Page 2 of First Puck

At six-foot-four, I was taller than everyone else in the year.

But it wasn’t just that. I’d been the star of the town for the past month, and people were only just starting to leave me alone now that the excitement had died down.

Still, I knew I wasn’t much to look at. Especially compared to Suzy’s denim mini-skirt and neon pink tube-top.

Considering Brad went for tall and curvy girls with ‘more tits than I can handle,’ as he said, I wasn’t exactly his type—though he wasn’t Suzy’s type, either.

But I was just going to tell him I was gay, not that I was in love with him.

“Don’t wait to join us, yeah?” she said softly. “People might worry.” She held my gaze for a touch too long. It was obvious she wanted to say something else, but she shrugged before she spun around and left for the bonfire.

I’d always be grateful for how she saved me from being an outcast, but there was still a hint of tension whenever I saw people murmuring or watching me out of the corner of theireyes. Even though I was currently the most talked about person in town, I never quite knew if people had found out.

I couldn’t stop the truth, but Suzy and I helped hide ourselves. The last kid at our school who came out was completely ostracized until he left town.

Now all that was left was to tell Brad.

We had the entire summer together, and really, I didn’t want to ruin it. But I convinced myself it would be better to do it now so he could have space to think about what he wanted to do. Would he be relieved to see me leave our town to join the Wranglers, or would he still want to follow our dream?

I was supposed to start training with the team as soon as high school ended, but I managed to push it back. If it was our last summer together, I wanted it to matter. And I could finally confess what I’d been choking back for years. If he decided he couldn’t stand the sight of me, I’d at least leave with an answer.

I’d rehearsed it so many times in my head it was my personal anthem.

‘Hey, Brad, by the way, I’m gay. No big deal, still want to be friends?’

But having prepared lines just made everything worse, because I was constantly looking for the right way to say it. I’d cooked up so many scenarios that I was sure I’d covered all my bases.

But this weekend was it—no backing out, no hiding. I’d been waiting seven years for the ideal moment to tell him, and it was here. At some point in the next two days, I’d tell him the truth.

I sighed, taking another gross swig from my bottle, instinctively searching for Brad. I jumped as I found him staring straight at me. I was halfway up the slope, but I knew the shape of his body so well that I could tell he was giving one of his full-on smiles.

My heart hitched instantly as he kissed Tasha on the cheek before he jogged up to my log.

Seconds later he stood next to me, and a wave of the Old Spice he lathered on before every party brushed over me.

“Man, the pussy here is insane,” he said, whistling low as he stuck the side of his hand to his forehead like he was protecting himself from the non-existent sun while he scanned the party.

“You know, you sound like an asshole when you speak like that,” I replied, frowning at him.

“Yeah, but it makes me sound cool,” he shot back as he turned to give me a lopsided grin which always tugged at my insides.

“It really doesn’t.” I glowered.

His whole appearance was basically a curse. It wasn’t right for someone to have such perfect chestnut hair which swept over ocean-blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, and a smile that could stop traffic. And who had a little dimple by their left lip and a freckle by their right eyebrow? They were like markers of where to kiss him.

Why did he make long beach shorts and a tight shirt look so attractive? It wasn’t fair how it molded his muscles, or how I could see hints of his cock and nipples underneath them both.

And all of those thoughts just resulted in me scowling at him harder.

“Come on, man, don’t look like that. It’s our first party since we left high school!” He spread out his arms, and I tipped back on my log to meet his bright gaze properly.

And he followed me, leaning forward, clinking the bottle in his right hand against mine. “Cheers,” he said, his grin somehow wider. “We’re even having our first beer together as free men. Isn’t that so freaking cool?”

My scowl quickly faded at his enthusiasm. For some reason, Brad loved his firsts. And I was usually around to take part in them. Like taking a bitter swig to celebrate the end of an era.

A stab of guilt pierced me about grabbing a beer and stomping off the moment we arrived. I’d been so wrapped up in myself since I decided to tell him the truth last week, and I’d forgotten how excited he’d been about today.

But he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

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