More on this book
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Don’t you worry about me. I’m doing just fine on my own. I have my business, I have my art, and I have Shiloh. What else does a guy need?” “You don’t want me to answer that question, and I don’t want to think about the answer, but I’m pretty sure you need things your cat can’t give you.”
“Artist?” Jimmy scoffed, looking up from where he was kneeling down on the roofing lining up shingles. “Ty Ingalls ain’t no artist. He’s a welder. He put in the fencing out at my grandpa’s place.” “You know, you can be more than one thing at a time, Jimmy Ray. Like you aren’t just a roofer, you’re also a shitty pool player,” one of the guys called from the far side of the roof.
My shop looked like it belonged on an episode of that show about the people who hoarded stuff, but I never knew when a piece of metal might be just the right shape and size for a sculpture, so I kept it all.
If he expected Bear to be there, it only reasoned that he was into the lifestyle, as well. I already knew that I probably wasn’t Bear’s type, so I hadn’t even let my mind go there, but that sealed the deal. There was no way a Daddy would have an interest in a guy like me, and even though we’d barely met, my heart sank in disappointment.
I swear you’d either have to be dead or straight to not see how hot he was, and I was neither.
“So,” Bear said, and I could hear the regret in his voice, and I knew what was coming and I didn’t want to hear it. “I need to get going.”
“Listen, I need you to understand. I shouldn’t have kissed you, not because I didn’t want to. I did. But because your friendship has come to mean a lot to me, and I don’t want to fuck that up, especially knowing things between us would never work.
“I think you’re a good guy, Bear, and we’re good, okay?” And we were. I refused to let how much it stung that I couldn’t be what he wanted to impact that friendship.
“You think maybe he’s a boy.” “I do, but I think he doesn’t believe that he’s allowed to want those things.” “Because he doesn’t look like a boy?” “That, and because everyone depends on him so much that the idea of someone taking care of him doesn’t even occur to him.”
“I can take my stuff up there with me. I have plenty of paperwork I’ve been putting off so this would be good for me, as well.” “You’re going to sit up there with me?” What part of overbearing did he not understand?
“Okay, then, why are you still on the crutches?” “Because someone”—I motioned with my head to where the guys were warming up in front of the dugout—“is a stickler for following doctor’s orders and believes if I dare to even let my foot touch the ground, I’ll never walk again.”
“That’s enough, boy,” he growled. “Either get up here and fuck me, or I’ll take over.” I had to bite back a laugh. Or he’ll take over. Like he wasn’t a big ole bossy bottom, who was already the one in charge.
