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There was no time to rest his head on the inviting pile of oranges that sat on the counter.
This line resonated with me. No explanation.
Kip’s mouth may have dropped open like a cartoon character’s.
Did his tongue unfurl like a red carpet? Did his eyes bulge out of their sockets? Did a horn go "aoogah"?
his tongue may have rolled out of his mouth like a carpet.
YO!!!! HAHAHA
As his dream man exited, another man who was not nearly as attractive walked into the shop.
Lol, rude.
I was supposed to be working with someone, but he called in sick. I don’t think he’s actually sick. He’s kind of useless.” Kip cringed inwardly as he said this.
I cringed outwardly when he said this.
Scott stopped and turned. “Would you like to go to the game tonight?” “What?” “No one is using my tickets. I could give you two, so you can bring…someone…if you like.”
I can't suspend my disbelief for this; I'm sorry.
Scott felt—absurdly—like he was leaving someone behind.
Yes, this is indeed absurd.
There was just something about him. Scott wanted to talk to him for hours, and find out everything about him. Show him everything. Give him everything.
You *clap* met *clap* him *clap* twice !
If you put half as much energy into finding an actual, realistic boyfriend as you do into fantasizing about a superstar millionaire who probably isn’t even interested in men, let alone you…
I mean… when he's right, he's right.
“Kip!”
I hate his name. I just have to say it once and I'm so sorry that it's the truth.
It was all Scott could do to keep from clapping his hands together with glee.
Oh, brother, this writing.
“Um, actually,” Kip said, feigning offense, “it’s pronounced Straw and Berry, so…” Scott put up his hands and grinned. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to insult you.” “That’s okay.” Kip sighed dramatically. “I’m sure people get your team name wrong all the time.”
Is this supposed to be flirting?
“No kidding? I never finished college.” Kip gave him a gentle smirk again. “I know.”
Hey, maybe this is a really inappropriate response to someone who is trying to share their life with you, but you already googled them.
“I can keep a secret,” Kip said,
Why in Christ's name would this ever be sufficient for a closeted man so fearful he only sleeps with people in foreign countries?
There was a California king-size bed against the far wall.
Kip can eyeball the difference between a California King and a King? He can eyeball a four inch difference on furniture. Fine. Whatever. Who cares about anything.
“You too,” Scott said finally, voice strained. “Get your clothes off.” Kip quickly removed his sneakers, pants, underwear, and socks, and lay back on the bed, watching Scott.
Thank you for the itemized list.
He allowed himself a minute to do a little “Scott Hunter totally wants me” dance in the privacy of the back room before he floated back out to serve people smoothies.
This is unreal.
Kip was smart. Smart and gorgeous. And a really good kisser.
Masterclass. Like, is he twelve? Why are infantalizing the emotional expression of a dude with a credit line and a Bachelor's in History?
He was so beautiful. Kip. Scott decided to tell him so. “You’re gorgeous.”
I have never read the narrative description followed by the verbal compliment like this. By definition, redundant. At worst, filler.
It was sexy as all hell.
He is describing a shower.
“I want to. Date you. I know we barely know each other, but…” Emotion bubbled inside him, pushing a lump into his throat. “Me too,” he choked out.
You guys are clinical and I'm appalled.
“Don’t…” Kip stammered, breathless, “don’t suppose you’d wanna switch it up?”
Are you FIFTEEN? Oh my God.
“I’m going to call the Hugo Boss store tomorrow,” Scott said. “I do ads for them.” “Yeah, I know.”
You're an empathetic communicator who can read a room.
As long as Scott was careful—and he was
Um, reade disagrees pointedly with strong evidence to the contrary.
“No, that’s… No. You should…” Scott sighed, and hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “You should tell her. If you want. You said she’s your best friend?” “Yeah.” “Tell her. I don’t want
You know how like eighteen lines before I mocked him because he thought he was careful? Case in point.
Scott skated back to the bench with the rest of his line to let Coach Murdock know what was going on. “Bennett’s mad,” he said. “I can see that Bennett is mad. I’m watching the game.”
me @ this writing permanently
Scott: No. It’s perfect. Then, But feel free to try. :)
I hate the formatting of these texts with double texts being on the same line as narration, just in a different font.
“What’s fucking you up today?” she asked at the end of the morning rush. “I mean, besides Scott Hunter, who you are obviously in love with.”
Who on God's green, flat Earth talks like this?
He wasn’t even sure if Kip drank wine. There were still so many things he didn’t know about him. I want to learn everything.
Yes, because you two are twelve, rushing into a relationship emotionally.
“It was also one month ago today that I met you for the first time.”
Disturbingly fast to have these feelings and put your fear of judgment from the court of punlic opinion aside.
They ate and talked and laughed and drank more wine.
Amazing. Earth-shattering. I mean, come on, dude, they were already doing all this.
his underwear—his nice underwear—and
What does this /mean/? He's a millionaire professional athlete, what is the opposite of nice underwear for him?
The faucet had dug into his back, and he’d had nowhere to put his legs.
… Then, turn around? This… this is an absurd notion, right? Like, there won't be a tap at either end… just… turn.
You? I feel like…like I found the missing piece.” Kip didn’t know what to say to that. “Geez,” Scott said, “that’s not—Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
One month of knowing each other's existence, let alone hookup. This is serial killer sh*t.
“You want to talk about it?” “No.” Then, “It’s just…”
I liked how human this was.
“He told me he was disappointed because he’d heard I was, quote, ‘good at hockey again.’” “Ouch.” “Yeah, well. He didn’t deserve a sucker punch like that.”
That's all he said for you to punch him and get a pen?! I thought he called you a slur! Or, threatened you!
But you… I’m breaking all my rules with you.”
See the line ten pages ago about he's always careful.
awestruck by the perfect physical specimen
Ew? That's your boyfriend.
“Fuck knows, but it’s gonna leave a hole in our defense if he’s gone.”
As if there's no backup players in the sport.
then scrambled for a pen so he could jot down Monday, 3:00 on his hand.
If he misses this meeting because he didn't put his phone on speaker to put it in his Notes app like he's in 1993, I'm going to lose my mind.
He’d have to go to the interview straight from work. Jesus, how was he possibly going to not look like a total wreck?
You work at a smoothie shop and wear an apron! What do you mean?!
“I’m in town all week.” “I know. I checked.”
Let him reveal his life and then say "okay!" like a normal person; what is wrong with you!
“Did it get him in the face?” someone behind him asked loudly. No… Kip mouthed. “Nah. Maybe the ribs,” someone else said.
I'm not saying it's comfortable, but they're padded to the eyebrows. Like, his block would hurt, but no reasonable person would assume actual damage.
“Man, how much do you think it cost to make that dumb movie?”
Sentiment shared.
Besides, they had only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. It was ridiculous to even think…
Yep. Yessir. Yes it is.
“Hate is a strong word,” Scott said. “A strong, accurate word.” Todd laughed.
Oh, was that a joke?
you’re all like family to me. You know that. Especially you, because…you know.” “Because I’m an orphan?” Scott asked flatly.
“I don’t know! I mean, it hasn’t even been a month.”
Case meet point, point meet case. This is all so embarrassing.
He was distracted when a robot server rolled up and offered him a canapé. Kip wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of an hors d’oeuvres tray, and seeing the kind of work that made up the bulk of his résumé being so efficiently executed by a machine was…bleak.
How about you, Scott? Did you bring anyone special tonight?”
Asks the CEO of a billion-dollar tech company to an NHL player at a gala.
