Us (Him, #2)

by Sarina Bowen

The way I feel about Ryan Wesley…it’s something I thought existed only in the movies. He’s my other half. We complement each other in more ways than I can count. When he’s in the same room, I’m focused on him, and when he’s gone I walk around missing him.

Love is friendship set on fire. I get it now. But that doesn’t mean I’m not pissed at him.

“Fucking hell, Canning, I fucking love you so fucking much.” He sounds like he’s struggling to breathe, and when half his vocabulary is reduced to F-bombs, that means Wes is barely hanging on to his control.

I’ve just discovered that falling in love has a dark side. When you’re mad at the love of your life, it’s impossible to feel joy.

“Probably shouldna opened all those drawers,” Blake carries on, rubbing his chin. “Ya can’t unsee some of those toys. But everybody has to have his own kinda fun.

And—just for the record—none of you uglies is my type. Except for maybe Eriksson. But I don’t want to be his rebound lay.”

“If being queer means skating like Ryan Wesley, I’m going to have to encourage the rest of my players to give it a whirl.”

One more time I go over it in my mind. A trip to Cali to see his parents. He can’t go to work anyway. He said we’re not breaking up. It’s a vacation. So why does it all feel like I just let my heart leap out of my chest and take a cab to the airport?

I’m gritting my teeth while a dude named Tripp brushes something across my cheekbones with a sponge, humming to himself while he works. My father would die a thousand deaths if he could see it. And somehow this cheers me.