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)
Clyde’s attentive blue eyes dart from the chicken to my face. “Is there… a reason?”
I should have expected this question, but I don’t have an immediate answer and stall before offering him a wide smile. “So you always have something to remind you of my cock.”
He shakes his head. “It’s on my mind any time I close my eyes.” My heart skips a beat when he pulls out his keys and attaches the charm. “But I’ll enjoy thinking about it even more.”
Clyde wants to kiss me. I don’t know how, but I can sense it in the electric charge between us, the tingling in my lips, the longing in his eyes.
He can’t, and he doesn’t, but I still enjoy the desire reflected in them.
We don’t linger after that and enter a large space with a billiards table on one side, and a long bar manned by a thin man with gaunt cheeks and long hair. The air smells of beer and smoke. Regulars look up to take in who entered their space, only to go back to whatever they’d been doing. This is familiar. I’ve been to hundreds of places just like this, and my shoulders relax.
But as at ease as I am with the setting, I don’t know how to act around Clyde. His closeness is causing little jolts all over my body, and I itch to have him touch me, to touch him, push him to the padded seat in the darkest corner and slide my hand into his pants, like the old me might have done with a girl.
But the people around us are watching the two strangers, even if discreetly, and I feel at a loss for words.
“You look good,” Clyde whispers, as he leads me to a quiet corner by the bar. It’s also the farthest from the TV where most people hang out. “What are you drinking?” he asks and pulls out his wallet.
The lump in my throat is back as I try to find my footing in this new situation. Being bought a drink feels different than Clyde sharing his whiskey with me at his shack. But if he’s offering, I’m not going to say no. “Vodka,” I tell him, letting my gaze glide along the dense strands of hair, which I long to bury my face in already.
I’ve dressed in brand-new jeans, and a Henley shirt, which accentuates my muscular shape, pretty much what I might wear to a wedding or a funeral, and I’m wondering if it’s too much, even though he seems to like the outfit. “I—you look better than I remember,” I tell him, and I know it was the right thing to say when his features relax into a wide smile.
This man will be the death of me, but I regret nothing.
He’s silent when we get our shots, but as soon as the bartender walks off, he kicks my foot playfully. “That’s possible?”
I chuckle and rest my foot on the front of his boot, pressing down enough to make him feel it. “Goldfish memory. That’s what you get when mom keeps getting high while pregnant with you. But then, I get a very nice surprise every time I meet you,” I say and down the liquor. The sharp bitterness of it makes me scowl, but who needs something to wash that down when the man next to me is sweeter than syrup?
Clyde laughs, and I feel like the most entertaining guy in the fucking state. As much as I want to be in bed with him already, this is nice too. Very nice actually. He lowers his voice.
“Imagine forgetting how good I am at giving you head and getting that surprise every time.”
I catch myself nodding and clear my throat, leaning closer to catch his leathery scent. He’s making me feel such weird things, and I’m as lost as I was without him. “That would be something.”
Clyde glances down the sticky bar counter, but we’ve got enough privacy here. “Have you ever been to a gay bar?” He winces after his shot, and I can’t help the chuckle bubbling up my throat. I would have leaned in and nipped his neck if we were alone. Instead, I allow myself a discreet stroke across his hand.
“No, never. You?” I ask, imagining him in such a place, young and wide-eyed. Nah, someone would have snatched a fruit this juicy if they had the chance.
“No. We could openly touch there, but what if someone hit on you?” Clyde frowns at me, like I’m already being chatted up by some hunk. He’s ridiculous. “They’d kick us out in no time.”
“They can try all they want. I already have my eye on someone,” I say, meeting his eyes, even though admitting to such a thing drops a heavy weight inside my chest. Sure, it could be the usual flirting, just talk, but I even dream of him now.