Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“Mmm. I was thirteen the first time I told someone I was gay.”
“I thought your mom told you when you were ten.”
“She did. But the word ‘gay’ didn’t mean anything to me until my first crush, Billy Bower, broke my heart. He was straight…or so he claimed—and he didn’t like the way I looked at him. He was a sporty person like you, but I don’t remember what he played.” Ash waved dismissively, then held my hand again. “Doesn’t matter. He hurt my feelings and called me names I don’t care to repeat and—”
“That little fucker,” I growled.
Ash snickered. “Precisely. I was so…out of sorts that night. I was angry, hurt, and a little scared too. I didn’t want to be the focus of negative attention and honestly, the whole ‘gay’ thing confused me. I wasn’t bad…I was good. I tried very hard to be good. I didn’t like that stupid Billy Bower made me feel less than for being gay. When I was ten and the soccer boys said the same things, it was different somehow. There was no weight behind the sentiment then. They were repeating words they’d probably heard at home. But a couple of years makes a big difference. I understood Billy, and he suddenly became rather ugly to me.”
“I want to beat him up,” I groused.
“Well, thank you. But he ceased to matter a long time ago.”
“What’d you do? I hope you beat him up.”
“Hmph. No, I informed my mother that I was angry with her for telling me I was gay. In my mind, she stole my voice. I was the one who was supposed to make that announcement. No one else. That was my story to tell.”
“What’d she say?”
“She advised me to tell someone I trusted. One person at a time. And of course, she apologized and I forgave her and immediately apologized for making her feel bad.”
I lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Of course you did. So, who’d you tell?”
“My algebra teacher.”
Tears welled in my eyes. Don’t ask me why. Something about picturing thirteen-year-old Asher waltzing up to a teacher and sharing his truth was so…brave and achingly sweet. “Yeah?”
“He was a nice man. I waited after class, recited formulas for the three variable equations we’d been working on earlier, and blurted, ‘I’m gay.’ ” Asher grinned at the memory. “Mr. Tapfer handled my announcement exceedingly well. He squeezed my shoulder, told me that I was a fine young man or something like that…and wished me all the best. I did the same thing the next day…I chose my favorite teachers, and slowly, I began to tell my friends. I wasn’t ashamed. Ever. But I needed to practice.”
I swallowed around a ball of emotion. “I wish I’d known you when we were kids. Something tells me you were pretty fucking special.”
Asher twisted to face me, flashing a smile so wide his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “I was what you would call a nerd.”
“And now?”
“I haven’t changed considerably,” he admitted.
“I hope you never do.”
“You’re in luck. I don’t know how to.” We chuckled softly and went quiet again. After a moment, he squeezed my fingers and added, “I’m proud of you, Blake.”
A single tear rolled down my cheek unchecked as a decade-old emotional tidal wave surged inside me. I’d wasted years, hurt people with careless lies, yet the real victim was always me—coaching myself not to stare too long or say anything too gay, willing myself to be more straight than bi. I’d been in pain and had caused pain for so fucking long and just now…just this very second, I’d pulled the heaviest weight from my chest.
I could breathe now.
I made love to Ash that night on his queen-sized bed. I didn’t use that phrase lightly…but that was exactly what it was. Making love.
We’d laughed at the effort we made to be quiet so we didn’t disturb his roommates with our usual enthusiasm in the bedroom. But as I stared into his eyes, moving inside him with slow, deep strokes paired with sweet, passionate kisses, I knew something bigger was happening here. We set a perfect balance of give-and-take. I drove forward as he arched to meet me, wrapping his body around mine, pulling me in until I fell apart.
We didn’t speak afterward. I didn’t want to leave him, and he seemed to want me close. He didn’t rush off to take a shower or fuss about setting the alarm. He didn’t talk about breakfast or the busy day ahead. He simply curled against me, laid his head on my chest, and fell asleep.
I lay awake, listening to him breathe for a while, loving his warmth and the weight of him. That earlier wave of mixed emotions was replaced by one of absolute contentment. Everything about being with him felt right. Sure, I was aware that I still had a lot of mental baggage to sort through, but this tiny man with a huge heart and truth serum running through his veins made anything seem possible.