Covered in my warm release like I was drunk while basting a damn turkey, the idea of rejecting what I just experienced is about as appealing as wearing polo shirts for the rest of my life. That rejection part of Harper’s books really sucked. I mean, that would be incredibly hurtful to Harper, if I did that. Wouldn’t it? The thought of trying to convince myself what I feel isn’t real, that I can’t give him these feelings because we’re both men, makes me ill. Fuck that. I’ve never been good at letting anyone tell me what to do. I’m going to write my own damn book.
