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)
And yet he’d stood by his SUV since lunch. Jesus Christ on a fucking cracker.
He didn’t chase.
But he also didn’t give up easily. He clutched the cold plastic in his hand, doubts assailing him. How could he be this worked up over another guy? And why? Damn it, why was he so sure it’d be worth all this effort?
Yes, the sex had been out of this world, but he could get decent sex with less stress.
Closing his eyes, he brought to mind Ansel’s green eyes, the way they’d blinked open for him, filled with so much pain and hope and fear. It was those eyes that decided it—they both deserved the chance to see what could be.
He blew out a shaky breath and called his dancer for the last time.
He wouldn’t beg. He’d be honest.
Ansel appreciated honesty.
So when, yet again, he heard Ansel’s voice mail message, he closed his eyes and lowered his head, waiting for the beep.
“It’s me. I promise this will be my last message. You don’t want to see me again, and I get it. Maybe I’m not what you want, that’s okay. Whatever the reason, you should know that you changed my life. I won’t forget you. Please, never stop sparkling.”
When he hung up, he had to force air into his lungs. Somehow, he’d move on, but he’d never forget the man who’d given him a new look on life.
And, apparently, transformed him into a poet.
Rolling his eyes, Fitch lumbered toward the building where his crew was hard at work. At least now he would never need to reveal his secret to anyone. He’d never need to deal with their shock or homophobia. He’d never find out which friends would still be friends if they knew he’d fucked another guy.
The tiny bit of relief he felt with those thoughts flooded him with shame.
* * *
It had been four days since he’d seen Fitch. Four measly days. But for some reason it felt like forever. Like he was going through withdrawal. He couldn’t concentrate at work. Picking up Tam’s new choreo was more difficult than it had been in years. And dealing with the concerned stares from his friends was worst of all. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear that Ange had gone behind his back and spilled the tea.
But no matter how angry she might be at him, she’d never betray his trust like that. Still, something was up with the boys. They kept giving him weird looks and whispering behind his back. Finally, during rehearsal, Ansel snapped.
“Is somebody going to tell me what the fuck has you hookers’ panties in a twist lately? For fuck’s sake, you keep acting like a bunch of gossiping tweens and I might have to reconsider my afternoon plans.” He glared at them all in turn, but not even Z met his eye. Z never backed down from a fight. The guy had conflict in his blood. So Ansel knew it was bad.
“Lirim? Tam?”
But neither of them answered. They swung their gazes to Z and even from a few feet away Ansel could read the pleading in their eyes.
“Shit,” Z said with a put-upon sigh before turning toward Ansel. “Do you even realize you’re halfway to wasted right now?”
“The hell I am.” He’d only had two beers at lunch and a couple of sips from his flask after work. He was far from wasted—he wasn’t even tipsy.
“Okay, you keep playing that denial card, honey.” Z sounded annoyed but not totally angry. “Thing is, Castor has noticed too and he’s not happy.”
“Fuck Castor.”
Z sighed. “Normally, I’d be right there with you.”
“But?”
Z didn’t answer. Instead he lifted a perfectly plucked black eyebrow toward Tam, who did a turtle imitation. His slender shoulders came up around his ears, but he did finally meet Ansel’s gaze.
“He threatened to tell my parole officer I’m hooking again,” Tam said, his voice softer than it had been in years. It was the same timid voice he’d had when they first met, and hearing it again after so long made him ache for his friend.
“Said if we miss a performance for any reason he’d make it impossible for me to keep living at Prism Center. Without the Center, I’ll have to go back to jail. Staying there, getting counseling, is a condition of my parole.”
“What a fucking asshole,” Ansel said. But what did he expect? They were just starting to get their lives together, just starting to make something out of what little talent they had. Of course something was going to ruin it. That was how life worked.
“Right, so we all need to make sure nothing interferes with our performances,” Z said.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Bitch, you know exactly what I’m saying, don’t play the dumb blonde with me.”
“Wait, is this some sort of fucking intervention?”