Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Maybe it was ‘ew,’ but you have no idea how happy I was to have an excuse to be with you. Even an unconventional one.”
“Hmm. So…are you a player or a gigolo or something?”
I barked a quick laugh before heading for the exit. “A gigolo is an escort. I haven’t tried that yet.”
“Yet?” He gaped at me. “Would you?”
“Nah. My mom would fuckin’ kill me.”
“Does she know you’re gay?”
“No, but she wouldn’t like it any better if I was getting paid to hang out with women. My folks are cool, but they’re traditional Latinos. The only reason they don’t ask if I’ve met a nice girl every Sunday at dinner is they know baseball comes first. I’ve got a built-in reprieve until I graduate,” I said, adjusting the volume on the radio before turning right onto University Street.
“Oh. My parents are hippies. Anything goes. I’m the only one in my family who’s a stickler for rules. I could never be in a flexible relationship. I’d go crazy if I constantly worried about my boyfriend fucking around on me. Trust me, it’s bad enough finding out about it after the fact.”
“It’s not for me either. I tried it once. I won’t do it again.” I listened to the Dodgers play-by-play for a moment. Runner on third. Tied ball game. Bottom of the eleventh. One out. I should have changed the subject to something mundane like the weather or hell, baseball. But I heard myself add, “My first boyfriend and I weren’t like that at all. Maybe we were young and idealistic, but it worked for us for five years.”
“That’s a long time. Were you high school sweethearts?”
“Sweethearts?” I repeated with a laugh. “We never used that term. We were secret boyfriends. Now we’re just best friends.”
“He the guy with you in LA, right? What was his name again?”
“Christian.”
“I remember meeting his hunky tutor at the bar.”
“Mmhm. They’re in a serious relationship now, so—”
“Hold up. Christian. You said he played football,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Is he the quarterback who just came out?”
“How would you know that? I thought you weren’t into sports,” I said with a frown.
“I’m not, but his coming-out story was big news. It even hit the theater department. He’s campus royalty. I didn’t know you were a couple.”
Fuck. Of course he didn’t know. No one was supposed to know.
“I shouldn’t have told you that.” I stopped at a red light and gave him a sharp look. “Can you just forget I brought it up? I mean, I don’t think I brought it up. I think you did, but…let’s drop it. Can you do that?”
Phoenix nodded slowly and pointed at the traffic signal. “Green light.”
I put my foot on the gas, mentally berating myself for having a big fucking mouth. The crazy thing was, I didn’t usually. I couldn’t figure out what made me blab incriminating information to someone I didn’t know very well. I felt a growing sense of unease as a silence settled over us like a thick fog. I could barely hear the baseball game on the radio.
By the time I pulled into the driveway of the local Del Taco, my mind was all over the place, conjuring nightmarish scenarios of being outed and kicked off my team. I should have headed for the drive-thru, but the line was long and the thought of sitting in a quiet car next to the guy I’d given the power to end my college baseball career made me nervous as hell. I didn’t think he would. Phoenix didn’t strike me as the malicious type, but I had to address it. I couldn’t just hope he’d let it go.
I swerved into a parking space facing the enormous storefront window decorated with dancing tacos, then killed the engine before glancing at Phoenix.
“Look…I, uh…” I scratched my stubbled jaw and let out a rush of air.
He set his hand over mine and inclined his head toward the radio. “What are we listening to?”
“The Dodger game. They’re in extra innings.”
“Extra what? What are the numbers?” He chuckled at my confused expression and made a circular hand motion as if it might help explain his meaning. “You know, the ones that tell you who’s winning and who’s not.”
I narrowed my gaze in the darkened interior, unsure if I was being punked. “The score.”
“If you say so.”
“Hmph. Well, the score is tied at five apiece, Dodgers up to bat, bottom of the eleventh,” I replied quickly.
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I have no idea what any of that means, but your whole body just visibly relaxed.”
“That’s ’cause baseball is easy. Real life isn’t,” I sighed. “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything about—”
Phoenix held up his hand to stop my speech. “Max, I’m a safe zone. You don’t have to say another word.”
I stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. I couldn’t say why, but I believed him. “Thank you.”