Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 12091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 60(@200wpm)___ 48(@250wpm)___ 40(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 12091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 60(@200wpm)___ 48(@250wpm)___ 40(@300wpm)
Maybe we’ll meet up and maybe we won’t.
We can just text if that’s all you want, or maybe there will be blow jobs. It’s up to you.
I can’t make that choice for you.
I leave the phone on the desk, my heart in a chokehold, as I decide I need time to think. I strip out of my clothes and jump in the shower, dissecting every word, every touch until I’m hard and aching all over again. I take my dick in my hand and stroke myself slow and hard, thinking about Graham’s lips on my neck and his fingertips on my skin. I close my eyes and wish myself back into that small box of time, where the heat was too much, but I was myself and feeling, and I… I coat the tile with my release, breathless with dissatisfaction and wanting. This is my life. This is who I am. I don’t get to have what I want.
The thought grates me and I shut off the water, pushing open the shower door harder than I mean to. It hits the wall and I cringe waiting for the glass to shatter, sighing with relief when it stays in one piece. I towel off and dress, all the while staring at my fucking phone like it might detonate and obliterate this room, and every fucking excuse I’ve conjured up in my head of why I shouldn’t do this.
I can’t make that choice for you.
I sit at the end of my bed, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. Who the fuck is that guy?
He’s a coward.
“Fuck that.”
I don’t have to decide my whole life right now. I don’t have to decide whether or not I want to come out across the front page of every sports news magazine tonight. I can meet my friends for dinner and meet another friend for blow jobs. I’m in fucking Vegas, and who I choose to hang out with means nothing in the grand scheme of things. No one is watching my every move. No one probably even fucking cares. Jesus, I’m so self-centered. It’s one night, and then maybe… Just maybe. That’s all this is, and even if tonight is all I get, at least I had the balls to finally take what I want for once.
Standing, I walk over to the desk with purpose, and when I open my text messages and filter down to the one from an unknown number, I bark out a laugh. He’d sent three messages. One with a simple “This is Graham.” And another with an eggplant emoji that says, “What? I’m a chef. I like vegetables.” And the last one, “You choose?”
“Christ.” I scrub my palm down my face and plop back down on my bed, grinning like a fool again.
I close the text app and open up his Instagram channel and watch the last video he posted. I already watched it on my plane ride here, but this time it’s different. I know what his hands feel like, and that his lips taste like sugar.
There’s no going back.
It’s just one night.
Nothing too heavy, just see what happens.
I want this.
Let yourself have a little joy.
I open up my texts again and exhale as I type with shaking fingers.
Me: I think I choose…
My thumb hovers over the eggplant emoji, but God, that doesn’t feel right either. I want whatever he is willing to give. I want him. I click back to the keyboard and type out three words.
Me: I choose you.