Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I took a right at a giant fountain and quickened my pace when I spotted the modern-style building at the end of the path. I hiked my backpack on my right shoulder and glanced around the park-like expanse of grass in front of the gym before taking a seat on the edge of a stone bench. I ignored the gaggle of peppy young girls on the other end and pulled out my cell to let Rory know I’d arrived and where to find me. I also added that I had a red backpack, thinking it would make it easier to spot me in the crowd. He responded immediately with a thumbs-up sign.
Great. I sat up straight and cast my gaze toward the entrance. This was definitely not your average gym. I loved the contemporary design. It was eye-catching but tasteful, I mused as a few volleyball players stepped outside, tossing a ball between them. Three of the men were taller than me with long, lanky physiques, but the fourth was much smaller. If he hadn’t been wearing the same jersey as the others, I wouldn’t have thought he was on their team. He laughed at something one of his friends said before turning around to greet a tattooed hottie who came through the door behind him. I looked down at my phone, then up again just as Mr. Tattoo snaked his arm around the volleyball player, pulled him close, and kissed him. In broad daylight.
I lowered my sunglasses and stared for a moment before glancing around the quad to see if anyone else noticed or gave a shit. I knew it was ridiculous, but old habits died hard. I grew up in an extremely conservative household. No joke—my folks went apeshit crazy when they heard that one of our top players had come out by kissing his boyfriend at a major end-of-season game last year. They’d asked me a million accusatory questions like they thought I was in on it. Honestly, I was as shocked as everyone else. I hadn’t known Evan was bi or seeing someone. But I loved the guy like a brother, and I was happy for him. I smiled at the memory of Evan coming out to our team, then refocused on the tatted hunk.
He was standing on his own now, peering at his watch. Damn, he was sexy. Tall and toned with golden skin and—I winced when my cock swelled against my zipper. Oh, fuck. I yanked my sunglasses off and scrolled unseeing through my phone until I had my breathing under control again. The last thing I needed was to meet my new tutor sporting a hard-on. Where was he anyway? He should have—
“Hey, are you Christian?”
I shaded my eyes as I looked up and—no way.
I licked my lips nervously and stood. “Uh…yeah. You’re Rory?”
“Yeah,” he said in a low, deep voice that sent a tingle of awareness along my spine.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a roguish twist I supposed doubled as a smile. On anyone else, it might have come across as a poor imitation with an insulting lack of sincerity. On Rory, it was kind of badass. He exuded a James Dean cool with panache. I was a couple of inches taller than him. I knew I stood out among the jocks at Chilton, but I felt small next to Rory. And ordinary. I had brown hair, blue eyes, and maybe I was considered attractive, but he was…wow.
He had a thick build, short dark-blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw and cheekbones. He wasn’t classically handsome, but he was striking. His sheer size alone probably turned heads. Those muscles were a thing of beauty. I couldn’t help noticing the way his thick biceps and broad shoulders tested the fabric of the sleeves on his black T-shirt. And that ink…damn. The swirling colorful design had nautical and fiery elements that made me curious about what was underneath his clothes.
Gulp. I clandestinely adjusted my backpack to cover my crotch and extended my right hand in greeting. He glanced from my outstretched hand to my mouth and back again before sliding his palm against mine and fuck…I almost came in my jeans.
Okay, here’s the thing…I knew I was gay. I’d known it for years. At least since I was twelve. But the closet door was closed, and the lock was temporarily secure. I’d become an expert at playing it cool and acting unfazed by guys I found attractive. But Rory wasn’t my type. I didn’t go for muscular guys who looked like they could kick my ass. So why was I suddenly sweating? It had to be because I’d just seen him stick his tongue down his boyfriend’s throat. I hadn’t expected him to be gay…and sexy as fuck. This could be bad. Real bad.