Page 30 of Striking Range

And even more concerning than that is that if Skylar is gay, that opens a path to be traveled. One that can crush; one that offers the possibility of a fatal crash.

One that can kill.

I really fucking hope he’s not gay, and I really fucking hope he is.

Chapter Eight

Skylar Parish

Everett has been giving me kicked puppy eyes all night. Kelly got into her Uber an hour ago, and last call is in two minutes, yet there he sits—nursing his third beer with sad eyes and tense shoulders.

When his group of friends left earlier in the night, that blonde girl said something to him—right into his ear—but I couldn’t tell if it was a good conversation or not because he wore that standard Everett smile that hides what he’s really thinking.

“You can go, Sky. I got the last bit covered,” Mandy, the owner of Seabird, calls from the office.

“Alright, thanks. Night, ma’am.”

Throwing the dirty rag from my shoulder and into the bin in the corner, I grab my bag off the shelf under the bar where we keep our personal items.

As I approach the exit, I notice that Everett is missing from his seat by the door; where he went, I do not know. But it’s cold out tonight, or technically this morning, and I forgot a jacket, so I hurry along to my car.

Due to my rushing, I don’t see him until I’m approaching the trunk. I startle, watching his head lift from where he leans against the passenger door.

“What?” My voice is far sharper than I intend it to be, but I’m tired and irritated. I just want to shower and sleep.

“Let’s go home,” Everett says, and there’s a defeat in his tone, something sad I don’t recognize, so I don’t fight him.

I unlock my Honda and drive the short distance to my apartment.

As I’m finishing my shower fifteen minutes later, I try to make sense of the events of tonight. The sexy football player giving me his number; Everett’s blazing glare as he grilled me about it. That hot blonde on his arm.

Simply put, I’m confused. So fucking confused.

Up until this past week, things have been very simple for me. I was pretty young when I figured out I liked men; being gay was never a big deal to me. In fact, it was so unimportant that coming out has never felt necessary.

If I ever found someone to be with, then I would. If not, there was no point in my mind. Especially not when it can be used against me.

That, and I never really had… desires like that. I never had a phase of being obsessed with porn or sex; I just existed. Sure, like all teenagers, I jacked off occasionally, but I have never been concerned with losing my virginity or pointless hookups.

And dating? Yeah, right. I’ve never met anyone good enough. I know what I have to offer, and in this shit hole of a town, no one ever seems to meet what I bring to the table.

But now that I’ve been… awoken, things have gotten weird. Ever since Everett pulled me into my bathroom, all hot with rage and tension as he licked into my mouth, pulling me against him while whispering obscene things against my neck, I haven’t been able to chill out.

Now I want it. I want to plant myself right back on his lap and grind onto him; to hear his voice in my ear and feel sweet release. But it doesn’t have to be Everett, right? It could be Jacob.

Plus, Everett has gotten weird. Well, weirder. See? So fucking confusing.

Now he’s sitting on the edge of my bed with his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees like he’s fifty years old and going through a midlife crisis.

“Go to bed,” I tell him.

I can’t understand him tonight.

“No,” he murmurs.

I sigh, and as his head rises, his brown eyes are sad, tired, and red-ringed. He’s being difficult.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, since he so clearly wants to talk.