"Smutty," I laughed. "Full of engorged, quivering members and heaving bosoms." I was embarrassed to admit I had read one or two in the past.
"Sounds like a good time," He winked.
Dear God, it felt like I had burst into flame. Get a grip, I told myself again. He likes attention. He's not flirting with you.
"Seriously," he said, running his hands over his chest. "On Monday nights, a bunch of us hit up a pub in Dellwood for free pool and karaoke. You think you might be up for that?" His face said that he assumed my answer would be no. He wasn't wrong.
"I don't know," I hesitated. I hoped I didn't seem ungrateful for the invitation. Had I been back in Toronto, I would have said yes in an instant. I rather enjoyed karaoke. But I hated the possibility that his friends would be people with whom I had a history. I didn't want to risk making anyone's evening uncomfortable, especially my own.
Bryce frowned, "Why not? You can't hide out in that awful motel all week."
"It's not that…" Why was I so completely unreasonable? I couldn't believe how two days back had undone years of evolution. I hadn't arrived with any intention of acting like a timid little boy. For some reason, though, every moment I was here, it got worse. I thought I had let go of my old humiliations years before. Apparently, the name-calling, toilet dunking, pantsing, egging, and the shit-bomb in my locker was still preventing me from enjoying myself. I was no longer a victim; I was Parker fucking Houston, a big-time television personality. It was time I started acting like it.
"You know what," I said, changing my mind. "Sure, I'll go with you." I was still scared his friends would arrive, raw eggs in hand, ready to chase me back to the big city where I belonged. I wasn't one of them, even more so now than before, and they would know it.
Bryce was enthusiastic. "Great. I'll pick you up at your motel around eight."
I was surprised at my enthusiasm. "If you want, we could grab a bite to eat first. It would save me from having to mooch off Lauren yet another night." I had started to sound and feel excited.
"No need. Carson's has pizza and wings. I'll even make sure we order one veggie pizza, just for you."
"How generous of you," I said. The truth was two nights of back-to-back meat-eating had taken a toll on my digestive system. Upset stomach aside, the food hadn't been horrible. I was starting to wonder why I gave up meat in the first place. Oh, right, because it's awful for you, I reminded myself. I would be in desperate need of a juice cleanse by the end of the week.
Bryce yawned once more. "On that note, it's time for me to head back to sleep." I stifled a yawn of my own. "You can have a turn on the sofa if you want. I'm not sure my pride could handle any more hardwood to the face."
I smiled with my eyes. "I think I'll stay out here. This swing is pretty comfortable, but thank you for the offer."
"Suit yourself," he said, using the railing as a pushing off point and launching himself to the door. "But you better not cancel on me cause you're 'tired' or some shit like that."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I said, stretching myself out on the porch swing, and bringing the blanket up towards my chin. And as the slight swaying of the swing brought me inches towards sleep, I realized I really wouldn't.
FOUR
The sun was hanging low by the time I heard the tap on my motel room door. I had barely heard it at all over the radio. At that moment, it was playing "Single Ladies" at embarrassing decibels. I turned down the volume and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Seven-thirty. Shit, he was early!
"Just a second!" I secured a towel around my waist. I had scheduled my time almost to the last minute. I had spent most of the afternoon catching up on emails, following my morning conference call. I had jetted out around four o'clock to buy a razor and a few other toiletries, which I had forgotten to pack. I also decided to buy a new ensemble for the evening. Something a little more appropriate, although far less fashionable. I could have worn one of the many, more expensive pieces I had brought with me. But Dellwood was an even tinier town than River Bluff, and I loathed the idea of looking out of place. Or worse, that I was trying too hard to impress. I had settled on a generic pair of jeans and a blue, plaid button-up shirt. Both would have been preferable to the thin white towel I was currently wearing. I hadn't anticipated that Bryce would arrive a full half-hour ahead of schedule. Who did that?
He knocked again. I wasn't about to answer the door naked. With a humph, I threw off the towel and jumped into my jeans. The denim felt scratchy against my damp skin. It hit me after the fact that I should have taken the extra two seconds to slip on a pair of underwear as well.
"You're early," I said, opening the door.
Bryce stood there with confident casualness. He was also in jeans, but his were so tight they looked painted on. "Am I?" He then seemed to register my damp, shirtless appearance. "You're not ready, are you?"
I rolled my eyes. "I am. This is what all the gays are wearing to the clubs these days." I had meant to sound facetious, but it had a grain of truth. I didn't go to the clubs often anymore. When I did, I saw more shirtless men on a Friday or Saturday night than in both 'Magic Mike' movies combined. I left the door ajar while I turned back and fingered the new shirt I had laid out on the bed. I thought I felt Bryce's eyes on me, which was a notion I dismissed almost immediately.
"Nice room," he said, following me in and allowing the door to close behind us. "Please tell me you have the roaches paying for their half of the stay."
I threw him a glance. "Thank you for poking fun of the squalor in which I find myself. I assure you; I've survived worse."
"Oh?" He raised a brow. "A high-maintenance guy like you? I find that hard to believe. Don't guys like you prefer to sleep on a bed of feathers, or something like that?"
"I prefer microfiber. I'm allergic to down."
"Good to know," Bryce smirked. He perched on the edge of the small table in the left corner of the room.
I licked my lips, a nervous habit I found impossible to abandon and grabbed a pair of socks from my suitcase. "Give me ten minutes, tops," I begged before disappearing into the bathroom. I towel dried my hair, before running my fingers through it, instead of a comb. Then I added some product for good measure. I fastened all but the top three buttons of my shirt and splashed on some Jean Paul Gaultier. I examined myself in the mirror and tried not to judge my reflection too harshly. I look alright, I thought.
I emerged to find Bryce lounging on the bed, flipping through the three whole channels he had to choose from. Seeing him there, looking so casual and confident, I realized how nervous I was. It was likely the prospect of running into people from my youth that had beads of sweat forming under my arms. I suspected the attractive man on the bed had something to do with it as well.
"You want to stay and watch some TV instead?" I asked, only half-teasing.
"With all these choices, I'm surprised you ever want to leave the room!" He retorted.
"I know. This afternoon, Access Television had a report on the dangers of built-up ear wax that was particularly gripping."