Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I knew the answer to every single question. It was simple. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to notice me—even if it involved making an ass of myself. And while I might not be “in touch” with my feelings, I knew what jealousy felt like.
And I was jealous.
Me. Jealous.
I fully acknowledged that it was off-the-charts nuts to be jealous that my gay crush was going out with his gay booty call. But I was. The thought of Holden touching Marlon the super nerd gave me knots in my stomach that physically fucking hurt. I wanted to punch that twerpy dweeb. Holden could do so much better.
Like, who…me?
No. He didn’t know about me. Hell, in spite of what I’d shared with my brother, I barely knew about me.
But I did know that I’d been almost relieved when Blake came out to me a couple of years ago. Weird description, but it fit. Yet I wasn’t a hundred percent sure why. Maybe his admission gave me an internal green light to explore a part of myself I’d ignored.
I’d watched gay porn like a homework assignment I wanted to ace and researched the hell out of bisexuality. Other than collecting spank bank material and wondering where I fell on the sexual spectrum, I wasn’t sure what to do with the information.
Then I met the geek squad and was introduced to yet another whole new world. Not only were Tommy and Holden and their friends the smartest people I’d ever met, they were all extremely comfortable in their own skin. These guys were not athletes or movie stars, though. They were brainiacs. They dressed goofy, talked endlessly about shit that went straight over my head, and dissected reruns of Star Trek with an enthusiasm that was borderline psycho.
I didn’t get these dudes. But they fascinated the hell out of me.
Especially Holden.
C’mon, you had to give it up for a guy who didn’t think twice about wearing breeches and tights. That kind of confidence was rock-god-esque. He’d had my attention from day one.
And the more I observed his brand of genius in action, the more fascinated I became. The Three Musketeers hats, the Shakespearean quotes, and the obsessive desire for order. I admired his commitment to character and his thundering intellect. And I sincerely thought the sentiment had more to do with the fact that he was an anomaly to me. Someone new and…weird. In a good way.
But Holden had no idea that I’d spent nine months grappling with feelings I didn’t fully understand. He didn’t know that I hung on his every word, listened for his footsteps on the stairs, memorized his vocal inflections. He didn’t know that I’d stopped mindlessly fucking women whose names I couldn’t remember because sex with strangers wasn’t the distraction I wanted. He didn’t know that for the first time in my life what I really wanted scared the hell out of me.
Other than Ryan, who lived on the opposite side of the country, no one knew. And I was going to keep it that way. It was one thing to josh around with a roommate, but admitting to unrequited infatuation? No fuckin’ way. I wasn’t strong enough for that kind of shutdown.
Cole was right. Moving to Santa Monica would be good for me on a few levels. In the meantime, I had to put some real distance between Holden and me this summer.
Shit. I shouldn’t have taken that bet, but since I had, I’d better make damn sure not to step out of line for the next week.
I could do this.
3
HOLDEN
Either Ezra had a twin or he’d been taken over by zombies. Those were the only plausible explanations for him inexplicably turning into “roommate of the year” material. Over the past three days, he’d made coffee and enough breakfast to share with everyone—eggs, bacon, chopped fruit. And…he’d cleaned up. Fully clothed.
He’d also vacuumed the living room, folded towels in the bathroom, and made his bed. Sure, it was a simple matter of fluffing his navy duvet and stacking his pillows against the headboard, but it was momentous for Ezra. I wasn’t positive that he ever changed his sheets, so making a bed? Wow. Okay, I still wasn’t sure about the sheets. That wasn’t the point.
His sudden bout of cleanliness did not bode well for my cause. I needed him to fail. Just long enough to lose the bet. Then he could go back to being a paragon of homey virtue.
I scoffed at the idea. Ezra couldn’t keep this up. Three days was a minor miracle, but four…no way.
Today was the day he’d roll out of bed, kick his duvet and pillows to the floor, use all the hot water for his shower, drop his towel next to the toilet, and walk into the kitchen with one hand in his boxer briefs. He’d scratch his nuts while he waited for his coffee and top off the morning by handling all the fruit in the bowl, making eggs and toast for one, and leaving every dish and pan he’d used for someone else to clean.