From Coast to Coast (Offsides #4)

by J.J. Mulder

I hate the way he says Corey and Jake—familiar and easy. Fuck off, Corey and Jake. “Oh, cool,” I say, even though I sort of hope Corey and Jake get salmonella poisoning from the restaurant.

I sort of hope the bartender gets salmonella as well. Maybe E. coli for good measure.

The sun would get to kiss his skin during the day, but he’d be mine at night.

If I thought his smile had been bright before, it was nothing compared to now. He’s going to put the sun out of a job if he keeps it up.

“We’re not a mistake,” I tell him, injecting every ounce of confidence I can. “I know it.” He smiles a quarter of a smile. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

“I told you to go, but I didn’t want you to,” he says, as though this is perfectly obvious and not completely insane.

“You’ve converted me. Once you go Gray, you never go back, as they say.”

“Yeah. I want to tell Troy.” “Tell Troy to spread it around that you’re not available. I’ll be calling every bar in Colorado, too, to make sure the bartenders all know to back the fuck off.”

And that’s why snuggling is worth being overheated—casual touches that I’d otherwise miss out on.

She didn’t go through a formal adoption; just summoned me like a demon.”

you’ve always been good at questions and bad at feelings.

A relationship doesn’t always have to feel like work. Sometimes it can just be beautiful.”

“Sometimes his head gets in the way of his heart,” she says without preamble. “You give him enough time alone with himself and he’ll think himself in circles until he’s so tied up in knots, he can’t get himself undone. Don’t you let him scare himself off, you hear me?”

“I do not regret you, Gray. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”

“We could run on the beach, and then go for a swim tomorrow morning,” Troy says, jostling Sam’s arm with their linked fingers. “Fun,” Sam deadpans back, earning a light shove.

“Troy, definitely. He never suspects anybody of anything. He still acts shocked when I mail him a birthday present every year, like he can’t believe I remembered.

I hope he meant it as the all-encompassing “we” that labels us as a single entity. We, as in Grayson and Remy. We as in this is endgame and I never want to touch another man as long as I live.

“Our anniversary?” Troy asks, gesturing toward Sam. “No,” Lawson answers dryly. “Our other friends who got married on July twenty-first. Not everything is about you, Nicky.”

“You moved in a month ago.” He shrugs. “Really, Gray, you need to pay better attention. Your toothbrush is in our bathroom, your clothes are hanging in our closet, and our dirty laundry is all mixed up together waiting for us to wash it in our washing machine.”

“I love you, too,” he says seriously, but his lips twitch and he adds under his breath: “Let all the bartenders know.”