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)
They cuddled in silence while the candles burned low. Even though the lights were still on, neither of them seemed inclined to move. Just as his eyes started to drift shut, Fitch spoke.
“You know, I’ve been thinking. I mean, you said yourself my place has enough space.” He brushed some hair behind Ansel’s ear. “You could always stay with me if you can’t find another apartment. Or just, if you wanted to. Or whatever.”
Cannonballs.
It was ridiculous how easily his heart seemed to flip these days, or how happy a simple sentence could make him.
He lifted himself up and looked into Fitch’s earnest face doing his best not to betray his excitement. “You want me to stay here?”
Fitch nodded. “Yeah, I mean, you can. I just wanted to offer the option.”
“Like live with you?” What happened to the air in the room?
“Well—” Fitch took a deep, unsteady breath and looked Ansel straight in the eyes “—yes.”
Ansel was quiet for moment, letting Fitch’s words, and his actions over the past few weeks, sink in.
“It’s just another choice, you know. I don’t want to pressure you or anything. I’d...” Fitch paused and took another breath. “I’d love to have you here, but I know it might be too soon. So, whatever you need. Okay?”
Whatever he needed? What about what Fitch needed?
“Thank you. But how would I get to work?”
Fitch blinked in surprise then moved so he could rest against the head board. “I could drive you at first, and there are buses and trains that go into the city every hour. Do you have your license?”
“No, I never needed one. I’ve lived on the streets since I was old enough to drive.”
“Right, well, I could teach you, if it’s something you want to learn.”
“You’d teach me how to drive?”
The crease appeared again. “Of course. If it’s something you want, I’ll teach you even if you don’t move in with me.”
Move in with Fitch.
Ansel looked around the bedroom, imagining his stuff scattered around. His design aesthetic and colorful approach would change the space. And he found the idea didn’t scare him as much as he thought it would.
He sat up and mirrored Fitch’s position. Holding Fitch’s hand, he said, “I’d enjoy knowing how to drive. I’ll consider the rest.”
Chapter Forty
Three days later Ansel was still debating Fitch’s offer. Hell, he thought about everything that had happened that day from the suit to the dinner, from being accepted by Fitch’s family to realizing he wanted his own happy ending—even if it was stupid.
On Monday, after work, Z had pestered him with questions. So many that they’d continued into rehearsal and spilled over to the others as well, until Lirim and Tam were interrogating him too.
Trouble was, he didn’t have any answers.
He was still reeling from it all.
Was he ready to go after something he wanted so much? Could he face the potential disaster if he failed?
That’s what he talked about during his AA meeting Tuesday afternoon. Afterward many of his fellow addicts came up to him and shared some of their experiences. Even Susan, who’d become a good friend, thought Fitch would be a good influence. They weren’t supposed to get into relationships until a year after sobriety, but this was different. He and Fitch had been together since before Ansel started AA, technically, and while they were together Ansel hadn’t had much desire to drink.
With their advice still in the back of his head, he rushed to Z’s apartment to change before their rehearsal. It started to rain, so on his way out the door he grabbed a hoodie and slipped it on. He had no idea where Z and his roommate kept the umbrellas.
He locked the front door and skipped down the steps, in a rush to catch the train.
“Miss Priss.” The shrill voice stopped him in his tracks.
He whipped his head around to see his parents standing on the sidewalk, their town car double-parked on the street. His father held a large black umbrella over both of them, but droplets had splattered up to cover his mother’s perfect cream pumps with muddy tracks.
Compared to them, he looked like a wet dog. A wet, dirty dog with perfect glossy lips and killer heels covered in metal spikes. He straightened his shoulders and tipped up his chin.
“It’s Ansel. You should know that, Mother.” He put every ounce of hatred and sarcasm into that word. “You are the one who named me.”
Her lips thinned and she glared at him.
“I told you to stay away from him.” She came closer, forcing his father to follow so they both remained dry.
“When have I ever done anything you told me to do?” Though his words were brave, his hands shook. He pulled the sweater tighter around his middle to hide his fear. The urge to step back, to turn on his heels and run in the other direction, was almost overwhelming. But over the past few weeks, he had learned a lot about himself.