Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
There’s a voice in the back of my head that tells me I should go for it. Steven said we would talk and now he’s making excuses why we can’t meet. Maybe everyone is right. Why not fuck to get what I want? It’s something I’m good at.
You’re so much more honorable than you think.
It’s Gary’s voice I hear in my head when I grab Vincent’s wrist. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, not sacrificing that for anything, and I sure as shit don’t plan to start now by letting this guy suck me off for money.
“I don’t do that shit. We can finish the massage or I can go. Don’t touch me like that again.”
When I let go of Vincent’s wrist, he pulls his arm back and rests it on the table again. “My mistake. I just thought you might be interested in having a little fun,” he says, anger making each one of his words stab at me.
The rest of the massage is uncomfortable. When I pack up to head out, I’m pretty sure I just lost a client, which is shitty in some ways because money is kind of important, but not enough to deal with this. My career is the one place in my life where I can prove people wrong about me…prove my parents wrong.
When I get to the car, I don’t think about what I’m doing when I call Gary.
“Hello?” he answers on the second ring.
“You said we’re friends, right? Hang out with me tonight. Not at the gym or some shit like that. Just come chill with me, Superass.” I didn’t mean to use the name, but I don’t take it back either.
There’s a pause before…“Yeah…yeah, I’d love to hang out with you tonight. That’s what friends do.”
***
We’re Ross and Rachel. It’s the stupidest shit to think, but those are the words that travel through my mind as Gary and I awkwardly sit on the couch in my apartment with shitty wine and lasagna in front of us.
If we had a lot of mutual friends, I feel like they’d have to choose sides. The whole time I think about how awkward this is, I have to keep reminding myself that we weren’t in a real relationship. We stopped fucking; that’s it. After Cody and I messed around, things never got weird between us.
“How’s work?” Gary asks.
“Good. It’s work.” I almost tell him about Vincent today, but I hold back. I don’t want him to ever think I’m that guy—screw someone I met at Flirt or on Grindr, yes. Fuck on the job, no. He likely already wonders about that, and the thought of Gary seeing me that way makes a vein on my forehead throb with anger.
“No news from Steven?” He takes a drink of his wine and looks over at me, those blue eyes of his expressive, even though I’m not sure what they’re saying.
“Nope. He keeps making bullshit excuses. He cancelled our meeting.” He says it’s nothing, but I’ve learned that when people say it’s nothing, it’s usually something.
He sets his glass down, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Did you ever think maybe they’re not excuses, Trav? Maybe he’s busy. Maybe something came up. You’re going to get that money because you deserve the money. You worked your ass off, and I can’t wait to see all the good things that happen to you because of it.”
“We,” I say.
“We what?”
“We worked our asses off. Don’t pretend I could have done this without you, and you called me Trav.”
His cheeks pinken slightly, making me chuckle. “I’ve fucked you in a hundred different ways, and you’ve had your dick in my ass too, yet you’re embarrassed that you called me Trav?”
“Just because you mentioned it!” He rolls his napkin and tosses it at me.
“Just because I thought it was cute.” I shrug. “You’ve never called me Trav before.” It’s this, I realize, that I missed. Talking to him, laughing with him, spending time with him without the awkwardness that his deciding not to fuck me anymore injected into our friendship.
But then I pretty much see Gary shut down. See the tension bleed back into us as he turns away and takes another bite of his food.
“Okay, seriously. We need to have this shit out. We were supposed to be friends and now you’re acting like I kicked your puppy every time I see you.”
His forehead wrinkles. “I don’t act like you kicked my puppy. I’m fine. You’re overreacting.”
“I’m overreacting? And maybe you’re not acting like I’m a puppy-kicker but you’re treating me like I’m really an ex.”
“Maybe because it feels that way to me! Did you ever think about that? God, I never should have done this. I should have known this would happen from the start.”