Page 15 of Catching Kyle

He would also help me with my own writing. He doesn’t have writing credentials, but it’s honestly hard enough to get Amani to read my stuff with how busy she is, and she’s the one who’s willing. I don’t know where else I could find a critique partner who will devote endless time to reading and helping me improve my work.

My sponsor and I have talked at length about my tendency to date men who are just unkind to me. It has to do with the low self-esteem after growing up with alcoholism in my family. But I’m not dating Kyle, as hot as that would be. We’d just be helping each other until July. I’ve worked on myself enough to the point where I don’t fall for straight guys anymore, and I’d be benefitting just as much out of the arrangement. I don’t want to take Kyle’s money; I’d rather earn that on my own once I get published. But I would value non-biased feedback, and getting compensated with food and gas money is just a cherry on top.

“Fine,” I say. “I can do that. You got the book?”

He leans back into the couch and sighs, and I wish I could just straddle him. God, he is such a specimen.

“You don’t know how much this means to me,” he says, sitting up. “And yep. I put the paper bag upstairs.” By now, the rain has stopped, finally granting me freedom.

“It’s no problem,” I say, rising to my feet. “Now that you have the book, I should probably get going.”

“Oh, and one more thing if it wasn’t already clear,” he says, rising to his feet as well. “Do not, under any circumstances, tell anyone that you’re doing this for me. Or the deals off. Understand?”

I nod.Goddamn, please keep talking to me like that. “Understood.”

He laughs to himself. “It will be our little book club.”

Chapter 7

Kyle Weaver

“Ma!I’mhome!”

“Kyle!” She exclaims.

I stand in the small foyer of her cozy Mississippi home as she rushes to put her arms around me. I’ve insisted on buying her a bigger place, but she always shoots me down. She moved here to Glamour Springs from Fordsville, where Miss U is, after she divorced my daddy. The smell of vanilla from her baking fills her home. Nothing like the jasmine incense she used to burn when she lived with my dad, but it’s just as good.

She pulls back, a good foot shorter than me, and grabs my cheeks. “I missed you,” she says, reaching up on her toes. I lower for her to kiss me on the cheek.

“Oh, my boy. Did you drive? Fly?”

“Fly,” I say, laughing. “I can’t last so long in a car. You know that.”

She laughs, no doubt remembering our family road trips down to the coast. “Don’t I know it. Come on in. Sit down. I have some leftover cookies. I woulda made them fresh if I knew you were coming.” She bolts into the kitchen, and I plop down on her oversized couch.

After all that happened with Timmy, and then meeting Peter Cummins—who is actually Michael Cunningham—I needed to get out of Portland and visit my ma. Now that Michael’s agreed to keep me up to date on book club, I can easily fake my attendance to Timmy. I’ll still read the books so I can more easily lie that I’m going, but now I don’t have to go and find a woman. I mean,I’ll eventually have to in order to get a girlfriend. But I can procrastinate it longer now. And that means Michael—the pornstar I’ve been watching for years—will be coming to my house weekly, and I’ll be reading his writing. I don’t see any problem with this.

Scratch that. There’s a whole lot wrong here, which is why I left town—to decompress from the stress I’m about to cause myself. But what choice do I have? I can’t date women. All that dark sadness that swallows my mind every time I try to get intimate with a woman? Better enjoy my single life while I can. And my time with Michael while I’m at it. We’ll just be friendly, though. No funny business. I almost had a heart attack when I opened my phone with his porn playing right in front of him. Thank God he didn’t recognize it.

My ma returns with a plate of small chocolate chip cookies, and my heart leaps at the sight. I miss these so much. I may be trying to slim down and speed up, but this is vacation time. Calories don’t count now.

I grab three and set the plate on the coffee table close enough that I can lean over and grab more, because I definitely will, and Ma sits across from me.

“Now tell me,” she says. “Did they fire that awful reporter who questioned you before your big game?”

Ricardo.

I sigh. “No, ma. He’s still around. He probably got an even bigger following after that whole fiasco.”

She shakes her head and grimaces downward as if she squashed a bug. “Using you to further his career? Now that’s just low.”

I finish off the last cookie and grab two more. “That’s just the business of it.”

She scoffs. “Well this whole business gives me a headache.” She stands up. “I need some wine. Can I get you anything, love?”

I shake my head and laugh. “These cookies are good enough.”

She nods and prances off to the kitchen while I indulge myself on the best sweets ever.