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 other thing?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
He sighed and then looked at her. “I called him. We went on a date. We fucked. The end.”
Ange’s eyes bugged out of her head. “What? I just saw you yesterday at breakfast.”
“I work fast, honey.” He winked at her.
She repositioned herself so her feet were tucked under her butt and leaned closer. “How was it?”
Heat flooded his cheeks as he recalled the previous night. Evidence of it still littered his room, in the form of rumpled sheets and the lingering smell of Fitch’s aftershave. It was why he hadn’t gone back in there.
He focused on the television. “It was really—” Mind-blowing? Fantastic? Life-altering?
The best sex of his life.
Never going to happen again.
All true.
“Great,” he said, his mind lost in the darkness of his bedroom, remembering the intensity of Fitch’s stare—the hunger and admiration in his eyes as he filled Ansel’s ass. The way he had completely taken over and left all of Ansel’s walls crumbled and ruined. A lot of time had gone into building those barriers, a lot of pain and disappointment. It wasn’t fair that a stranger could rip them apart so easily. All Ansel was left with was a tissue-thin insulation.
And he couldn’t risk that last bit of protection for anything.
Not even kind eyes and a great cock.
While he’d stared at the shadows across the ceiling after Fitch left, he knew he couldn’t afford to let it happen again. He would never survive building those shields anew when Fitch was done exploring his newfound gayness. Ansel would be nothing but a pile of bare nerves and lost dreams when Fitch realized he was just a pretty whore with nothing real to offer. They could never have a happy ending. He was a stripper. He drank too much, fucked too much, and had barely escaped starvation on the cold lonely streets. He was disposable. Not someone you built a life with, and definitely not someone you took home to the parents. He was too confusing with his gender-bending queerness, too offensive. No, the end was inevitable, which was why it was better to minimize the destruction it caused to his life.
No matter the yearning, he would stay away.
“And?” Ange pushed.
“And what?” He sipped his tea to calm his racing heart and refused to look at her.
“When will you see him again?”
“Never.”
“But—”
“I said it was good. I didn’t say it would happen again.”
He could feel her suspicious squint but refused to give in. She meant well. She only wanted him to be happy. The trouble was, her idea of happiness was different than his. Despite her past, Ange had somehow held on to a childlike sense of innocence and the dreams that accompanied it.
Britney’s high-pitched voice singing “Toxic” interrupted the stillness of the room and his stomach dropped. He lunged for his cell, but was too far from the side table and tangled in a blanket. Ange reached it first. She eyed the screen and lifted her brow.
“Grumpy Bear?”
He winced, which only made Ange’s brow spike into her hairline. That, along with the ringtone, would give her all the proof she’d need. Fitch was more than he’d claimed.
“Give it.” He waved his fingers at her until she handed over the phone.
But instead of answering, he hit Ignore and put it on silent before stuffing the stupid thing into his pocket.
“That was him.”
He took his mug to the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you answer?”
He didn’t reply as he washed the cup with shaky hands. Fitch had actually kept his promise. Why was he so shocked by that? He’d seemed the sort right from the beginning.
The phone in his pocket buzzed to indicate a voice mail and Ansel almost dropped the ceramic into the sink.
Ange came around the island and rested a hip on the counter facing him. “I can tell you like this guy.”
Carefully, Ansel placed his cup on the drying rack and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “So what if I do? It would never work, so what’s the point?”
“You’re so cynical. How do you know it won’t work?”
“Come on Ange, I love you, but seriously, you know me. You know what I’ve been through. This guy is so ordinary it’s like we were born on two different planets.”
“He’s too normal for you?” she asked with a tilt to her head, her voice laced with disbelief.
“Yes. No. Shit.” He forked both hands through the hair at his temples and made fists. The pain helped him focus his thoughts. “I’m too fucking crazy for him, all right? I have too much baggage. I’m too sarcastic, too sassy. I’m just too fucking much. There is no way I’d ever fit in his world and you know it. I’m not one to delude myself.”
Ange folded her arms under her breasts. Her lips pinched together and a wrinkle marred her brow as she looked at him with something between anger and worry. She blinked slowly, as if trying to find the right words.