Page 10 of Catching Kyle
She beams. “Wonderful. I was also wondering. We have another book club member who wasn’t able to make it today. Sent us an email saying he wasn’t feeling well but wanted to get the next book and come next week. He already paid for it, but he’s not able to come to the store this week, and it won’t ship out in time. He wanted somebody to deliver it to him.”
“Oh, okay,” I say scratching my head. I look around at all the other women here. “Why me?”
“Oh,” she says, lightly tapping her forehead with her palm. “Forgot to mention that he requested a man drop it off. Not sure why. I just offered that he getthe following week’s book mailed and come in then, but he turned it down. Said it was urgent.”
I shift on my feet. “So you want me to deliver it to him.”
She shrugs and smiles. “If you wouldn’t mind. We were tempted just to ignore the request, but he really wants to come to the book club. He said we could come by anytime this weekend to drop it off.”
I pick at my beard as I think. There’s no reason to be opposed to this. Plus, it’s a guy. I had a wonderful time here, but it would be nice to have another man here besides myself. Plus, he could be gay. He could offer unique perspective that could help me enhance my novel.
“I can do that. Where’s the address?”
She exhales, and her shoulders relax. “Oh, thank you. I didn’t know how we were going to do this otherwise. He’s over in the suburbs, Villanova area. I can email you the details.”
“Sure.” I provide her my contact info, and she sends me his address.
I squint down at the screen. “Does this guy have a name?”
She squints down at her screen as well. “I thought it was in his email, but it’s just Tigersfan89.”
“So he doesn’t have a name?”
She harumphs. “I’m sorry if this is weird. We can just—”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Villanova’s a nice area, so it doesn’t seem shady. He might just be shy. I know I was nervous to come.”
She relaxes again. “Well don’t be. I loved your comment. Your insight is really welcome. I hope you continue attending.”
My chest warms, and I press my hand against it. “Thank you. I definitely will.”
She walks behind the bookseller counter, and most of the other book club goers are walking around, chatting about books on the shelves. I thought most would have left by now. But they’re sticking around like it’s their second home.
“I should be thanking you,” she says. She hands me the book in a paper bag. “I’ll tell him to be expecting some to drop it off. He wants it left at the door. Let me know when you do. I just want to make sure there’s no trouble.”
“Sure,” I say. “You can tell him I’ll be there tomorrow around noon.”
Chapter 4
Michael Cunningham
Villanovahassomeofthe largest homes that I’d ever seen.
There are houses bigger than my apartment complex downtown. Hell, there aredrivewaysbigger 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 Ihaven’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’rejust asgood 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.
