Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
He clears his throat. “Uh, you can use my bathroom to change. And I can hold your coffee while you do.”
I hand it over. “Thanks. Again.”
“No sweat.”
I cross the room and close the bathroom door behind me, leaning back against it as I look up at the ceiling and silently mutter to myself to hurry up and get dressed and then get out of here.
I don’t know why I thought this reunion would be anything but awkward. It’s not like we’re long-lost friends. It’s not like our one night together wasn’t awkward as fuck. I should’ve expected this.
I want to tell Peyton what I’m really doing here, but I can’t. I need to keep up my ruse in case it somehow gets back to my dad that I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Peyton’s dads and my dad are all public figures back in Chicago. They run in the same circles. The only difference between them is when the Talon-Millers throw a fundraiser for charity, it’s because they actually care. When my father does it, it’s because it’s a tax write-off.
My shirt smells gross as I whip it off, and its fate has been sealed by the stain left behind. Death by coffee. It’s not the worst way to go.
My pants go next, and then I pull on Peyton’s jeans. They’re a bit loose but shouldn’t fall off me. When I pull the purple FU Kings football shirt over my head, I still can’t believe I go to a school that has so much school pride none of the students care about wearing merch with fukings on it. And they’re all in on the joke by pretending they miss it completely.
Either Peyton is a slow dresser, or he’s purposefully trying to kill me because when I open the door, he’s standing there, back to me, shirtless and only wearing low-hanging sweats.
He has those hot as fuck dimples at the base of his spine, and I want to lick them.
When I force my gaze away from his ass, I find him watching me over his shoulder. Oops. Busted.
Moving on. “I should go and let you get to class.”
Peyton folds his arms and leans against his chest of drawers, narrowing his gaze at me. “Okay, what’s your deal?”
“My deal?”
“I wasn’t going to ask, but none of this makes sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
“You being here.”
“You … invited me here.”
He’d have to know I’m being intentionally stupid. “Not my house, dumbass. FU.”
“Fuck you too, asshole.”
Peyton looks like he’s trying to hold back an actual laugh.
“And on that note …” I pick up my bag off the ground and shove my ruined clothes in there next to my laptop. “I’m gonna go.”
Peyton steps into my space. All six foot one of football player. He’s only an inch taller than me, but I still feel towered over. “Are you?”
“Yup.”
“You know, refusing to answer why you’re here makes me think it’s a big deal, and then I want to know more. It’ll be easier to tell me and get it over with.”
I adjust my shoulder strap. “It’s nothing. I got sick of all the East Coast crap, and I remember being jealous of you for coming to Franklin. When it came to choosing grad schools, I guess yours sounded like the complete opposite to the Harvard pressure.”
He rubs his chin. “Real nice. Come to Franklin U. We’re the opposite of Harvard because we’re all dumb.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Sure, it isn’t. Well, now that you’ve insulted me, you should feel guilty enough to tell me what I want to know.”
I swallow hard. “What do you want to know?”
He leans in, and he smells like coffee and fresh bodywash. My cock responds, and he’s not even touching me. Peyton’s standing so close that my growing cock brushes over his groin, and he looks down between us. He unleashes a smile so wide I begin to worry he’s going to mock me for getting turned on.
Then all at once, he steps back, the spell is broken, but his smile remains. “Never mind. I think I got my answer.”
I snap out of a lust-infused trance. “Huh?”
The sound of the front door opening echoes down the hallway, followed by Brady’s voice. “Bro, you home?”
“Okay, that really is my cue to go.” I can’t get out of here fast enough.
CHAPTER FOUR
peyton
If Levi wasn’t into guys—or at least, me—his dick wouldn’t have filled out my jeans the way it did. His breath wouldn’t have hitched, and his eyes wouldn’t have begged me to kiss him.
It’s that I loved every second of it that causes a problem. I don’t have time to go through a sexual identity thing right now. Sure, that little voice in the back of my head has been telling me for the last four years that I’m bisexual, but I need to focus on football. Not my dick. And definitely not with the drama of coming out. The media is on my ass already about what draft position I’ll get and whether or not I’ll live up to my dad’s legacy. Adding “Hey, I’m also queer, along with my bi dads and my gay brother” to the mix will be a shitshow.