Sunset Park Read Online Free PDF Page B

we could, um, find a new apartment. In Brooklyn maybe. Or whatever, it’s just an idea.”
    David trailed off with a blend of too-fast words. Nunzio’s face reddened as he shook with silent laughter. Michael did me the favor of punching him in the arm.
    “You’ll kill each other,” Michael noted. “You’re OCD, and my brother is a slob.”
    “That’s why it’s perfect,” I said, warming up to the idea. “He’ll be my slave.”
    David threw the napkin at my face. “Shut up before I retract the offer.”
    I smirked and shoved the remaining half bagel into my mouth. Nunzio was becoming oxygen deprived from his incessant guffaws, and Michael was waiting for us to proclaim we were looking into openings at City Hall for our marriage, but I couldn’t be too troubled over their assumptions. I’d expected the morning to be far worse, but David had single-handedly prevented the conversation from becoming a full-on fiasco complete with rage blackouts and either me or Michael swearing to God or our mother.
    We left the kitchen while Michael and Nunzio were immersed in real-estate talk, and I tugged David up the stairs by the hand. He chattered nonstop about jobs, résumés, and apartments—already leaping three miles forward into what we could do to design a space before we’d even found one. It was too much too soon, considering I’d just agreed to all of it, so I shut him up with an impromptu hug.
    David smiled against the side of my neck. “You’re welcome.”
    I disentangled myself and flopped backward on the bed. “You sure about this, man?”
    “Positive.” David climbed right on top, straddling me. He knew I’d never throw him off, even if I’d threatened to do so a hundred times in the past. Maybe he knew how much I liked it. “It will be great. Trust me. And I may have suggested the idea, but we’re helping each other. I need you just as much as you need me. I’m drowning in student loans and bills. I can’t afford to keep pretending I can live in Manhattan, and I don’t want to live with a stranger.”
    “What if you get sick of me? Michael had a point. I am a slob.”
    “Shut up.”
    David dipped his head down and kissed my forehead. I had no idea how such a brief, light touch could charge my libido, but once again, it did. My dick twitched, and my hand drew up to the small of his back. I was sure he could feel my heart thump with an erratic rhythm while I wondered how it would feel to push my swelling dick into his ass. I swallowed hard, and David leaned back to give me a funny look.
    This was going to be interesting.

Chapter THREE
     
     
    Raymond
     
    WHEN I was a kid, I wanted to be a professional handball player. Big dreams about playing for Team USA in the Olympics and donning some badass jersey—Rodriguez 420. I’d be so fly that handball would become this celebrated national pastime, people would talk about me on ESPN, and I’d get endorsements and a ton of ass. Then I’d told Michael, and he ruined it all. Of course. He was all, like, “Raymond, there’s no such thing as handball in the Olympics the way you’re thinking about it,” and I was, like, “You’re a moron, because the Internet says there is,” and then he made me read up on it.
    Apparently the national handball team was nothing like the handball I’d always played in the park by my house. No concrete court, no blue Spalding ball, no singles. Instead of popping a rubber ball against a wall in the hopes that their opponents wouldn’t be able to hit it, professional handball required groups of people to run around an indoor court while trying to get a ball into the opposing team’s goal. Wack as fuck.
    And the uniforms were corny—tiny shorts and lame T-shirts. Another irritating difference was that teams were segregated by gender. Why the hell should that matter? Some of the best players in King’s Park were women, and I’d wanted my home girl Tonya to be on my fantasy team beside me.
    I’d denounced the