Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
It was my favorite group. The one place I didn’t feel awkward and out of sorts. Maybe because history made me confident. I couldn’t stop reading about it, and most recently, I was completely obsessed with the Falklands War. I’d devoured at least ten books on the topic since last summer when I’d seen a documentary about the war.
In fact, my studio apartment had precisely four walls, not counting a tiny bathroom and kitchenette, and two walls were dedicated to history. Floor to ceiling with history books. Okay, the ceilings were slanted, so the walls weren’t massive, but whatever—I had hundreds and hundreds of books, and I’d read most of them. This dude who’d been arguing with Greer about the US remaining impartial in the Falklands War was so wrong. It was as if he hadn’t read a paper since the war had ended.
While I waited for the next response in the group, I got up from the couch and decided I’d stalled long enough. I had to clear some dishes from my coffee table. Grandma had sent me home with leftovers yesterday, and I’d spent all day today in my pajamas, eating too much.
In my defense, it was snowing outside, and I had zero desire to join the Christmas shopping herds on the sleet-covered ground of Georgetown. I’d trip in a second! It was the curse of Georgetown, ’cause it was so pretty, but the roads and sidewalks were uneven and ancient.
I carried as many plates and glasses as I could to the kitchen and dumped it all in the sink. Then I glanced out the narrow window, and yeah, snow was still falling heavily. The little side street I called home was all cobblestones—a deathtrap to me.
If I had my way, I’d stay up here till spring.
Unfortunately, I had work tomorrow. Right downstairs. Horrible commute. Work on the first floor, live on the second.
After grabbing another soda and making sure General had water in his bowl, I went back to the couch and plopped down. The movie I’d put on ran in the background, and I hadn’t watched a minute of it.
Crap, I should change the sheets too… I’d spilled gravy on them earlier.
I heard Dad in my head, fussing, telling me to make room for a bed, but then I would have to clear a bookcase or two. No way, José. My couch was huge and plenty comfy.
I positioned the laptop in my lap again and noticed I had a new message from someone. Probably a Dom who wanted to play and then ghosted me after five minutes. As usual.
I clicked on the message and cocked my head. From @BoyMcKenna? That was Macklin. Oh my gosh. He’d been the first one I’d crushed on when I’d joined the Mclean kink community in September. I’d just seen him a few days ago when he’d hosted a casual drink meetup at his restaurant. It’d been my promise to myself, to show up at a minimum of one event this December.
Sigh.
In the end, I’d stood in the background and people watched. The sexiest man I’d ever seen had arrived, Kit had stopped by briefly with his Daddies, Mistress Penelope had been there too, and Macklin… Macklin had approached me with a sly smirk, making me all nervous, and it turned out he’d caught me gawking at the older man.
“His name is Dean. Are you interested? I can introduce you if you want.”
“Um, n-no, thanks, I’m good.”
Oh shit. Had I forgotten to pay my bill? Was that why he was messaging me? No, I was certain. I’d paid it. I was an occasional klutz, but I was not forgetful.
I opened the message and braced myself.
Hi, Gael. This is Macklin in case you don’t recognize my handle.
I couldn’t help but notice your activity in the history group. It says in your profile that you’re a student, so I was just wondering if you’re studying history.
“Huh.” I tilted my head, confused. He wasn’t making small talk, was he? Or…?
I replied quickly, ’cause I wasn’t going to figure out why he’d messaged by just guessing.
Hi, Macklin! I’m a part-time student. (It’s mostly for fun.) I just finished one class, and I have another starting in January, Russian Military History. Why, if you don’t mind my asking?
I pinched my lip and sent it off, hoping the exclamation mark didn’t make me sound too excited.
General jumped up on the couch in a flash of gray and obviously wanted to sit on the laptop, so I had to scoot his boot to the side.
I stroked the soft fur over his head, past the tufts of longer hair, down his fuzzy tail, and he stretched out before he turned away from me and curled up at the other end of the couch. He usually slept up on the backrest closest to where I had my pillows. Or up on one of the shelves, where he could watch over his territory.