I stick my tongue out at him like the mature adult I am and start to read.
“What types of books do you normally go for?” he asks a moment later.
“Oh, um, it doesn’t matter,” I deflect. “This is fine.”
“What kind?” he asks again, more seriously and I have a feeling he’s not going to let up.
My cheeks heat as I answer, “Romance.”
He’s blushing and I feel like a complete moron for admitting that to someone who’s almost a total stranger. I’m waiting for the judgemental comments when he says, “There’s a few of those in there. Did you see them?”
I nod, my face growing even hotter. “I prefer gay romance,” I admit.
He bites his lip and I have a feeling it’s to hide his grin. But a smile is a hell of a lot better than being told I’m a sick pervert and there’s something wrong with me, which is what my parents said when they found the stash of mm romance books in my room. They grounded me for a month and forbade me from going to the library again, even confiscated my card and my phone.
The first thing I purchased for myself when I left home was a cheap smartphone and a tracfone card to go with it. Sure it meant sucking a few dicks to get the cash, but if that’s what it meant to get me out of my parents’ house and earn me my freedom, it was worth it to me. Anything to leave that suffocating, abusive environment. I only use the data when I absolutely have to, since I can get internet access at the local McDonald’s or library, but I want to have it if I need it. It’s my only connection to the outside world and feels like a lifeline to me, and that’s important. It keeps me sane, and I feel like having a phone is also a safety issue. Unfortunately, while my phone does give me access to wifi, there’s no books on it.
“Shut up,” I mumble.
“What’s your favorite?” he asks, and I stare at him, stunned. Is he actually trying to start a conversation with me about gay romance books?
I clear my throat. “Oh, um, I don’t really have a favorite,” I say. “I like sweet stories, I guess, and I love if they have mental health representation in them. That always draws me in. Coming of age is cool. I’m not really into the sports ones or the single dads. Can’t really relate. But I like fantasy, and cowboys.” I gesture to the book I’m holding. I could go on for an eternity about the different mm books I like and the different tropes that are my favorite but I have a feeling he’s not interested in all that, so I don’t.
He nods and goes back to his book. Some historical something or other that looks like it’s about as much fun as an enema.
We read in silence for about an hour before he sets his book aside, takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. My eyes catch onto the small sliver of skin that shows between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his pants when he stretches and I glance away as soon as I realize what I’m doing, hoping he didn’t notice. It’s really hard to get the image of that happy trail out of my head, though. And that cute as fuck belly button, that I’m pretty sure is an outie.
He stands and then winces, flexing his right knee. It cracks loudly.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, laughing a little, though I can tell he’s in pain. “Old people problems. Don’t worry about it.”
He brings his glass to the kitchen and puts it in the dishwasher. “I’m gonna head to bed,” he says, stopping in front of my chair. “If you wouldn’t mind putting your glass in the dishwasher and starting it before you go to bed, that would be great. The soap’s already in there so just press the start button.”
I nod. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Charlie,” he says, giving me a warm smile.
I don’t think I’ve ever liked the sound of my name more.
PAUL
It’s ten o’clock the next morning when I knock on Charlie’s door. I’ve been up since seven thirty, had breakfast, showered, and dressed for the day. On any normal day I’d let him sleep as late as he wanted, but I’m too excited to wait any longer. I laid awake after going to bed last night, thinking about what he said about the books he likes to read, and a few other things, and I have plans for him today that don’t involve him sleeping the day away.
“Charlie, sweetheart, are you awake?” It’s not until the endearment has left my tongue that I realize I’ve said it, and I slap a hand over my mouth and then wince. Shit. That wasn’t okay. I can’t be giving him pet names. But it felt so natural. Maybe he didn’t hear it?
“Yes, darling, I’m awake,” he grumbles, and I’m relieved at the sarcasm in his voice. At least he’s not grossed out by my slip up.
“Can I come in?” I ask, and he mumbles something that I’m pretty sure is code for “yes” so I open the door slowly. I practically swallow my tongue when I see him sitting up on the side of the bed, the blankets discarded, my oversized T-shirt hanging off of one of his shoulders and pooled at the top of his legs, giving me a full view of his gorgeous thighs. Fuck, is there a part of his body that isn’t covered in freckles? I suck in a breath and he rubs his eyes, blinking at me. God, does he have any idea what he’s doing to me? I can’t fucking breathe.
“Morning, Papa Bear,” he says, one eye open as he runs a hand through his tousled red waves and grins at me.
I blink. What did he call me? And why the hell did I like it so much? I clear my throat and attempt a normal response, but it’s fucking difficult with him still sitting there like that, all rumpled and sexy as hell. God, that shoulder. I want to sink my teeth into it, leave my mark on the freckles there. I want to fucking claim him. Oh my god, what’s wrong with me? Three days ago a relationship was the last thing I wanted. I never saw myself being with anyone again, let alone a fucking nineteen-year-old. And a male. How can I be as old as I am and just now be finding myself attracted to someone of the same sex?
“Well, it’s better than grandpa,” I manage, and he laughs. I’ll never tell him how much better. Shit I’m standing here for a reason but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is anymore.
He groans and yawns, then stretches, giving me a view of his underwear, and the outline of his cock. It looks perfect, too. The perfect size for Charlie. I wonder if there’s freckles on it. What the fuck? I shouldn’t be analyzing his dick. Where are these thoughts coming from? Someone help me.
