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)
“What’s that?”
“Henry David Thoreau. It was my anthem way back.”
“Don’t tell me, you’re stripping your way through college.”
Ansel scoffed and shook his head. “More like stripping my way through life, honey.”
They rounded the corner laughing just as a group of guys crossed the street. Fitch didn’t pay much attention to them until one yelled, “Faggots,” shoulder-checking Ansel hard enough for him to stumble into Fitch.
It all happened too fast. One second they were laughing and the next Ansel was in his arms and the strangers were chuckling dastardly as they walked away. Fitch’s stomach knotted as he realized they’d included him in their insult.
He was a faggot.
For the first time in his life he was being ridiculed, and all because he stood next to Ansel.
He gritted his teeth and helped Ansel right himself. Even though he tried to be subtle about it, he could tell by Ansel’s pale face that his fears were broadcasted clear as day. And then, not only did he feel like an idiot, he was also embarrassed.
Anger flooded his system until he was ready to punch someone. Fitch was just about to turn toward the group and say something when Ansel’s hand caught his elbow.
“Trust me, it’s not worth it,” Ansel said. The understanding look in his green eyes was the only thing that stopped Fitch.
“They shouldn’t get away with that shit.”
Ansel’s pointed laugh was tight and tense. “That was nothing, don’t let it ruin the night.”
“Does that happen to you a lot?”
Those beautiful lips twisted. “More than you’re ready to know.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence and at the diner Fitch chose a table near the back, partly for privacy and partly to remain hidden from anyone walking by on the street. If Ansel guessed his motives, he didn’t say anything.
The place was long and narrow, with only a single row of booths in the center and tables scattered near the windows. The decor was classic fifties with red, black and chrome accents. Only two other customers took up space at this hour, one guy sipping coffee at the counter and a hooded figure in a booth on the other side.
As soon as they sat down, a tired waitress came over and presented them with menus. As he studied each option, his date flipped through the entire list in a few seconds. After he pushed the plastic aside, Ansel began folding a napkin from the dispenser on the table.
“Something to drink?” the waitress asked when she returned a minute later.
“Coke,” Fitch answered.
“Same.”
“I’ll be right back to take your order.”
They both said their thanks and she left to get their drinks.
“So, Fitch Donovan, why are we here?”
* * *
Ansel rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “No bullshit,” he warned. “I’m allergic.”
“I’m not much of a bullshitter. Not my style.”
“Good, so tell me, honestly, what is this?”
Across the table Fitch wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, an obvious stall tactic Ansel could see right through. No matter how forward Fitch had been in the club, being seen in public with someone like Ansel probably gave the straight guy hives. But instead of deflecting his question like Ansel expected, Fitch finally met his eyes.
“A date?” The way he said it sound like both a question and a statement, and oddly it gave Ansel pause—for a second at least. Then his instincts kicked in and shields were firmly back in place.
“Sorry, sugar. I don’t date. I fuck.”
Fitch coughed. “Oh. Right. Okay.” His brow scrunched adorably and Ansel sighed.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment. It’s just, dating seems too sentimental. You know?”
“Not really, dating is all I’ve ever done, one girlfriend after another. Sometimes even when I didn’t want them.”
“So, you are straight. Not bi?” Mesmerized by the endearing bob of Fitch’s Adam’s apple, Ansel silently chastised himself. When had he become the type of person to go gaga over a dude’s throat?
“Straight as a razor, until Thursday.”
Did he really think it was a switch that got flipped at some awkward moment? Being handed so much power was wicked flattering, but Ansel knew better than to get caught up in it. “Just because your crank got turned doesn’t mean you’re suddenly all about the D.”
The waitress returned with the drinks, distracting them from the conversation as they recited their orders. When they were alone again, he pulled out Ray’s old flask and poured some rum into his Coke. Task complete, he leaned back and crossed his ankles, waiting for Fitch to reply.
“You’re right. I’ve been trying to test myself ever since,” Fitch said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been looking at other guys, you know, watched porn, to check my reactions. It’s not like I never noticed a good-looking dude before, but I’ve never been,” he cleared his throat before whispering, “aroused by one.”