Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
Oscar pinches a powdered donut between three fingers. “You’ve told me that before. And the answer still hasn’t changed.”
Selfishly, I just want to grill the fuck out of him.
He pops the donut in his mouth, and my stomach lets out a loud groan. I’m about to laugh the noise off when Oscar frowns deeply. He rubs powdered dust off his lips with the back of his hand. “You hungry?”
“I had to run out the door this morning, so I missed bre—” I don’t even finish my sentence before Oscar is moving back to the kitchen.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. Dude, shut up. Something inside me is utterly enamored with how easily and quickly he just moved into action for me.
“Bro, your stomach is screaming at me,” Oscar says. “It’d be a crime not to feed you.” He bends down to his bottom cabinet. Back turned to me, his drawstring pants pull tight around his ass.
Jesus fuck. My stomach squeezes. And my dick almost rouses. Stay down.
I cage a breath. Don’t breathe. Don’t speak. My composure is teetering on the edge of a diving board, and at this point, I’m questioning if I even know how to swim.
Me, Jack Highland, a collegiate swimmer at Penn.
I manage to sit on a wooden barstool across from Oscar without completely losing it. My body acts like he’s the hottest thing to ever step foot on this Earth, and my brain has trouble catching up to these feelings.
I’m laps behind.
Tensely, I take off my messenger bag and pull out a contract. I set the paper beside my spiral notebook and abandoned donuts on the marble bar counter.
“I can just have a donut,” I end up saying. “You don’t need to get me anything.”
Oscar stands up with two boxes of cereal. “Baby donuts will hold you over for five seconds.”
Baby donuts. I smile.
He shakes the boxes. “Pick your poison, Long Beach.”
Organic granola cereal or Lucky Charms.
I hesitate, my smile faltering.
Something intangible stretches the air. I hate that uncertain, uncomfortable feeling because it means other people feel uncomfortable and uncertain. I pride myself on erasing doubts and fears and tension in any room.
But lately, I realize, if it’s just me and Oscar sharing space, I can’t seem to let out the words to ease this thing between us. I let it fester for a second too long.
Oscar frowns. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that overthinks things. And not for nothing, Long Beach, but it’s just cereal.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I just don’t know what I feel like.”
“So have both.” He opens the flap to the Lucky Charms.
My head spins. “You’re right, you know. I don’t overthink things.”
More tendrils of his hair fall over his rolled bandana as he shakes cereal into a bowl. “Look, I didn’t want to bring it up and make it more awkward, but I’m not a twelve-year-old, and I won’t avoid it.” He closes the Lucky Charms box and opens the granola cereal. “I think you’re hot, but I think a lot of people are hot. Me asking you for a kiss isn’t a big deal. We don’t need to make it a big deal.”
My stomach overturns.
Disappointment. Devastation. Wrapped up nicely in a little ball.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say, appeasing him, and then I quickly add, “You’re not the first person who’s asked to kiss me.”
His brows knot as he slowly spins the cap off a milk carton. “But I’m the first guy that’s asked to kiss you.”
My pulse pumps harder. “Well…yeah.”
“Good to know,” he says in a gruff way that sounds like he actually would have preferred to go to his grave without that knowledge.
Make this better. Jesus fuck.
“It’s alright,” I tell him.
“Don’t do that,” he says quickly as he adds milk to the bowl.
“Do what?” I reply, but I know what he’s referring to.
He rummages in a drawer for a spoon. His brown eyes keep flitting to me, strands of his hair hitting his lashes. My muscles tense. Why is that so fucking hot?
“You do this thing, Jack, where you try to make everyone feel good. I don’t need that kind of emotional baby blanket.” His eyes touch mine. A beat passing between us. His brows rise. “I’m good.”
“Good,” I say, my chest tightening.
He nods. “Good.”
The air deadens.
I can’t take it. “Oscar, I’m just trying to make this less awkward.”
“That’s not going to be possible.” He pushes the bowl forward, both cereals mixed together. His eyes latch on the contract near the donuts. “Is that one mine?”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I dropped Charlie’s contract off to his lawyer on the drive here, and I have a copy for him to sign.” It would’ve been easier to send electronic contracts, but Charlie specified paper instead of digital.
In case of leaks.
While Oscar’s eyes journey over the paper, the sun finally starts to rise. Oranges bleed through the window 21-floors high. Bathing the kitchen, him and me, in rays of light.