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)
“Fuck, that’s heavy.”
“Yes. I only told you about it because you asked, but…it’s a good example of my own communicative flaws. The Gregs of the world will always exist, but good friends…are special. Sarah wouldn’t have cared that I’m gay. She would have put friendship first. My lack of honesty led to a fissure we weren’t able to fix before she died. I regret that. If I’d been honest, I could have avoided a lot of pain.”
Ezra pulled me close. “I think a wiser man than me would say it’s better to learn from the past than to waste time on regrets.”
“That’s very mature of you,” I said, kissing his bare shoulder.
He pushed my hair from my forehead. “Hey, I think she’d be proud of you, Holden. Very fucking proud.”
I gulped around the ball of emotion in my throat and hugged him. “Thanks.”
Ezra fell backward and laid my head on his shoulder. I listened to his heartbeat in the quiet room, thinking how very strange it was to be here like this with him. Exposed and vulnerable, yet safe. Odd because being with Ezra was the definition of danger. He was a secret, and he had a big secret. And gosh, I didn’t do well with secrets. But I did well with him. I could stay here, just like this…and be very happy.
And then his stomach rumbled.
“I’m starving.” He kissed my cheek and untangled himself. “C’mon. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
I followed him to the door. “You should put on some shorts.”
“Take off my…what?” Ezra pulled his boxer briefs down and swayed, swinging his flaccid penis from side to side.
“Ezra, you can’t—”
“Last one downstairs has to clean the kitchen.”
“Grr!” I scrambled out of bed after him, chasing after him with the pair of shorts I’d found lying next to the bed.
In other words, nothing had changed. Ezra was still Ezra and that was…kind of wonderful.
We made turkey sandwiches—his turkey and cheese, my bread and condiments—and sat at the kitchen table, talking about random things, such as…
“What would you do if you won nine thousand dollars?”
I bit into my sandwich and shrugged. “Nine thousand dollars? That’s a rather arbitrary sum. Why not ten? Why not a million?”
“Don’t get greedy on me, Shakespeare. Look at it as the petit lottery. It’s not enough to pay off student loans, buy a plane, retire, and buy houses in five of your favorite cities around the globe. You actually have to think about it.”
“Good point, but I’m not sure. You go first.”
He squinted thoughtfully. “Easy. I’d take a killer trip and invest the rest.”
“I like that idea. Me too.”
“Where would you go?”
“Iceland,” I replied, chomping another bite. “I want to explore ice caves, glacier lagoons, and experience the Northern lights on full display. I want to visit places where stars bend to the Earth.”
Ezra grinned. “I fucking love the way you talk. You’re like a poet.”
“You’re an easy audience,” I said, not-so-secretly pleased with the compliment.
“Sometimes, but I mean it. You’re just enthusiastic enough to make weird things seem interesting.”
“Thanks, but the Northern lights are not weird.”
“True.” He popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth and took his plate to the sink. “Say you had exactly a thousand bucks leftover after sage investments and a ton of traveling…what would you do?”
“Give it to—”
“And you can’t give it to a charity,” he intercepted.
“Okay, then I’d enroll in a few classes. Maybe take ceramics or a cooking class or…” I met him at the sink and handed over my plate. “Poetry.”
Ezra washed my dish and motioned for me to pick up a towel. “Interesting. I don’t know much about ceramics, but I can teach you how to cook. And I know a little poetry.”
“You’re a chef and a poet now?” I snickered, placing the dried dishes in the cupboard.
“I was always a good cook. Hey, that sandwich was an Ezra original. What’dya think of it?”
“It was very tasty. But it was a basic turkey and cheese—”
Ezra lunged for me, tickling my sides, then leaning against the counter and drawing me to his chest.
“Basic? That was gourmet, baby. I’ll show you how to assemble a killer sandwich later. Let’s work on poetry now. Here’s a sample: Roses are red, sometimes they’re blue. I think you’re fucking amazing, and I want to do you.” He bit my chin. “That’s an original haiku…from me.”
I burst into laughter, wiggling when he nipped my ear. “You’re ridiculous. And that was not a haiku.”
“Close enough.” He nuzzled my neck, unbuttoning my shirt as he pressed kisses along my jaw. “I want you…so fucking much.”
“Mmm.”
“And you want me. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” I shivered when he held my chin, licked my lips, and drove his tongue inside, devouring me in long, hungry strokes.
I surrendered immediately. Of course I did. I didn’t know what it was about this man, but I seemed to lose track of time and all sense of propriety where Ezra was concerned. I swayed into his touch when he stroked me till my cock had the tensile strength of a steel rod. He unthreaded my belt and undid the buckle and zipper, pausing to grip me through my boxer briefs before pulling them over my ass.