Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Chapter 13
Frank
Frank didn’t have any thing. The only thing he had was avoiding Ezra, because if he didn’t, they’d end up in some kind of messy situation, and the last thing Frank wanted was drama.
On a scale of one to ten, his levels of pain due to blue balls were a solid eight. After all, he wasn’t being flayed, and his dick wasn’t getting dipped in dry ice.
He did get some energy out of his system by smashing a sledgehammer through the walls of an old shed.
After hours of work and victimless violence, the job was done. He could go home with a sense of accomplishment, and the hope that Ezra was asleep by now. He hadn’t meant to throw up his life story on the boy back in the car, but he rarely had people ask him about the kind of things Ezra did, so it had just come out.
He’d been thinking a lot about it while turning the shed into sawdust and splinters.
Was he cheap or frugal? Ezra probably thought it was the former, and Frank could see how for a guy like him that would be a major turn-off. But on a deeper level, the conversation forced him to confront the reality that Sally had passed four years ago, and there was no reason for him to forgo the damn avocado toast if he wished to have one.
He usually didn’t, but maybe he could allow himself a few new items of clothing, or to get the beer he liked most regardless of whether it was on sale. But old habits died hard, and as he stopped in front of the house and saw the faint flickering of the television screen through the window, his shoulders dropped. The last thing he needed was a confrontation with Ezra.
Maybe he was just lonely? Maybe he should start going on dates with other criminals and find someone who wouldn’t mind that he disposed of bodies for a living? Too bad the idea of dipping body parts in acid together didn't feel all that romantic.
What he wanted was a handsome man to pamper and please. But he was afraid to even dare dip his toe into the Ezra waters again, because they weren’t clear anymore. They were whitewater. Rapid, dangerous, and oh so beautiful, and if Frank wasn’t careful, he could break his neck traversing them. Or his heart.
Ezra’s offer was tempting, but he knew himself enough to know that without the boundaries of their former situation, he might fall for Ezra the moment he let his guard down. If they spent lots of time together, borders between sex and intimacy might end up too blurry for him to discern.
The light was off, but the faint glow of the screen showing a silent movie featuring a group of witches revealed Ezra lying on the sofa under Frank’s old woolen blanket. At peace, without the fear of Paul going after him, he looked serene like a little kitten stretched out by the fire.
At times, he would talk in his sleep, something the thin walls couldn’t hide from Frank. Each night Frank worried Ezra might be trapped in a nightmare, so he waited out any babbling, just to make sure Ezra didn’t need to be comforted. It had been a blessing that he didn’t, because Ezra’s bed might suck Frank in like quicksand.
He left the TV on and went to the bathroom on tiptoes, eager to wash off the grime of the day. He’d only had a protein bar while out and about, but since he didn’t want to wake Ezra, the plan was to make a dash for the master bedroom and hide there in hopes that Ezra’s insistent need to prod at him would pass.
It would be better that way, and hopefully, with time, their relationship could stop causing all this tension.
The warm water trickling down his body felt almost like caressing fingers, and he hated himself for imagining Ezra with him. This needed to stop.
So he tortured himself with icy water, and once that got his erection down, he wiped himself off, wrapped the towel around his hips, and stepped out into the hallway.
He knew this wasn’t the end of his day when he spotted Ezra standing in the middle of the living room, his stare as level as his stance.
“We need to talk,” he said, still in the pants that so deliciously showcased his ass.
Frank sighed, trapped in the towel barely concealing his nudity. “Do we though? You shouldn’t have gotten up. We can chat tomorrow.”
But Ezra’s eyes glistened with a murderous edge, so Frank stepped into the living room despite knowing he might end up hurt.
Ezra invaded his personal space and dug his index finger into Frank’s chest, his face twisted in a scowl reminiscent of the witches performing devil-worship on the TV screen that should have been replaced long ago.