Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“You’re right,” she said, finally.
He’d been so prepared for her to say something else that he was taken aback by her agreement. “What?”
“There is no way he could ever love you, right? You’re too broken, too weird, too outrageous for someone like that. So, I agree.” Ange’s cold words were softened only by her pained glare. At some point during her reply she’d lowered her arms. Now, her shoulders sagged and her hands curled into fists by her hips. “It’s not like you deserve happiness.”
A lash of shock split him open inside. Just the words coming from his best friend’s mouth were enough to hurt him, even if he knew she didn’t mean it. This was just her idea of tough love.
But it was all true.
The soft click of her bedroom door echoed in the hollowness of his chest.
Chapter Eighteen
Fitch leaned against the hood of his Chevy, fiddling with his phone. It’d been three days since their date and he hadn’t been able to get Ansel out of his head. Time slowed to a crawl. Every day he woke up thinking about him, and he went to sleep with Ansel’s name on his lips. The dreams. Fuck, the dreams were incredible. So real he had a hell of a time waking up in the mornings. His goddamn imagination had never been so vivid, except when it tortured him with hollow images of his dancer. Every sharp curve and wicked smirk his mind conjured were so much like the real thing he been suffering from a permanent hard-on.
He’d called twice. Left messages both times, but Ansel still hadn’t called him back. After the first miss, he brushed it off as a timing issue, since it had been pretty late on Sunday night. He’d spent the morning sitting in church listening to the pastor go on and on about forgiving sins and the path to heaven. All the while irrationally terrified of being struck by lightning for entering a house of God still smelling of sex.
Gay sex.
After, his mother insisted he and Meg come over and he’d ended up staying late. Pop had seemed uncharacteristically melancholy. His mother was putting an overly cheerful face on things, which only served to betray her worry.
When he finally made it back to his apartment all he wanted to do was hear Ansel’s voice and try to forget the day.
Except Ansel hadn’t answered.
And when Fitch had called the next afternoon it was the same thing again.
He’d waited. Hoped. And still no word from the man who occupied his mind every waking minute, hell—every unconscious minute too. Three fucking days of torture.
If Ansel wanted to talk, he had Fitch’s number.
So why was Fitch staring into space, debating yet another desperate attempt to reach him?
Because he’d been hypnotized—by long legs and green eyes, by a smooth cock and a perfect ass. Fitch swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.
It wasn’t like they’d made any declarations. It was only one night. They’d fucked. Yes, Fitch had made Ansel promise they would see each other again, but that didn’t mean anything. Ansel danced for huge horny crowds night after night. He took his clothes off and shook his ass for money, and he seemed to enjoy it. He was magnetic when he moved to the music. Hell, when he fucking breathed. There was every possibility that he had more than a few lovers. Maybe Fitch was just another notch on his bedpost.
The thought made him grit his teeth.
The whole fucking thing had happened so fast he’d been unprepared for the strength of their chemistry, or the power of his own desire.
He didn’t want to think about Ansel with other guys. Fuck, the idea of it made him want to punch something, but what could he do? He kicked a clump of dirt with his steel-toed boot and sighed. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the type to get possessive over someone who clearly didn’t feel the same way. He liked to think he had more confidence than that. Usually he was relieved when his girlfriends finally broke up with him because, more often than not, he’d wanted to end the relationship much sooner and never had the heart.
Hell, he’d never once felt like he might die if he didn’t kiss someone.
Not until Ansel.
The idea that Ansel was blowing him off after the night they’d spent together made him doubt his own feelings. Was he just being clingy and dramatic? Or had their connection been as real as he thought it was?
Fuck. He needed to forget the guy and get back to his old life. He should be working. They still had a bunch of stuff to get done before Easter weekend.
So far, his father had stayed away from the job site, giving Fitch the space he needed to get the project back on track. They were now on schedule to finish by the last week in June. He had to haul a load of lumber to the site and pick up construction materials. He needed to fill out the paperwork for the plumber and schedule the inspection so they could start laying the tiles in the kitchen and bath. Then he had to help get the workspace cleaned up for the long weekend.