Page 19 of Catching Kyle
She brightens. “Well, would you be opposed to starting on, you and I maybe? We could start as critique partners, potentially look out for others to join.”
My chest warms. “I think that would be nice. I’m actually going to a coffee shop right after this to do some writing. You could join me.”
Her eyes shine. “You wouldn’t mind the company?”
I shrug, but there’s an eagerness to the movement. “Writing can be lonely, and it’d be nice to have someone to talk to on a Friday night.”
She claps her hands together twice and smiles. “Wonderful!”
After Skye and I purchase the book for next week—one of the new Kennedy Ryan novels—she and I meet at the coffee shop down the street. We get to know each other for a while we wait for our orders: a chocolate croissant and decaf mocha for me, chai latte for her. She grew up in Oklahoma but went to school in Kansas and wanted a big city experience.
“Me, too,” I say. “I grew up in Minnesota with an alcoholic father and absent mother. And as religious as they were, neither of them liked that I was gay.”
She winces. “Oof. I’m sorry to hear that. Glad you made it out.”
“Same,” I say. “And same to you.” In one big way, my ex, David, was a blessing. His drinking was out of control, which led me to Al-Anon, the sister program of AA for loved ones of alcoholics. This continues to help me recognize how growing up in an alcoholic home affects me.
We then get to writing. I open up my first draft of my current work in progress. It’s about two closeted guys that meet at Yale and, once they realize they love each other, they both abandon the stringent lifestyles they were raised in and move to California to open a small business. It sounds like a lot, I know, but it sort of mirrors the wanderlust I had in college. But there are a lot of logical errors that need fixing. And after hearing Skye’s point about promises at the beginning of the book being fulfilled in the end, there’s a lot I have to change in the beginning and end of my story to keep the tone consistent.
At first, the writing is slow, but I get into a rhythm. It also helps to have someone next to me working so fastidiously. And as I edit, I can’t help but wonder what Kyle will think. I’m going to give him something tomorrow to look at, after all. Speaking of which, we never communicated how he’ll read my stuff.
I pull out my phone and type in his contact in my messages. And when his name auto-populates, my stomach somersaults. I still can’t believe I havetheKyle Weaver’s number in my phone.
“I have my writing excerpt just about ready. How do you want me to give it to you?” I ask.
My experience testing David and other hot gays, I expect Kyle to give a delayed response. But my phone vibrates only a minute later.
“Paper,” he sends. “Call me old-fashioned.”
The corners of my mouth curl upward. But then it turns into a frown.
“Sorry,” I say. “Don’t have a printer. But I can figure something out.”
I set my phone down and start chewing on the hair just beneath my lip. If I don’t give it to him in the way that he wants, will he still want to read my writing?What if—
My phone vibrates again. “Not a problem. I have a printer here. Just email it—[email protected].”
I exhale sharply out of my nose, and Skye looks up at me.
“Sorry,” I say. “Talking to another critique partner.”
“That’s some spicy critique partner,” she says. “You’ve got a big smile on your face.”
I blush, and my stomach somersaults again. “He’s just a friend,” I try to say as levelled as possible, wiping the smile from my face.
“Whatever,” she says playfully, then looks back down at her computer.
I look back down as my phone vibrates one more time.
“See you tomorrow,” he says.
And now I couldn’t even stop the smile forming on my face if I tried. Here I am, writing after a wonderful book club with a new friend who also writes. And tomorrow I’m seeing the Sexiest Man Alive. I promised myself I would keep a distance, but I can’t do anything about the butterflies.
“See you then,” I send back.
Chapter 9
Kyle Weaver
