flocked by cheerleaders and flanked by buddies—and never once looked my way.
But now he’s looking my way. Tanner Strong is looking my way. The Tanner. Tan the Man. Quarterback of Spruce High School. The hero who’s returned home from college and flipped the whole dang town upside-down. The star.
And he’s asking me about my pa’s damned burger.
“Yes,” I state, staring at the fallen salt shaker instead of him. “Burger of the day is called The Touchdown, and it contains—”
“TOUCHDOWN!!” shouts Zits with enough volume to fill the whole diner, throwing his big hands in the air and waving them. “TOUCHDOWN!!” joins in Kirk, his voice roaring and booming. Harrison and his blunt black eyebrows jump in, too. To my surprise, other tables fall in line as well, throwing their hands up and shouting, “TOUCHDOWN!!”
“Okay, I want one of those,” decides Tanner.
“Scratch my last order,” blurts Kirk. “I want one too.” Zits shouts, “Me too! I don’t care what’s in it.” Harrison raises his hand. “Gimme one of them, too! Big and juicy! Double-everything! Score!!”
After recovering from laughing at his buddies, Tanner hands over his menu. When I take it from him, our fingers touch. I feel a surge of enjoyment thunder up my arm just by the little flirt of skin my fingers feel when they graze his. I keep my eyes on the menu knowing full well that his deep eyes are on me and are guaranteed to melt me to a puddle of nothing right here in front of him and all the rest of the world. Don’t look at him. Don’t you dare.
And then he has the audacity to say, “Thanks, Billy.”
Billy. He remembers my name, the one I actually go by, the one that’s not on my nametag.
I look up at his face.
Big mistake. His rich brown eyes smolder me. His eyebrows are pulled together with just the slightest pinch of concentration. His mouth is barely parted from the words he just spoke, which invite me into a whole library of fantasies I thought I’d locked up in my all-too-horny teenage brain when we graduated years ago—ridiculous and unlikely fantasies of under-the-bleachers make-out sessions, sweaty locker room jockstrap-clad meet-ups, and maybe a carefully orchestrated sleepover which always ended with him sleeping right by me, except in my fantasies, neither Tanner nor I were sleeping at all, each of us excitedly waiting for the other to make a move.
“Oh, and a Coke for me, too,” adds Tanner.
I swallow down my horny teenage sex fantasies, trying with all my might to shove them right back into that vault in my brain where they belong. With just a quick nod, I take the menus and head back to the kitchen while dodging a chorus of diners who are still chanting, “Touchdown! Touchdown!”
Tap here to continue reading “FOOTBALL SUNDAE”!
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Keep scrolling for an excerpt from “HETEROFLEXIBLE”, the third book in the Spruce, Texas series that tells the angsty, steamy story of Jimmy Strong and Bobby Parker who come home from college for one hot, life-changing summer.
Heteroflexible (Excerpt)
Daryl Banner
HETEROFLEXIBLE
(an excerpt from the prologue)
M/M New Adult Romance
This book is an angsty coming of age romance between two best friends: a straight dancer and a gay soccer player. It is chronologically the third book in the Spruce Texas Romance series.
Copyright © 2019 by Daryl Banner
Published by Frozenfyre Publishing
All rights reserved.
Bobby
I ain’t gonna lie.
Jimmy Strong is one devastating son of a gun.
Especially with the wind blasting in through the driver’s side window, making his short brown hair flip and flop every which way. Well, the bit of his hair that isn’t squished down by that dang hideous red-and-white ball cap he stubbornly refuses to retire, despite its threadbare state, weird stains, and a hole in its bill.
But that’s the thing about Jimmy Strong: when the boy loves something, he won’t ever let it go.
He looks like he’s steering a grand chariot one-handed, the way he drives his prized red pickup. It’s with authority and pride that he pilots his big metal steed. I don’t think he’s let another set of feet inside this truck except me and maybe a past girlfriend or three. Ever since he was given this coughing, old piece of rumbly crap on his sixteenth birthday, they’ve been inseparable.
It’s a love story, really. A boy and his truck.
“Think she wanted to suck me off?”
I screw up my forehead. “The hell you talkin’ about, Jimmy?”
“You know who. That redhead at the store.”
“Who?”
I’m playing dumb. I know damned well who. The last stop we