Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
He’s still acting casual. Like he still thinks it’s not a big deal that we’ve practically been attached at the hip for the last three weeks of our lives, speed-running a deep physical affair, and now we’re about to go back to being strangers again.
I watch him at the center of the living room as he pulls his black button-up shirt out from his bag, taking off the plain T-shirt he had on.
I watch his silver necklaces shift on his skin as he shrugs on the collared shirt.
Everything about his body has become so familiar.
The way those necklaces feel when he’s above me, and the cool metal hangs over and hits my chest.
The ink on his skin I’ve run my fingers over countless times now, and the way his lips feel when he drags them over my collarbone.
Something sparks through my mind like kindling, and my throat tightens.
I have to invite him.
This can’t be the last of it.
I work up the courage as I pace to the kitchen, the dining room, and back to the living room again. I’m going to invite him to visit me in Los Angeles, all expenses paid. Easy. We don’t have to define it. I don’t have to pressure him to figure anything out. But we could at least know we’ll be together again.
I have no idea if he’ll even accept.
“God, I need to fucking come,” he says as I approach him. “We have enough time for that?”
I pause. “Really? You don’t even want to talk about what happens when I leave?”
He glances up at me and there’s nothing behind his eyes. “What happens is you keep living your life, Mr. Famous Actor. And I keep doing what I do, serving rich dudes expensive liquor in the bar.”
My chest tenses. “Give me a break.”
“Yeah. The other rich guys aren’t like you, I admit. I don’t think any of them would like my cock quite as much as you do.”
Already I can feel him pulling away from me.
It’s slight, but it’s there.
He’s trying to pass everything off with jokes instead of facing how he really feels right now.
I put my hand onto his waist. “I like you for more than your cock, you know.”
Tell him you’ll fly him out.
Say it.
“Fine. I’ve been thinking about it, too,” he says finally, reaching out to put his finger through one of my belt loops, tugging on it.
The gesture is so small.
For Chase, it’s such an innocent way of touching me, pulling at my belt loop like he used to do when he first came up to my room.
And I see a world of uncertainty behind it.
I exhale. “Good. You’ve at least given it some thought? What we should do, going forward.”
His lashes flick upward as he briefly glances at me.
“Yeah. We can be… mature. Even though I fucking hate that word. We can go back to living our lives. You know?”
I set my jaw. “What’s that mean?”
He shrugs, looking down instead of meeting my eyes. “You hate the idea of anyone finding out who I am, right?”
I frown. “Not because I’m ashamed. Because I know how the assholes on social media would ruin your life. Track you down in public. All the shit they’ve been doing to me and my costar. I just want to protect you.”
“It might not be that bad. It’s not like I’m your boyfriend or something.”
“Right,” I say quickly. “We’re not… together. But they’d still eat you alive if we went on dates, or to clubs, Chase. Trust me. I’ve seen it happen.”
It feels like something just shifted inside me. Chase is still tugging at my belt loop, bringing me closer, and his other hand roams up the front of my shirt and skates over my hip, giving it a little pinch.
It feels too good. Too familiar, now.
I’m suddenly thinking about too much.
Including people who aren’t even alive anymore because fame swallowed them whole.
And I can’t go there.
“You’ll be back in New York again at some point, I’m sure,” Chase says.
“Sometime.”
But I don’t mention that I don’t even know when. I have to film season 2 of Yard Line, and I’ve already signed on to film a movie after that, which will shoot partly in LA and partly in Vancouver. Nowhere near here.
I could visit, but would a stolen weekend here or there ever be enough for Chase? And how could I explain random trips to New York?
It’s fucking crazy that I’m even thinking of it like that, considering I’ve only known him for less than a month.
It feels like so much longer.
But it isn’t.
He bites his lower lip, looking down and then back up at me again. “I think it’s good that this is happening. Don’t you?”
I blink at him. “Good?”
He nods. “That we’re being forced apart. It’s not like my life has exactly been a good influence on you. Have we been sober one day since we met? How many bottles of Scotch have you had?”