Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“No. I used to as a kid, but they got better. I had a few when everything went down with Malcolm, but it’s not like a thing I struggle with.”
He cups my cheek, plays with my hair. “Is it me? Is this too much?”
No. It’s not. We’re not. Maybe it should be, but not for the reason he’s thinking. It’s just scary, and I’m afraid to get used to it and—“Are we boyfriends?”
What. The. Fuck.
Why did I blurt that? Is that part of what has me losing control?
“Do you want to be boyfriends?”
“Do you want to be boyfriends?” I volley back.
“I asked you first.”
“Yes, well, you’re clearly the more put-together one, so maybe throw me a bone?” I tease, and he chuckles.
“I would like to be your boyfriend, but only if that’s what you want. If you’re not ready, we don’t have to use that label, and we can stick with dating. Or again, if you’re not ready for this, I don’t want to put pressure on you. I want you, but if you only want to be friends, I can accept that too.”
“I don’t want to just be friends,” stumbles from my mouth. “I realize I’m probably giving you whiplash. First, I didn’t know we were dating, then made it seem like I didn’t want to date you; now we’re dating, and I say to take it slow, and a week later ask if we’re boyfriends. I have no idea what the fuck is going on inside my head. It’s just, Hayes and Donovan said we’ve been boyfriends without benefits and now we’re boyfriends with benefits, and then all week I’ve been wondering if we’re boyfriends, and it’s annoying as shit and all your fault. I’m not usually like this. You’re just so…” I gesture up and down his body as if that’s some kind of reason.
He smirks. “So…what?”
“Cocky.” I roll my eyes, though I’m not truly annoyed by him. “But also kinda perfect. And I’m not, Kason. Exhibit one is my behavior today. I’ll fuck this up, so you should prepare yourself now.”
“I’m not perfect either. You might fuck this up, and I might fuck this up, both of us might screw up or—”
“You’re not helping.”
He grabs me, pulling me close. “Or neither of us might fuck it up. Maybe this doesn’t last, but maybe it does. The only way to know is to try…and I want to try, with you. You’re the first person in a long time to make me want to try having a relationship.”
“Why? Have you met me? I’m a mess.”
“I like you.” He holds my hips, fingers brushing beneath my shirt and against my skin. “I would love to be your boyfriend if you want to be mine.” He winks. “With benefits.”
“I never should have told you that.”
“No takebacks.” Kason leans in, brushing his lips against mine. “What do you think?”
I’d say I think I want this, but it’s not true. I know I do. I want it, want him. And in the grand scheme of things, for all intents and purposes, he’s been my boyfriend for a whole-ass week, or hell, even since before we officially decided to date. I wish I knew how to stop pretending feelings are logical, that it’s so easy to know something when your heart or mind try to tell you something else. I wouldn’t judge Hayes for the same thing, and I didn’t judge Donovan for his fears when it came to Eric. Why is it so much easier to accept others than it is to accept myself? Because I know the sting of being judged by others, of people thinking there’s something wrong with me, but I can’t change what other people think. I’m good at pretending it doesn’t bother me, but now, maybe I need to find a way that it truly doesn’t.
“I want to be your boyfriend,” I admit.
“Then we’re boyfriends.” He leans in, taking my mouth with his. Kason’s tongue sweeps inside, the taste and feel of him going straight to my head.
I don’t get nearly enough time to enjoy him before he’s pulling back.
“Now, my boyfriend is going to sit in the kitchen with me and talk while I make him food.”
“I’m not allowed to help anymore?”
“You’re on the injured list.”
“Or maybe my line is just on the bench for a couple minutes.”
“I can handle that.”
But I don’t end up helping again. I sit on the counter, talking to Kason as he cooks potatoes, chops veggies, and puts omelets together. He’s fun to just watch sometimes. He’s so graceful, his large, muscular body moving fluidly.
“It’s like dancing…what you do on the ice,” I find myself saying as we sit at the table in his backyard and eat.
“That’s actually really fucking sexy. I like that being how you think of me when it comes to hockey. What made you say it now, though?”