Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
An idea had been brewing in my head for the past few days. One that would make life easier for both Alex and Nicole, but I had to proceed with caution. I knew my stubborn boyfriend and how he reacted in most situations, so I had to play my cards carefully. He wasn’t one to ask for help or accept it if freely offered.
But that was something to mull over another day. Tonight, I planned to surprise Alex at work. My buddy, Turko, was in town for the weekend, and we’d reserved a VIP table at Top Shelf. Turko and I met in undergraduate school before he was drafted by the NHL. He dreamed of playing hockey for Boston and had been drafted right out of college, but Denver drafted him instead. We got together whenever his team traveled to Boston. It was thanks to Turk and his desire to check out the most prominent gay nightclub in Boston that I reconnected with Alex after not seeing him for years. Though back then, we weren’t exactly excited to be in the same room. Remembering the look on his face when he realized he’d be serving me drinks that night always made me laugh. The poor guy probably wanted to smash a bottle over my head rather than pour it for me.
But we’d turned that animosity around and were now disgusting and couldn’t keep our hands off each other, according to my sister, Vera. She’d huffed and proclaimed us intolerable to hang out with last time she came over. Fine by me. I had no problem spending all my time with Alex, and I was happy to do so.
I exited the penthouse elevator in my building and strode toward the exit, where the doorman held the door for me. “Thank you, John,” I said, holding my fist for him to bump. He did, but followed it with a, “Have a fun evening, Mr. Calloway.”
I rolled my eyes but allowed the formality. No matter how many times I’d told—begged—him to use my first name, I remained Mr. Calloway.
“Yo! Damn, brother, it’s good to see you!” Turk hopped from the back of a black Cadillac SUV with his massive arms spread wide as he charged toward me.
“Shit, man,” I said as he slammed into me and nearly took us to the ground. “You’re like a damn tank. What are they feeding you out there in Colorado?” We hugged and slapped each other’s backs.
“It ain’t the food, man, the NHL workouts are killer. I’ve packed on almost twenty-five pounds of pure, grade-A muscle.” He released me and flexed his biceps, which I had to admit were damn impressive.
“Dayum.”
Turk chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay away from your guy. Wouldn’t want to make you feel threatened, being all scrawny and shit.” He squeezed my arm, which, I admit, couldn’t hold a candle to his, though scrawny was a bit of an exaggeration.
“Fuck off,” I said with a laugh as I shoved him away or tried to shove him. He didn’t budge an inch. “Not all of us need to look like the damn Hulk to snag a man.”
He laughed out loud, drawing the attention of curious passersby. Turk’s booming laugh never failed to earn stares. “Shit, let’s get in the car before someone recognizes me.”
I snorted. “Ego’s as big as it ever was, I see.”
Turk flipped me off just as an inquisitive, “Ryder?” rang out behind me.
Corvin. Shit. Guilt wormed its way into my stomach. I’d ignored his last few calls and only responded to his texts with short replies, letting him know I was busy this week. Alex and I spent this week wrapped up in each other, and I hadn’t wanted to tear myself away from him long enough to answer my damn phone, especially after I’d missed an important dinner with Alex, spending that time with Corvin instead. It was something I’d feel guilty about for a while and motivated my mild ghosting of my friend, but that wasn’t Corvin’s fault. He had no idea the minefield he’d stumbled into.
I turned. “Hey, Corvin. Good to see you, man.”
He looked slender and elegant as always, dressed like a J.Crew model in a yellow polo shirt, gray shorts, and olive-green loafers. Glancing between Turko and me, Corvin frowned. “I swung by your office to bring you dinner and was told you no longer work there.”
Awesome.
The guilt tripled, but not because I’d failed to inform Corvin of my career change, but because he’d been so confident I’d miss yet another dinner at home, he’d felt justified in showing up unannounced.
Again.
If I had a romantic interest in him and I were single, I’d be considered sweet, but I had a boyfriend I very much loved, and I hadn’t encouraged Corvin to surprise me with dinner tonight or any night.