Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Besides, I think Tad is sweet on Mia,” I added.
Mom scrunched her nose. “She’d never give him the time of day.”
“I would hope not,” I replied, and we both laughed.
“Once I move out, you’ll feel freer to invite people over,” she said with a knowing look, and she had a point. But if anyone had a problem with the idea of me living with my mom, then they weren’t worth my time—and absolutely not the one for me.
Besides, I was fine on my own. Probably always would be.
“Whatever you say, Ma.”
3
Seth
“You look tired, gorgeous,” Jesse said, sitting across the kitchen table from me. He usually stopped by a couple of times a week and called almost every day. He felt guilty about moving out, though he would never tell me. I felt guilty that he felt guilty, and on top of that, well, ridiculous. He was my best friend, and I hated that he felt almost like he had to take care of me. I wasn’t sure that was the right way to put it, but he definitely checked up on me and worried.
“I’m fine.”
He reached out and brushed his thumb beneath my right eye. “Some concealer might make that a little more believable. Dark circles never lie.”
“Hey! I don’t have circles, you jerk!” I replied, and we both laughed. I loved hanging out with him. I missed seeing him every day.
“Seriously, though. Are you sleeping? Do you need some Jesse time?”
I rolled my eyes.
When he lived with me, I used to crawl in bed with him if I had a nightmare and sometimes simply because I liked cuddling. I loved the feel of someone I trusted against me. It was stupid, and a little embarrassing, but that was how I was built. It wasn’t something I’d known about myself before him, probably because Jesse was the closest friend I’d ever had. Or because I’d never trusted anyone as much as him. It could also be because my mom wasn’t the type to show affection that way—she’d been better before my dad died when I was twelve. Not that she was completely cold. But she was never like Dad and me, and yeah, she’d been better. After he passed, though, it was as if she’d completely closed herself off.
Whatever the reason, I liked being held. It wasn’t sexual between me and Jesse, never had been. Before he fell in love with his boyfriend, Dane, he used to tell me about all his sexual escapades, which I lived vicariously through, but I’d never wanted to actually sleep with him. A couple of times I’d considered it, so I could lose my virginity and get it over with, but I knew it wasn’t right for me.
When I had sex with someone, I wanted it to be because I desired them that way. I wanted it to be special. The first and only time I’d done anything with a guy hadn’t been like that at all. I’d been naive, I guess, and thought we were only going to be kissing. He’d had more in mind and had been a bit rough and pushy, and it took me a while to find my voice. To tell him to stop. Once I did, he’d made me feel guilty, like it should’ve been something I wanted, and while I’d needed closeness and affection, he hadn’t been the right guy; him trying to have sex hadn’t been the kind of intimacy I’d wanted that night. But then, maybe I was broken that way, maybe I didn’t do it right. I pushed those memories to the back of my brain. I didn’t want to think about that now. I didn’t want to think about it ever.
“No,” I finally replied. “I absolutely don’t need Jesse time.”
He sighed and stood up. “Well, I need Seth time. Come here.”
Jesse walked over to the couch, and I followed him. He lay down, and I did the same. We were facing each other. He had his arm around me, and I melted into the touch. I felt cared for in a way I needed and didn’t get outside of Jesse. “Thanks,” I whispered.
“You have nothing to thank me for. You’re my best friend. I love you.”
“Love you too,” I replied, snuggling closer. We were both quiet for a moment, just lying there together, before I said, “So…I’m going to dinner at a friend’s house tonight.”
“Shut the fuck up! And you’re just telling me?” He practically squealed with excitement.
“Not that kind of friend! She’s a fifty-year-old woman.” Not that there was anything wrong with fifty-year-old women, but I was gay, and usually attracted to men in their twenties, a little older than me but not too much. Guys bigger than me. Not quite bears but maybe an otter. Simple guys who didn’t make a big fuss about things. Scruffy guys with muscles and…yeah, I should watch myself before I got a little too excited.