Page 5 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)
Michael Cunningham
Villanova has some of the largest homes that I’d ever seen.
There are houses bigger than my apartment complex downtown. Hell, there are driveways bigger than my apartment complex. What sort of jobs do people out here have to afford houses like this? What sort of generational wealth? My head hurts just thinking about it.
As I drive down the street, wide yet winding, I keep looking between my phone and the houses around me, making sure I’m not missing my stop but also trying to take in the view. There’s a freaking stable out here!
The sky is overcast, but there’s no chance of rain to my knowledge. Which is good. I hate Portland traffic, but during a downpour, it’s a nightmare. Fingers crossed that it stays dry.
Thankfully, while I’m distracted looking at the center of a roundabout, my phone tells me that I’ve arrived at my destination.
The house I’m looking for—the home of Tigersfan89—doesn’t have a fountain or a stable or even that big of a driveway.
It looks more sleek and modern, lots of straight edges and neutral colors, which makes it look just as expensive as some of these more regal looking houses.
I pull into the driveway, paranoid that I will accidentally run over some of the lights around the rim or hit some other expensive thing I can’t see.
I park my car and quickly get out and search around it just to make sure.
Once I’m sure I haven’t ruined anything, I grab the Nora Roberts book from the passenger seat and make my way up to the house.
I ring the doorbell. I know the bookseller just said to drop it off at his door, but I want to stick around. This guy could be gay—and the only other man at the book club—so I want to introduce myself. Let him know he’s not the only gay man so he won’t chicken out.
Looking at how massive this house is, I wouldn’t be surprised if this guy is gay.
I don’t know why, but it always seems like gay people are crazy rich.
Like they’re always doctors or lawyers or some high up corporate executive.
It’s like we’re trying to prove to the world that we’re just as good as straight men, like it’s some desperate attempt at proof that being gay isn’t weird or even normal but a virtue in itself.
Yet I couldn’t feel more out of place around these types of gays.
Here I am, just some corporate peon trying to make it big as an author.
Besides my body, there’s nothing impressive about me.
That’s how I felt around David at least. Whenever I was around this ex and his friends, it felt like I had to fight just to be heard.
And once I was, it was like I was being tested—popular enough?
Driven enough? Wealthy enough? They did think I was hot, which is the only reason why I think they kept me around for so long.
Even David. I’m just glad that relationship is over.
But it hasn’t been easy since. The only time I feel comfortable with other men is in bed, ‘straight’ or not.
Before I came out, I was so scared to be around straight men.
So when I finally accepted myself, I was eager to jump into a community that loved me for who I was.
But so much of the time, these gays feel just as exclusive.
The only time I ever felt like I had a home was around fellow writers in college.
Once I’m published, I hope I find a similar community. I just want to belong somewhere.
I glance down at my watch. Two minutes have already passed.
His email is Tigersfan89. What gay person likes the Tigers but is also avidly seeking to be a part of a romance book club? The Venn diagram has a small intersection. Too small to be believable .
This guy isn’t gay. Maybe he just wants the book for his wife or something, so he wouldn’t want to talk with some rando man. I’m wasting my time here. I better just go.
I set the paper bag down by the glass window and turn toward my car. But just before I step off the porch, the door opens.
“Sorry,” I say, turning around. “I wanted to wait to introduce myself. I’m—” But when I lay eyes on him, my stomach sinks to the porch. Suddenly, the patter of rain sounds out from the driveway, and I’m trapped under the porch of The Sexiest Man Alive.
It’s Kyle Weaver. Shirtless.
And I can see his hard cock through his shorts.