Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“I just want to touch you and kiss you and get my mouth all over you,” I say. Cool October air whisks by, but I don’t feel a chill. Heat spreads through me. “And with you I feel like I’m having sex for the first time.” There. That’s one of the truest things I’ve ever said to anyone.
He blows out a surprised breath. “You do?”
I’m about to answer when a pack of men and women in suits trot past us, maybe late to work. Shit. Hunter has to move too. Get to the office.
I drape an arm around him, urging him forward. We pick up the pace. “Everything feels new again. Everything feels…”
Right.
But right is a terrifying word.
“Was your twat ex not into sex?” he asks.
I wince, chagrined he’s hit the nail on the head. But then, it wasn’t hard to guess. “Not with me,” I clarify, the admission scraping my throat. “He wasn’t into sex with me.”
Hunter growls, then bumps his shoulder to mine. “I’m very into sex with you.”
This man is the jackpot. “I know. And I like that.”
As we dart past a pack of men in suits barking into their phones, I take a beat to sort out my wild, lustful thoughts for Hunter Colburn. But they’re tanglier than I expected, twisted up with the need to spend time with him.
We stop at the crosswalk as the morning light streams over a nearby red phone booth. There, I try again. “I can’t do commitment. I can’t promise anything. But I’d really like to spend as much time with you this week as we can,” I say, adding that the team goes into lockdown on Saturday morning. Players have to stay alone—no wives or girlfriends, or husbands or boyfriends—the night before a game.
“I’m in,” Hunter says, and it’s that easy.
Now that I’ve put my cards on the table, I’m jazzed by the idea of another great night, or two or three. I’m even excited to go to the reception Friday night with him. “What do you like to do for fun in London?”
“Bike rides around the city or on trails. Going to the movies. Theater. Music. The concert was great. I love going to see bands. And just hanging out with mates. Trevor and Liam already want to meet you.”
I can tell that would make him happy.
The thing is, it would make me happy too.
“Hanging with buds is the best. Let’s do whatever we can, okay? I mean, we’re married. And we’re staying together in my hotel. So I figure we can have lots of sex at night and in the mornings, and then maybe find time to see each other when we can.”
I’m a salesman, making my big pitch. A week of no strings.
“We’ll be two Ryans,” Hunter says, upbeat.
Confused, I knit my brow. “What does that mean?”
“It’s something my sister said about us yesterday. She said we were two Ryans, like in The Proposal. Well, if Ryan Reynolds wound up with a man. Come to think of it, maybe I should just produce a hot queer film called Two Ryans.”
Before I get distracted by thoughts of this flick that I definitely want to see someday, I file away the fact that Hunter told his sister about me.
“In Two Ryans, do the dudes agree to hot banging and hanging out for a week?” I ask.
Hunter nods big and long. “Why yes, Nate. They do. And it’s fantastic. The hanging and the banging.”
“It will be,” I say, sealing the deal.
One week in London, no strings, all the sex, and all the good times. None of the hurt.
This is going to be the best seven days ever. The only thing that would make it better would be some football—oh, wait, that’s happening too. Since this week will end in a football game.
26
WORTH THE HALL PASS
Nate
That night after a team dinner, it’s yoga time in the room. I’m no yogi but the practice keeps me limber enough, so I try to do a few minutes every day.
As I blast some Amelia Stone, I move through warrior, then down to cobra while the British pop star’s honeyed voice serenades me. I’m downward dogging it as she sings about meeting a lover after dark when the door swings open.
“Remember what I was saying this morning?” Hunter shouts in a declaration.
“Gaston was a dick? Sausages are life? You want to climb me like a tree?”
From my pose, I watch his feet move across the room.
“The answer is—” Hunter stops short on the carpet. I crane my neck, looking up. Hunter’s staring salaciously down at me. He points at my ass. “Put me in that position. Don’t hog the downward-facing dog all to yourself.”
Laughing, I pop up. “Was that really what you were going to say?”
He tosses a messenger bag on the floor. “Thereabouts. Get back in the saddle. That’s what I was going to say.”