Pride Weekend by Charley Descoteaux

Author:Charley Descoteaux [Descoteaux, Charley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-63476-875-7
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2016-04-22T04:00:00+00:00

Adam

PART OF me wanted to make it easier for Silas to pick up where he’d left off and chase me down until I’d caught him. But the rest of me wanted to make him work for it. Nobody had ever chased me before, and I liked it.

I’d been the one who emphasized the “no strings” aspect of the situation, but that was before we met. Before I was irreparably altered by his touch and the depthless passion in his sultry dark eyes. The thought of never seeing it again hurt more than it should have, which in turn embarrassed the hell out of me. I wasn’t some silly teenager or a drama queen, but I’d honestly thought I didn’t want the complication of a romance. I suppose some things truly were impossible to resist.

Some people are impossible to resist.

When he said he wanted to keep seeing me, I struggled not to gather him in my arms and spin with joy. I heard a lot more in those words than the desire for more sex. But the beach was crowded, and I wasn’t sure how he’d react to such a public display.

I managed to regain control of myself and asked him about his life. We’d done very little talking over the weekend, and I wanted to know it all.

“I’m boring,” he said, and I made an unflattering snorting sound. At least it made him giggle. Adorable. “Seriously. I work in a glorified call center, helping companies buy things they don’t need so a bunch of rich white guys can get a little bit richer. On the weekends I hang out with my straight friends and occasionally do a few chores for my snarky grandmother. How about you? What do you do?”

“I sit in a cubicle in Northeast, making a different group of rich white guys a little richer. On the weekends I geek out to obscure movies and occasionally catch a freelance job editing short films.”

He giggled again, and I dove in headfirst, allowing myself to get lost in the conversation, in the heady intoxication of his presence. We talked about where we live—apartments less than thirty minutes apart—our friends and families, and our dreams of early retirement to a coastal paradise, until, without realizing it, we’d walked all the way to Long Sands Beach. The sunset had started to color the sky pink and gold between puffy white clouds, and if there had ever been a more romantic setting, I didn’t possess the imagination to paint that picture.

Silas was telling me about his friend Brit—the girl he’d experimented with in middle school, and the owner of the bright purple car—when I sidestepped close enough to brush my hand against his. He stopped midword, his chest hitching from the unexpected contact.

“We need to have a chat about your driving.”

“My what?”

I kept his pace, allowing our hands to touch with each step. His breathing roughened, making me think of his body, slicked with sweat and heaving from exertion.

“I saw you behind me, cutting around cars too close to blind turns and against the solid yellow line.

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