Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
All the SEALs Canaan had met were ridiculously competitive, and Renzo was no exception, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he made his proposition. Luckily, Canaan had played crazy games like this on the bridge as a teen with friends.
“I’m game. But no shoving.” He didn’t relish a trip to the bottom of the canyon beneath them.
“Of course not.” Renzo rolled his eyes. “I play fair. One, two, three...go!”
The trip back was nothing like their leisurely stroll across. The bridge shook and shimmied as they ran, and Renzo’s laughter filled the night air. The urge to pause and get his balance was almost overwhelming, but no way was he letting Renzo win that easily. As soon as they hit the sidewalk and firm ground, it was on, and he scrambled ahead of Renzo, using his smaller size to his advantage.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Renzo caught up easily, but Canaan knew how to sprint. Renzo could undoubtedly leave him in the dust on a marathon, but Canaan had years of sprinting to catch the bus on his side. He dug deep, kicking hard, but Renzo stayed with him. They touched the truck at almost the exact same instant.
“Guess we’re going Dutch.” Renzo grinned at him. “That was fun. Where to next?”
Canaan quickly programmed his phone. “Surprise. It’s about fifteen minutes away, but it’ll be worth it, I promise.”
“I’m trusting you.” Renzo shook his finger at Canaan before getting back in the truck.
Trust. Such a powerful word. His chest felt heavy and full, as if the fear of disappointing Renzo was a palpable thing. For the first time, he wanted more than just to show Renzo a good time—he wanted to earn that trust, wanted to give Renzo a reason to want a repeat. Wanted this to maybe be the start...
No. He had to guard against magical thinking. His earlier daydream loomed large in his brain along with the idea that Renzo could be the perfect answer to his dilemma about the camping trip. Hot, bi, available SEAL with some time on his hands. He’d be a fool to let that slip through his hands...
Trust. That one word kept his lips glued together as they headed for 163. Renzo was trusting him not to take advantage of him. If he asked—if—he wanted it to be because he believed Renzo would say yes in order to spend more time with Canaan. He wanted it to be more than just a favor. If he asked, it would be because he believed that spending more time together would be a good thing. And right now he wasn’t going to worry about asking or not, instead he was going to worry about earning more of that trust by showing Renzo these slivers of himself that few ever got to see. Trust. It went both ways, and his chest clattered with nerves about how much he was putting himself out there for this man.
Chapter Three
Renzo liked to drive, which was lucky because Canaan seemed bound and determined to drag his ass all over San Diego. They left Hillcrest and headed north into a part of the city he’d never had reason to go before.
“You get all over just with the bus?” he asked Canaan as he navigated the heavy Friday night traffic on 163.
“Nah. I’ve got access to a car sometimes. I kinda...share one.” Canaan was a little cagey, which was curious as it didn’t seem in keeping with his easygoing personality.
“Hey, man, I feel you. I used mass transit all over Philly growing up. My folks didn’t have enough for an extra car. And I only got the truck recently. Before then it was all begging rides from buddies.”
He glanced over right as Canaan rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be defensive. Just feels weird to be twenty-six and still in school, still saving cash.”
“Twenty-six? Really?” Renzo would have pegged him as younger, but that might be mainly the hair—which was near-platinum and had the sort of deliberate volume that only came with attentive blow drying—and his pouty mouth. His worldly way of carrying himself said he wasn’t a kid. Freed of his Smoothie Palace apron, he had on a plain black tee and black jeans held up by a chunky leather belt that matched his industrial-style boots. The whole package gave him the sort of punk vibe Renzo really dug. “I’m twenty-eight. I always get people saying I look young too.”
“It’s your hair.” Canaan laughed. “The product makes you look younger.”
“Hey now. Maybe it’s my superior genetics. My mom joked about getting carded at forty.” Renzo paused for the GPS to tell him to continue heading north. “What are you in school for?”
“Nursing. Laugh and I’ll change the GPS to fast food.” Canaan had more of that bluster about him.