Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
I think I hurt him nonetheless.
Jimmy doesn’t really express himself well when he’s hurt. Normally, he gets a twisted, indignant look on his face whenever I just say something wrong. But when he’s hurt—truly hurt—he won’t even reply; he’ll just give me that look he’s got on his face right now as his pretty eyes harden and intensify with frustration.
He looks so beautiful when he hurts.
I sigh, unable (or unwilling) to apologize, and pull myself out of the pool. My feet slap against the hot-as-lava stone as I grab my clothes off the chair and head for the house, not caring if Jimmy’s staring at me as I go, or wondering anything, or fuming.
I’m inside his kitchen pouring myself a glass of lemonade when I hear him follow me inside. He stops at the other end of the kitchen island where he leans against it, his lithe, toned, panther-like body on full display, dripping with pool water.
“So I’m nothin’ but a spoiled Strong boy, huh?” he asks, his voice soft and thin.
“Oh, here you go,” I return as softly, a glass of lemonade in hand. “Bein’ all sensitive because I went and hurt your feelings.”
“My feelings aren’t hurt.” He eyes me. “But it isn’t my feelings I’m tryin’ to do somethin’ about here.”
My eyebrows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m tired of seein’ you alone, Bobs.”
The glass I just poured gets set down on the counter, not a sip taken from it. I stare at Jimmy like I didn’t just hear his words.
And he’s got more of them, apparently: “Don’t get me wrong. I want to spend the whole dang summer with you. I don’t give a shit about all these Sprucers who want to get all up in our business. But I’ve seen the way you look at other couples, and I see how you get when we come back here to Spruce and there’s, like, no other gay dudes to hang with other than my brother and his husband. You aren’t really close with Trey or Cody. C’mon, dude. You need to be around men who’ll … who’ll look back at you. And since you don’t got a car, I wanna be the one to give that to you, and also to bodyguard you or, uh, somethin’.”
He really has a way to make my troubles all about him, even when he thinks he’s being kind.
I smirk. “Sure, Jimmy. Or maybe you just want a bunch of gay dudes drooling over you, because no matter where the attention is comin’ from, you can’t get enough.”
“So do we got ourselves a plan or not?” he asks, ignoring my taunt. “Friday night? Some seedy hotel? Or do I gotta tickle you some more ‘til you give?”
My ribs feel the fresh memories of his fingertips. I’m tempted to dare him to tickle me some more, just to feel his hands on me again, just to be touched, just to see how far he’ll go, just because sometimes I love pushing his buttons and having mine pushed in return.
An untimely, fierce blush creeps over my frustrated cheeks at the thought.
Instead, I just shrug at him, lift the lemonade to my lips, and drink.
Jimmy Strong nods victoriously.
He’s such a cocky bastard sometimes.
6
JIMMY
I pick through my drawers, thumbing through my underwear choices like pages in a book. I pull out three pairs of black shiny boxer briefs and set them on the bed, followed by four pairs of white ankle socks. Bobby will make fun of me for bringing so much underwear for just an overnight stay, but I’m kind of obsessed with being prepared for anything.
Which is why I also bring three different choices of shirts to wear. With matching skinny-leg jeans, both distressed and not. I throw in a third pair, just in case. I also snag a crisp jacket out of the closet in case I want to dress up any of my shirts a little more.
And let’s not forget three choices in shoes.
I’ll need plenty of choices in case nothing feels right. I could have asked my brother for advice earlier when he and Billy came to the main house for breakfast, but for some reason, I chickened out when he asked me where I was taking Bobby this weekend. I don’t know why I couldn’t just tell him it was the gay bar he told me about. What’s the big deal, anyway? I’m doing it for my best buddy Bobby. My brother would think it’s totally awesome, get that big stupid twinkle in his eye, then trap me in a headlock while he gives me cheeky warnings about not taking any “free drinks” from the men at the bar.
I stand in front of my filled-up suitcase, complete with about a gazillion toiletries, and chew on my lip as I wonder whether I’ve forgotten anything.