Make Me Stay (Safe Harbor #2) Read Online Annabeth Albert

Categories Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic, M-M Romance Tags Authors: Series: Safe Harbor Series by Annabeth Albert
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
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More like I had no idea how to provide empathy to a prickly cactus like Cal. I’d never known someone who needed fussing over more or wanted it less.

I could have remained in the waiting room, but when I’d entered the clinic after parking, the desk attendant had been only too happy to whisk me back to Cal. And there had been this unguarded moment when relief had swept across his face, quickly replaced by his near perma-scowl. But every time he bristled, my chest went soft and tender with the memory of his relief, and I stayed put.

“There are worse afflictions than being a comedian.” Cal’s tone was crisp, but there might have been a touch of humor lurking in his fathoms-deep blue eyes. “And it’s not that I mind jokes. More like I’ve forgotten how to laugh at them.”

His expression shifted, wistful and distant, another hint at some past pain. I wanted his story in the worst way, but perversely, I wanted to earn it, not force all the gory details out of him.

“Or maybe I’m not that funny,” I said lightly instead of demanding to know what robbed him of his smiles.

“You’re funnier than this show.” Cal pointed at the TV with the arm that had the IV. Wincing, he wrinkled his nose. “What the hell is this anyway? He’s on a date with three women?”

“Oh, I know this show. My sister’s favorite dating competition. This is from season three. And that, my friend, is Timber.” On the TV, a bottle-blond guy with tan, almost plastic skin laughed manically at something one of his companions said. All three women wore nearly identical tiny black dresses and sparkly heels. “He owns an eco-tourism company. The lovely ladies are competing to be his bride. And alas, he can only pick one out of the thirty-odd contestants.”

“Reality TV is just weird.” Cal shook his head like a dude who’d never once tried to fill the hours of a long, lonely night with channel surfing. It wasn’t simply his past story I wanted. I wanted to know how he kept busy between dives, what music he listened to on his long drives, what made that hidden pain better, and what made it worse. And I knew full well the danger of such cravings, so I laughed lightly and asked precisely none of my burning questions.

“Tell me about it. Hollywood needs to stop putting cishet men in charge of romance shows. Give me a budget. I’d come up with something way better. Panning for Gold, maybe?” I leered at him, my cheesiest smile, until, wonder of wonders, the corners of Cal’s mouth lifted.

“Ha. Took me a minute. You’re pan?”

“Yeah. Labels can be a tricky business, but yes.” Unlike Monroe, who’d known he was gay back in high school, my journey had been a long, winding road of self-discovery, and there had been plenty of years when I wouldn’t have dared to come out to a stranger like Cal, especially not a SEAL. But I was past forty now, settled in my own skin, and curious enough about Cal’s labels that I’d purposefully tossed mine out there. “Waving the pan flag feels the most representative of my dating adventures past and future, so to speak. And now I’m one of the advisers for the queer student union on campus, and let me tell you, my students would have thoughts on how to do an inclusive dating show.”

Cal made a noncommittal noise. “I bet.”

“How about you? What sort of show would you produce?” I kept my voice casual. Idle conversation, not a fishing expedition, even if Cal likely saw through my pretense.

He snorted. “I don’t think there are enough viewers for Pining from a Distance. These shows are all about fast hookups. Confused About Feelings or Mainly Into Myself isn’t gonna sell ads.”

“Sure, it would.” I laughed long, pleasure at finding Cal’s dry sense of humor coursing through me. “And look at you, cracking jokes. Demisexual ones at that.”

“It’s the pain meds.” Waving a hand, he groaned. “And demi what? That’s a thing?”

“Demisexual.” I put on my best professor tone. “It means you need emotional connection before you experience sexual attraction. Not saying that’s you, but what you described fits. And there’s a lot of people who would love a show for that target audience.”

“Huh. I figured I was just shy, regardless of gender.” Cal’s mouth pursed. And certain parts of my body ran a highlighter over that regardless. Circled and underlined with red pen too. Not that it made a lick of difference, so I kept my expression neutral as he continued, “But yeah, I can’t do the anonymous thing. Wish I could.”

“No, you don’t. Trust me that hookups get old after a while. I’m not demi, but I’m giving celibacy the old college try simply because I’m tired of playing the game.” Huh. As I said it, I wondered if my lengthy dry spell was part of why I’d been snappy lately. Maybe Monroe and Knox had a point, but I’d long learned the hard way that one-offs were a way to feel more, not less lonely.



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