Page 123 of Catching Kyle
Exhausted, I collapse my face into my palms and blow a raspberry. I decide to scroll on Instagram to give myself a break. I have been working all morning, after all.
Ads for the Championship Game litter my feed, making my stomach curl into knots. That’s where Kyle will be. All hot and sweaty in his uniform. He may be an asshole, but goddamn did God spare no expense when he made that man. He definitely is the Sexiest Man Alive.
Memories of his dick in my asshole pepper my mind, and pretty soon I’m rock hard. When I see an article talking about Kyle’s new girlfriend, Jessica, I know it’s time to get off social media and get myself off instead. My call with the agent isn’t for another thirty.
I slump in my bed and shut off Instagram. I want no reminders of Kyle Weaver. But as I scroll through other videos on OnlyFans, I can’t seem to shake him from my mind. Not him, his perfect dick, or his hairy, plump ass.
I huff out a breath. I amnotjerking off to him. I jump on Twitter, but I keep seeing things about the Championship Game there, too. I groan as I open my internet browser. We’re gonna go old school today. Yet even as I scroll through these videos, I can’t help but crave the taste of Kyle’s cock in my mouth.
Fuck it. I close my eyes and conjure up the Sexiest Man Alive in my head. I have plenty of photos of him, as well as all of the videos I’ve saved of his commercials. I could easily pull him up, but that feels like I’m conceding something. My pride maybe? I don’t know.
But as I’m nearing my climax, the mental image isn’t enough. I need him. The true Kyle Weaver.
I pull up my favorite picture of us. It’s where were sitting on the back porch of that cabin down in Glamour Springs, the glowing lanterns behind us, right before he walked out on me for good. It’s not asexypicture, per se, but it’s the one where I think Kyle’s the most handsome. His smile shines wide through his thick beard, and his hair’s a little overgrown. He has on a windbreaker, and I remember that day he wore the jeans that made his ass perk up.
Looking into his eyes, I think of the man I fell in love with, the one who read my writing and gave me honest feedback. Who helped me love fantasy. Who loved me for who I was, anxious insecurities and all.
And then I fucking cum all over my hairy belly. I look at his picture, and feel my heart skip a beat.
“I hate you so much,” I say. “Because I still fucking love you.”
I throw my phone down on my bed, and it bounces onto my floor. “Fucking fantastic,” I say. I lay there for a second, recollecting the pride I lost with that cumshot. And then my phone starts ringing.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I say, standing up. I glance at my bedside clock. I was jerking off to Kyle Weaver for thirty minutes. So much for not still having feelings for him.
I quickly roll down my shirt and pull up my pants before I trip and break my nose. I manage reach my phone and answer it before it’s too late.
“Hi, this is Michael,” I say.
“Michael,” a woman says. “This is Lori from Better Books Literary Agency. Is now still a good time?”
I smile, my heart racing with excitement. “Yes, it is.”
As we get wrapped up in small talk, I’m tripping over myself, worried I’ll say something wrong. But then when I hear her stumbling over her words, I realize that this may be just as nerve-wracking for her as it is for me. She’s trying to get a new client!
“Sorry,” I say when I manage to trip over my words yet again. “This is just—I’ve been waiting for this moment for areally long time.”
“It’s no worries at all,” she says. “I can imagine your feelings right now. Let’s get right to it then. First of all, I just want to say that your book was phenomenal.”
Joy squeezes my chest. “You think so?”
“I know so,” she says. “This is just what I’ve been looking for. Your manuscript perfectly blends that dark, gritty nature of some of these more mature fantasy novels, but it somehow brings the charm of your everyday rom-com. It’s so genius, yet so simple. I have high hopes for this book’s reception amongst publishers, and I already have a few specific editors in mind that I’ll send this to.”
‘Wow’ is all I can say. I can hardly process all this good news. “Jeez. I’m overwhelmed. In a good way, of course.”
“Of course,” she says. “And I’m getting ahead of myself anyways. I’m calling to say that I would love to represent you. I can give you some time to reach out to other agents have your work, and in the meantime, I can send over my contract for you to review. Do you have any questions for me?”
I sit there, breathing heavily and seeing stars.
This is my dream come true. I’ve been wanting this for so long. So why does it feel like I’m missing something?
“Sure,” I say. “Um, I do have some questions, let me see.” I fumble through a notebook where I had written down what questions to ask a literary agent on the representation call. But this was so long ago, when my hopes were high, that I don’t remember.
“You know, I’ll be honest,” I say, still flipping through my journal. “I had been feeling really discouraged these past couple days.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know how brutal the writing process can be. Let alone querying.”
Ennobled by her compassion, I continue. “Exactly.” I find the page with some questions, but there is another question burning in my heart.
