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)
We’ve been on dates and spent plenty of nights together, but that was all before we talked about how we felt. It was to perpetuate the fake relationship we were trying to convince everyone of. Now, not only is it official, he fucking said he thinks he’s falling in love with me. And I love him.
I knew that’s what I was feeling all along. I didn’t want to use the word because it scared me. Because to call it that knowing he didn’t love me back—couldn’t love me back—would have been too painful.
But hearing those words coming from his mouth was magical.
Every bit of anger and frustration I carried with me from the party last Saturday dissolved in an instant. And the night we shared, kissing, caressing, loving…was amazing.
We’ve had an incredible week together, and I haven’t felt like I’ve had to hold anything back. I like getting cute texts from him while I’m at work. I enjoy waking up to him having his arm around me like I did that morning when he scared the crap out of me…and the morning when I was scared for an entirely different reason.
“You’re hot as hell in that shirt,” he says, standing behind me.
I went out with Hayden and Derek after work to H&M and picked out a blue polo. It’s a much brighter blue than I would have bought in the past, but when I tried it on, it was the first thing I’ve ever seen myself wearing that made me think, That’s me. And Hayden and Derek eagerly agreed.
“That’s the third time you’ve said that,” I say, recalling how his eyes lit up when he opened the door. Right before he attacked me with a kiss.
“And I’m gonna keep saying it until we get out of here so I can rip it off you.”
He wraps his arm around me and nuzzles his nose against the back of my neck.
I lean back against him. I could melt into him right now.
We get our tickets and head to an open area, finding a spot next to several other blankets where we’ll be able to get a good view of the stage.
“This was a perfect idea,” I say.
“Well, I know you love musicals,” he says. I turn to him and he winks.
I laugh as I recall the drunken night when I was singing Les Mis in the hall outside my place after we had dinner with Steven and Raymond.
We set up our blanket a few rows of people away from the stage before I get out some sandwiches I made before meeting up with him. Travis lounges on the blanket, clearly happy it’s Friday, and he doesn’t have to deal with any clients for the weekend.
I sit down beside him, and we remove the sandwiches from Ziploc bags before I pull out some bottled water I brought with us. Everyone around us is doing the same thing. Having some pre-show snacks. By the time we finish, the performers come onto the stage for a mic test, each singing something popular from the radio, getting the audience excited about the performance.
“These are good,” Travis says after he swallows a bite of his sandwich. “What are they?”
“Just ham, cheese, mustard, and mayonnaise. My personal favorite.”
“It’s really good,” he says before glancing around at all the other people here. “This is kinda cool. I didn’t realize they did this.”
“Neither did I. We’ll have to check and see if they’ll be doing any more plays this year.”
His gaze settles on a family a few rows in front of us.
An older woman sits on a lounge chair beside a young man who wears a rainbow wristband. She tells an older guy on a blanket next to them, “Oh, my son has been dying to see this show for a while now. He’s all over the theater department at his school. He’s the head of their LGBT Alliance group—”
“Mom…” her son says, dragging out the word in an annoyed tone.
“Let me brag on my boy,” she says.
She goes on, but I’m too focused on Travis to hear what she’s saying. I can tell, as he looks at them, he’s bothered by how at ease she obviously is about her son being gay.
“Must be nice,” he mutters. “To not be afraid of being judged. To be accepted. Encouraged, even.”
I’m thinking the same thing. I’m still stunned I could stand up to his parents last weekend. If someone had been shouting at me like that, I would have walked away. Wouldn’t have stood up for myself. But since it was Travis, I couldn’t stifle the impulse. I had to do something…because they didn’t have a right to make someone as incredible—as wonderful as Travis—feel like there was something wrong with him.
There’s nothing wrong with him. Even when I didn’t think he wanted me, I knew that. As I reflect on how Travis is with his parents, I’m reminded of what a wuss I am with mine.