Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Boy, you have a lot of bitterness for someone who had the bright idea to invite me in for a shower.” Sean shook his head, tone more disappointed than censoring. “I’m not sure who wounded you, but it wasn’t me.”
“You’re right.” I blew out a harsh breath. This wasn’t like me, the snappy, judgmental attitude. Unlike Sean, I wasn’t good at the whole sharing my life history thing, but I owed him a piece of the truth.
“It’s not your fault. I seem to be a magnet for straight dudes. I don’t really do relationships, but the closest I had was a toxic on-again-off-again thing with a band member when I was a roadie for a number of years.” Somehow, I managed to make the disaster that was getting involved with James sound like a mild cold, not the poison that almost did me in. “He wasn’t ever coming out, and I knew it, but somehow, we kept ending up back in bed. I finally ended it. I wouldn’t say wounded, but maybe there are a few scars.”
Liar. My chest ached, the deep hole where others had hearts calling me out.
“Understandable. And I’ll be honest with you. I’m not sure what this was.” A muscle in Sean’s jaw moved as he finished putting on his shoes. “When I was younger, before Maxine and I got serious, I had some inkling that certain guys did it for me. Never acted on it because there was a lot of pressure to do the all-American football player thing. Then later, my porn-watching habits became rather…diverse. And then gradually more and more oriented toward man-on-man action. I didn’t want the divorce, but now that it’s happened, exploring doesn’t seem like the worst idea.”
“It’s not. Be safe out there, but sow those wild oats.” I made my voice hearty but detached. “Sounds like you never got the chance earlier. Go forth and have all the hookups.”
“But not with you?” Sean met my gaze, peering deeply into my eyes.
I glanced away. Didn’t need him seeing how damn much I’d like seconds with him. But I couldn’t. “Not with me.”
“You’re good with casual, but not repeats?” He sounded let down. Not only had he been a fire captain used to being in charge, but he was also charming enough that he probably didn’t often hear the word no.
“I’m not opposed to repeats, but I can’t be your introductory course in queer sex.” I went for firm honesty, steering him out of the bathroom, out of temptation’s range, and toward the door.
“Even if I asked nicely?” Yep. He was charming, all right. So charming I could way too easily picture him on his knees again, maybe this time on my bed…
Buzz. Buzz. Sean dug his phone out of his pocket before I could answer his question.
“Darn it. Eric’s kids are awake.” Frowning, he grabbed his jacket off the coat rack. “Some sort of pancake drama happening. I better go.”
I swallowed a frustrated noise. I’d been way too close to giving in and resented the reminder that Sean was a responsible guy. He was in town to help a friend, not drifting through, and for all he was eager to experience more, this wasn’t a guy who did casual anything. Dangerous for us both.
I nodded sharply, gesturing at the door. “Yeah, you better.”
“Well, uh… Thanks?” Sean offered me a crooked smile that quickly faded to a confused expression. He wasn’t the only one who had no idea how to part, but I couldn’t let him see that any more than I could let him see how tempted I was.
I nodded sharply but didn’t speak as Sean lingered near the door.
“See you around?”
Not if I can help it. “See you around.”
Chapter Five
Sean
Still reeling from my talk with Denver, I entered Eric’s kitchen only to encounter a war zone. The spacious room had been extensively remodeled, but it kept true to its late-Victorian roots with white cabinetry, a large farmhouse sink, a butcher-block island, and white tile backsplash and flooring. The stainless steel appliances were usually gleaming, and even with four teens, Eric managed to keep the space pristine. When we’d roomed together with Jonas and Tony, Eric had always been the neatnik.
He would freak out if he saw his immaculate kitchen covered with what appeared to be pancake batter studded with chunks of unidentified matter. On the island, several sticks of butter had been roughly hacked into bits without the benefit of a cutting board, and a river of syrup meandered toward the tile floor. A nearby blender was partially full of the same batter the cabinets currently sported, and the hand mixer, the food processor, and no less than three skillets and four mixing bowls had also been employed.
And I didn’t need to look farther than a stool at the island to spot the culprit.