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He just sniffed my hair. He’s so cute…
“Years,” I whisper. “Many years. Too damn long. I…”
A hush falls on the room. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. The noise from the TV is suddenly too loud.
What have I said?
Oh holy shit. What have I done? Shitshitshit.
I scramble off the sofa, dodging their hands reaching for me, knowing that if they catch me, I’ll have to stay and explain. Tell them about my years-long crush on them. My fantasies with them.
God, the blog. No, I’m never telling them about that.
Muttering a lame excuse about having to check on my roommate, I grab my clothes, jump into them and run out of their apartment.
As I climb into an Uber and head home, I bury my face in my hands and blink back tears. Maybe I shouldn’t have run. I mean, what’s wrong with a crush, huh?
I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want to stop this… whatever it is we’re having together. The sex. The hugs. The banana dinners. The sweet smiles on Jethro’s face, the sexy grins on Joel’s.
I want these boys. I care for them. I miss them already, and I’ve only been away from them ten minutes.
Jeez, I don’t know what to do next. I feel like my heart is breaking. Someone please shoot me?
***
When I arrive home, Brylee isn’t there. It annoys me, because I wanted to pour my heart out to her. What sort of friend is she, not to wait for me alone every night in case I decide to abandon my boys and come sobbing at her feet, huh?
Some people…
Should I call my boys? Explain? Apologize, blame everything on a misunderstanding? Sex intoxication? I bet that exists.
There’s only one problem with this plan: it looks like I forgot my cell phone at their place, and I don’t know their phone numbers by heart.
I know, right? When it rains, it pours.
But maybe it’s for the best? Note the question mark. Like, I should calm down and think what to do before I rush into any panicky actions?
God knows. I curl up on the sofa instead and reluctantly turn on my laptop. Strange how something that used to define my life, to take up most of my free time, doesn’t feel normal anymore. Doesn’t feel real.
I log in and check my blog, planning to upload first my reviews of a load of amazing gay romances I gorged on recently—books by Harper Fox, Josh Lanyon, Santino Hassel and Andrea Speed—and I freeze.
Holy guacamole! My blog has exploded.
Well, not literally, but the sheer amount of comments people have left when I wasn’t looking is staggering. Open-mouthed, momentarily distracted from my doubts and panic, I scroll through them, trying to figure out what happened here.
“Please don’t stop the serial!” many comments read. “Bring back J&J. You stopped at the best part.”
Others are asking if I’m okay, if something happened to me.
They’re right. I haven’t missed an installment of my serial in years. Guess I really don’t have a life, huh. Not outside of my blog, that is.
Damn.
Connie’s name pops up on chat. “You okay, Candix? You were gone for a while there.”
“I’m fine,” I type back, add a smiley. “Just busy.”
“Busy writing the next chapter of the J&J story, I hope!” Dancing emojis. “Can’t wait to see if J-Two will top J-One after all.”
