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)
More than anything, he wanted it to stay that way. He no longer needed the oblivion of alcohol. He never wanted to be numb again.
He popped open his can and handed Lars the other. “There is one thing you should know. It’s kind of important.”
His brother sat on the couch and opened his soda. “Okay, shoot.”
“I’m an alcoholic.” It wasn’t getting any easier to admit.
“Oh.”
“I’m one week sober, going to meetings and everything.” He tucked his hair behind his ears. “Just trying to get my shit together.”
“Whoa, you’re seeing someone.”
“What?” Shock made him lift his head and meet his brother’s open curiosity.
“Dude, it’s all over you. Plus, in my experience, men only better themselves for women. Or, in your case, another guy.”
“And how much experience can a nineteen-year-old possibly have?”
Lars laughed. “You didn’t deny it.”
“Shut up, smart-ass.” He laughed too and sat beside his brother on the sofa. Defying their parents took a lot of courage, and a healthy dose of insanity. He admired his kid brother for standing up to them. All he’d ever done was run away. Running took a lot less courage.
“So, what’s his name?”
Ansel punched his shoulder. “His name is Fitch.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Fitch arrived at Z’s apartment with a ridiculous bunch of flowers in his hands. The smart-ass laughed when he opened the door, his dark brows wagging with delight.
“Did you seriously bring him flowers? You are such a starry-eyed moron.” Z grabbed the bouquet and led the way into the cluttered kitchen area.
“Habit,” Fitch offered, in an attempt to save face.
“Uh-huh, sure.” Z filled a glass with water and carefully arranged the stems. Actions which clearly opposed his sarcastic tone.
When the blooms were perfectly displayed, Z turned to him and tipped up his chin. “He’s been in the bathroom for an hour. He even went shopping.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Not entirely, but the bags weren’t from any of the shops I recognize. Let me go hurry him along.” He strutted down the hall calling for Ansel.
A minute later, Z returned with a funny look on his face.
“What’s wrong? Is Ansel okay?”
The guy squinted at him, pressed his lips together, and crossed his arms.
Before Fitch could push for an answer, he heard Ansel’s voice.
“I’m fine, sorry for making you wait.”
No wonder Z was pissed. Ansel wore a suit. A regular, standard gray suit. His beautiful blond hair was slicked back into a bun and there was no trace of makeup or jewelry. No trace of Ansel.
He looked gorgeously masculine in a way that Fitch found surprisingly appealing. He never would have thought a man in a suit could fluster him, but Ansel did. He looked perfect.
And completely wrong.
Fitch took a moment to center his thoughts before speaking. “What are you wearing?”
Ansel pressed a hand to the stiff fabric of his suit jacket and looked down at his polished black shoes. “I wanted to make a good impression. Don’t you like it?”
Fitch glanced at Z, who shot daggers at him, and then back to Ansel.
“You look fantastic no matter what you wear, but this isn’t who you are.” He gestured to the suit and took Ansel’s hand. “I don’t need you to change yourself for my family, Angel. I want them to know the real you.”
“The real me is an alcoholic stripper who wears too much makeup and prances around in heels, not exactly the kind of person parents want dating their formerly straight son.”
“No, the real you is a magnetic, funny man who is interesting and beautiful, full of confidence and strength. Never, ever dull your shine, Angel, not for me, not for anyone. You make the world a brighter place.”
“Fitch—”
“I want to see glitter and heels and confidence like the night we met. That cocky smirk and that killer strut. Ansel Becke doesn’t give a fuck what people think of him.”
Ansel closed his eyes and sighed. “But I do. I care now because of you. Everything has changed.”
It took all of Fitch’s strength to stop the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him at Ansel’s confession. But he didn’t want a watered-down version of a shooting star.
He needed his Angel bright, wild, and full of life.
Cupping Ansel’s cheek, he said, “You know, the first time I saw you I thought you were a girl.”
Confusion at the change in subject was quickly wiped away, replaced with irritation. “Is that supposed to surprise me? Everyone assumes I’m female, at first.”
“I thought you were hot, but then you turned around and I knew I was wrong. You weren’t just hot, you were explosive. I was ten times more attracted to you once I knew the truth.”
Ansel’s brow wrinkled.
“Talk about being confused. I’m almost thirty years old and all of a sudden I was getting a hard-on for another man. But it was your confidence, your balls-to-the-wall and fuck-everyone attitude, your bravery. That’s what got me.”