Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“Don’t say no!” Hector yells. “You always say no!”
He’s right.
I’ve never gone out with them. Saying no is easier for me. I don’t need to worry about where they want to hang out and if there’s going to be drinking involved.
Some people don’t respect sobriety.
I hope Miguel and Hector aren’t those kind of people, and avoiding situations like this are sometimes better than finding out.
“I can’t!” I tell them.
“Come on, Jakey! Is it us? Do you hate us that much?”
I stare a little harder when Miguel wipes his finger below his eyes.
Wow.
“Did you just wipe away a fake tear?” I ask, walking over to them. “I’m touched, Miguel. Really.”
“Who says it was fake?”
His smile says it was fake.
“I can cry too if it’ll help.” Hector sticks out his bottom lip.
“Jesus. Look.” I sigh when I reach them. “I don’t hate either one of you, even though you both need to get off my nuts when I’m texting people.”
“Not people.” Miguel looks devious. “Lady friends.” He wiggles his brows.
I simply shake my head. “I just figure there’s going to be drinking involved when you guys hang out, and I can’t do that. I’m in recovery. I can’t drink. At all.” I shrug. “So, I can’t go. Thanks for asking, but I can’t be around that.”
Miguel and Hector look at each other.
“What?” I ask.
Hector places his hand on my shoulder. His expression serious. “That’s noble, Jake.”
“Yeah. Noble,” Miguel echoes.
“I don’t know about that—”
“It’s also something you don’t need to worry about with us,” Hector continues. “Because we just hang out and eat. And as long as you can eat, then you can hang out too.”
“It’s more about food with us,” Miguel says. “And the company.”
“The company is important,” Hector adds.
Miguel holds up his finger. “But mainly the food.”
“So, neither one of you drink?” I ask.
“Oh, we drink.” Hector drops his hand. “But our Friday night calories are reserved for pizza and wings.”
“And sometimes mozzarella bites.”
I look between the two of them. “Your Friday night calories?”
Who talks like this?
“We’re both enrolled in Weight Watchers,” Miguel shares.
“Really,” I ask Hector. “Taquitos? You eat fried shit every day.”
Oh, the guilt. It’s written all over his face.
“We’re loosely enrolled,” he quickly clarifies. “You need to find what works so you don’t quit, and this is what works for us.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“Come on, Jakey. Hang out with us for a little while. Let’s be friends! We won’t pressure you to drink.”
Hector nods in agreement. “No pressure. Not from us.”
I think on this. “Friends, huh?”
Fuck.
Not trying to sound all sappy and shit, but it would be nice if I had more than one friend here.
And I technically could swing this tonight. I have a couple of hours to play with. My meeting isn’t until nine anyway.
Plus, they said they wouldn’t be drinking. I’ll just have to ignore everyone else who is.
“If you need to leave, you leave,” Miguel says, reading my mind.
Hector’s grin is so wide and hopeful, I smile back.
I’m nodding before I say I’ll go with them, and then I’m warding off their hugs, ducking out of the way of arms and swinging lunch pails.
God, I hope I don’t regret this.
I regret this.
I regret this so fucking much.
But not because of drinking or anything like that.
We’re at this sports-themed restaurant in the busy part of Ruxton, and Miguel and Hector make sure to grab a table for us as far away from the bar as we can get.
They’re also throwing back glasses of soda.
So, no issues so far.
We’ve been eating and talking about random shit, ranging from work to my sobriety, which they’ve shown a surprising amount of supportive interest in. And up until about ten minutes ago, I was feeling really fucking happy about being here with them.
Then I was asked if I’m a “power bottom” by Miguel out of fucking nowhere, nearly choking on the bite of crust I was in the process of swallowing and spilling my own glass of soda all over my lap, which led to Hector trying to pat my jeans dry with wads of napkins and then smugly asking if that was doing anything for me.
Yeah. That happened.
And while they wait for me to answer, they’ve decided to have their own conversation about tops, bottoms, and twinks, because why not?
“What makes one a power bottom and not just a regular bottom, Hector? Any idea?”
“I think it’s all about how you move your hips, Miguel. You know, when you’re bottoming.”
“Yes. That sounds right.”
“I’d be a total power bottom.”
“You would. I can picture it.”
“I wonder, are all twinks tiny? Could I also be a twink?”
“No. I think you’re too large for that, my friend.”
“Well, one can hope. I am really killing it with this Weight Watchers thing.”
“You are. Maybe being a twink is in your future.”
“I’m not gay though. I think I’d have to be gay.”