. “Maybe… it will be fine?” he asks, looking to me for reassurance. I need it too, but he’s my priority, so I rub my chin against his cheekbone and sigh.
“The guys are assholes, but they mean well. And Prophet really wants to help. He’s never let me down. It will be fine, and if it’s not then—” I swallow, capturing his gaze as I relax into his arms. “I will make it fine, all right? You gave up everything for me, and I won’t make you regret it.”
My throat squeezes, and I swallow, trying to stop being such a mushpot, but it’s impossible when the past few days have stirred so many emotions. And I’m not good with those.
Clyde strokes my back, putting me at ease with his touch. “I never thought I’d have this. That I’d come out, that I’d find a guy who is so right for me, or that I’d ever leave my club. I’m still finding my feet, but I already know it was worth it. Do you want me to… live here?”
I blink, suddenly aware that all this might be going too fast, and that maybe he’d want a space of his own, at least for a while. “Uh… we could… give you a room if you don’t want to move in right away.”
Clyde groans and nips on my Adam’s apple. “I want to move in. I just don’t want to ruin your bachelor pad.”
My muscles melt at his touch, as if his teeth and tongue are the key to unwind all my worries. “Then this is no longer a bachelor pad. This bed?” I ask, patting the mattress. “Yours,” I tell him and let myself fall to my back next to him.
We look up together and he points at the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. “Can we get a lampshade?”
I scowl, but it’s not like I expected to have him over anytime soo—anytime, really. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff, okay? I’m fine with any changes you make, as long as you don’t paint the walls a unicorn pattern.”
He stabs his finger into my side. “Suggest that again, and I’ll be painting the room with your blood.”
“I was joking.” I grab his wrist and pull him over me. My lips are on his before he can protest. There. We’re good again.
“And you don’t have a kitchen?” Clyde asks, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around me. I have a feeling that while he might have more elaborate house needs than me, he’d love me in a tent in the woods. When his eyes lure me into their blue depth, I let myself float, full of trust that from now on, everything will make sense in my life.
“You know I never learned. Mom served me cold Pop Tarts for dinner, and there’s a food hall in the settlement. But,” I add, seeing his brows lower. “If you want to cook for me, I can get you a kitchen. Just make a list of the stuff you need,” I tell him, pulling my fingers through his lovely hair. It’s still damp, and no longer smells of a campfire, but it’s still my favorite pillowcase.