Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“Hm.” His short hum was so him. It was usually followed by a long spiel about things I had to consider.
It made me scramble. “He’s kept his sexuality hidden for what I assume is most of his life. Our first night together ended with a seven-hour-long cuddling session, and he told me he was tired. Like, mentally wrung out. I think he’s…you know, insecure and uncertain. It comes out here and there. And if I talked or were a more active participant, maybe it would change the path he’s on.”
He tilted his head at that last bit. “He could be trying to prevent chaos. You know James at the academy—we gotta email him clear-cut instructions, notes, and the songs he’s going to work on beforehand so he can mentally prepare himself. The smallest change in his schedule throws him off.”
Legit. James was a talented pianist and found peace in music. He’d been with Anthony since he was a little kid. Now he was a senior in high school who would probably get accepted into Juilliard. But as Anthony had mentioned—the smallest change could ruin the kid’s day and catapult him into panic.
Was that why Gideon was so strict with the rules?
“Maybe he’s trying to save face,” I realized out loud.
“Who?”
“My client. Yeah, because—yeah, he indicated that he doesn’t wanna come off as a beginner who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Anthony quirked a wry smirk. “He wants to achieve the impossible. Good luck with that.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “And it’s robbing him of a more genuine experience. By keeping me out of the interaction, he won’t feel like he’s actually explored anything.”
He tipped his hand, weighing his response, and shrugged a little. “That’s his choice, bambino. I know you wanna get involved in everything, but sometimes it just isn’t your place.”
I stared at him, wholly unsatisfied with his remark. The fuck? I didn’t wanna get involved in everything.
He pointed at me. “You wanna fix other people’s problems, and don’t even try to deny it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, only to snap it shut and narrow my eyes at him. Motherfucker! I was suddenly on trial for wanting to help people? Get outta here with that shit.
Anthony chuckled.
I shook my head, disgruntled, and glanced out the window. It’d been dark when we’d left work, and now the Friday night crowd was coming out to have dinner. As I checked the time on my phone, I saw we had two hours to kill before we had rehearsal at our church in Williamsburg.
Maybe Nonna would stop by. She liked to watch us play.
Our food arrived, and my stomach snarled with approval. I doused my wings in buffalo sauce.
“Speaking of solving other people’s problems,” I said, “let’s talk about your new song, which is clearly about you tryna find excuses to stay with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”
He frowned at me. “How the fuck did you draw that conclusion?”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s see. You’re at the bottom of a heartbreak, you gotta learn to love what you have, you ask for time and space, there’s nowhere to go, you feel trapped—do I need to go on?”
“For chrissakes, it’s just a song, Nicky.” He shot me an irritated look before digging into his food.
It was clear he didn’t wanna talk about it, so I made a compromise with myself. If Nonna showed up at the church later and heard the song, I wouldn’t have to say another word on the matter because she would. She hated how Shawn used Anthony. Besides, where was he tonight? It was Friday, and Anthony’s exciting plans involved dinner and band practice with his kid brother. I was willing to bet Shawn had plans in the city with his clubbing buddies. Like he did most weekends.
If he ever showed up for Sunday dinners, he did it hungover.
My phone buzzed on the table, and I checked it after wiping my hands on a napkin.
Huh. A message from Gideon. I’d given him my number but never thought he’d use it.
Hello. This is Gideon. I was wondering if we could meet up more often. Every time I show up at the studio, I try to remind myself that we have time. I repeat to myself, “We have till dawn,” “We have two months,” but I’m still experiencing some anxiety about how quickly time passes. You would be compensated generously.
I couldn’t show Anthony the screen fast enough. I wanted to yell, “Can’t you see?!” But instead, I said, “Don’t tell me this man doesn’t want something genuine. He’s just uncertain about how to achieve it—and he thinks he can be satisfied with an arrangement where he pulls all the strings. He thinks having me as some puppet is enough.”
Anthony scanned the message. “We have till dawn.” He smiled faintly. “That’s sweet.” Then he lifted a shoulder and finished another wing. “Maybe he does want more. I never said he didn’t. My argument is that it’s not your place to give it to him. No pun intended.”