One hot moment in a hidden storage closet. One kiss. No consequences.
Suddenly the room went oddly quiet. I glanced up and noticed a server had, in fact, entered the room. But it wasn’t the redhead.
It was Grey Blackwood.
The kid from the projects who’d caddied at the country club for years.
The business student prodigy who’d landed himself a full ride to Yale.
The guy in my calculus class last semester who’d leaned over and asked to borrow my graphing calculator, and whose unique scent—coffee and limes or some shit—had made my dick move when it had never, ever moved for a guy before.
The gorgeous man I’d low-key been obsessing over every day since then, which accounted for all the times I’d hung out at the country club this summer, hoping to catch a glimpse from afar, and for all the soul-searching I’d been doing about my sexuality.
My heart beat so fast I thought I might faint right there.