Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
He’d been foolish and immature.
After that night he’d grown up fast. Of course he still had dreams, still chased them—he’d auditioned for the Sassy Boyz because of one—but he wasn’t the loser who continued trying when all the evidence said there was no point. People couldn’t be trusted. At any moment, they could decide he had nothing worthwhile to offer. They’d push him away and he’d be alone.
With Taylor Swift blasting, he got out his colored pencils and went to work. Everything he’d been feeling for the past few weeks went into the first five sketches. They were cluttered and chaotic, nothing like the sleek and sophisticated designs of his idol, Prince. It was probably a good thing he’d never tried to get into design school. They would have laughed him out of the building.
* * *
For the first time since he’d opened Switch, Rafe went home early.
By ten that night, he’d eaten a home-cooked meal, had a glass of whiskey, and showered. Now he was on his bed with his laptop, scrolling through charts and emails that didn’t need his attention until the morning. It was a coping mechanism. Work gave him something to do, something to think about, when the emptiness made his mind wander.
He tried to relax, but it was useless. He checked the time, ten past ten. Rafe flicked a glance at the dark screen of his cell on the nightstand.
Hop should’ve called by now.
Patience, he reminded himself. Insecurity was so out of character he rolled his eyes at himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t waited before. He was great at it. Delayed gratification was one of his specialties. Mostly because he was usually too busy to care if he’d gotten laid or not. Although he loved sex, it had never been high on his priority list.
Until recently.
Lately all he could think about were various ways he could bury himself in Hop.
As if on cue, the familiar ring of Skype came through the speakers.
Hop’s face came up on his screen like a riot of colors. He’d already washed his face and his eyelashes were still wet and spiky. His pink-purple hair was disheveled around his shoulders and he wore an oversize My Little Pony T-shirt, which hung off one shoulder provocatively.
“Hello,” Rafe said, thankful that his voice was its usual deep timbre.
“Did I disturb you?” Hop looked nervous, which made Rafe sit up straighter.
Rafe ignored the question. There was no way he could confess that he’d been waiting for Hop’s call. “How was rehearsal?”
“Fine. Tam’s a genius, no surprise there.”
Hmm, was he upset? Jealous? There was too much self-doubt in his eyes for Rafe to let it slide. “You all are.”
A deep sigh buffeted the microphone like static. “Are we going to do this, or what?”
Hop’s audacity shouldn’t be such a turn-on, but Rafe couldn’t deny the urge to see all that bravado melt away again.
“We are,” Rafe said. “Is your door locked?”
“Of course. Mom is in her room with the TV on, she’s probably already snoring.”
“Good. Give me a tour.”
“Huh?”
“I want to see your room.”
Hop seemed stunned by Rafe’s declaration.
“Is there a problem?”
“Uh.” He jostled the computer causing Rafe’s view to go askew. “There’s nothing much to see.”
“Show me anyway.”
When Hop came back, he was looking above the camera hesitantly. The view shifted as Hop lifted the laptop. The first thing Rafe noticed was color. Each wall was a different shade of pastel. They were covered with posters and stickers and photographs and drawings. He sat forward as if being closer to the screen would allow him to see them clearer. If he wasn’t mistaken, they were fashion designs. “Did you draw those?”
Hop’s reply was a mumbled assent and the camera quickly scanned to another part of the room. A desk, a dresser, a closet door, and a full-size bed, all cluttered and messy in a way that spoke to some kind of organization only the owner would understand.
Like Hop, the place was a shower of vibrancy and warmth. Even via the virtual waves, Rafe could sense the creativity seeping from every nook and cranny.
With an impatient huff, Hop returned to the bed, strategically angling the scene so nothing interesting was shown.
“You should be an interior decorator.”
Those blue eyes rolled. “Please.”
“I’m serious, you have a way with color and pattern. It should be too loud, but it works.”
“It’s a mess. I’ve been too busy to clean. I usually keep the clutter to a minimum.”
“There was a scientific study that said disorder could be linked to genius.”
A laugh gusted from Hop before his hand whipped up to muffle it, his eyes flicked over the camera to what Rafe assumed was the door.
“I thought she was asleep.”
“Maybe.”
“And maybe I’ll have to make you moan so loud she hears you.”
Hop’s mouth parted, and the mix of longing and mortification in his gaze shot straight through the camera into Rafe’s chest.