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)
“Tam, hon, whatever I said or did, I’m sorry, okay?” Ansel said. “I was totally out of it last night.”
“You’re always out of it. When was the last time you went to bed sober?” Z asked. “Hell, for that matter, when was the last time you came to rehearsal sober? Or at least without a hangover? How many times in the last year have you been too drunk to even make it to rehearsal? We’re lucky you haven’t missed a performance yet because Castor would fucking shit a brick. It’s getting out of hand. Last night was just another in a long line.”
“Fuck off. I’m serious.”
“Oh, you’re serious? Well, I guess I better back off then. Since you’re serious and all.” Z rolled his eyes, but before Ansel could say anything he’d regret, Tam interrupted.
“Listen, Ansel, I’m not mad because you hurt my feelings. I’m not even that upset about your drinking, though Z is right. I’m pissed because you never called to let me know you were okay. I spent the whole fucking night worrying about you. With your games, I’d thought you’d finally gotten yourself killed.”
Ansel rubbed his chest to dispel the sudden ache. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”
“We all know what it’s like not to have people care about us, but that’s changed now. We have each other. At least, I thought we did. But if you’re going to keep acting like that, I won’t be bothered to deal with it. I’ve got my own shit to worry about, we all do.”
“I was just...I just had a bad night is all,” Ansel tried to explain.
“Why?” Z asked. “What made last night any different from every other night?”
“The fucked-up thing is, I don’t know. And anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s get back to work. I need to sweat the funk out of my system.”
Tam sighed but let it pass. “All right, we’ll start again from the top with music and then work on the chorus choreo.”
They got into position and Tam started the music. Even though things were tense they ran through what they’d accomplished so far, then Tam broke down the steps for the next two eight-counts and clapped out the beats at half speed. The routine was fast and sexy, and by the end they were all dripping with sweat. It was three and a half minutes of wild fun. Their audience would love it. They just needed to work on the transitions between the two songs and they’d be ready for tonight’s show.
They were doing a final run-through to music when the front door squeaked open. The club was closed. And the door should have been locked.
Ansel glanced toward the noise and stopped in his tracks. The figure silhouetted by the morning sun looked familiar, which seemed completely absurd.
Goddamn it.
The bottom dropped out of Ansel’s stomach.
Fitch.
No. It couldn’t be him. Why? There was no logical reason for the guy to come back, especially not at this hour. But then the door banged shut and the light shifted, and Fitch’s rough square jaw and deep-set eyes were easy to see.
It only took a second, from the moment the door opened to the instant it slammed shut, but Ansel felt like there was a lifetime of emotions caught between the space of time. And in the next breath, Z collided into his back with a hollered “fuck.” And they both tumbled to the stage floor.
“What the hell?” Z asked, dusting off his knees. “Why’d you stop?”
Tam ran to the music and turned it off and all Ansel wanted to do was crawl beneath the floorboards and die. Instead, he stood and pulled at his shirt.
“Sorry, lost my place. Let’s go again.”
“It’s the boom-boom-flick-spin. You just had it,” Tam said, annoyed. Ansel couldn’t blame him, he probably thought this the fault of partying, not an overactive imagination and a rush of unexplainable fear.
“Yeah, I remember now.” He didn’t look up even though he could feel Fitch’s stare slide over him like warm syrup over pancakes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He brushed his damp, ratty hair off his sweaty forehead and looked down at his old drop-crotch sweats and ugly-ass T-shirt. He looked like shit and felt worse. Why, oh why, did the guy have to show up now? If he was about to get his ass kicked, he preferred to look his best. Plus, he felt way too raw and vulnerable to deal with everything Fitch made him feel.
He drank from the bottle of water Lirim pushed into his hand and took his position for the routine. Tam hit Play and the music drifted through the speakers.
This time, he didn’t lose the steps.
This time, he danced the hell out of it.
Because Fitch was watching.
Chapter Seven
So much for slim chances. Fitch had known he was in trouble when he walked into the dark club. As soon as he’d heard the music, his heart went wild. In that moment, he’d known—he’d been hoping to see the blond again.