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)
“It had nothing to do with you.” He turned away with the pretense of looking for something to wear. God, he really was a coward. Truth was, he just couldn’t face the worry in Fitch’s eyes, the guilt. Ansel was the one who’d fucked it all up, not Fitch. So he should be the only one full of regrets and remorse.
“What then?”
Keeping his head down Ansel answered, “I told you. You deserve better. I’m—”
“No good.” Fitch gripped his shoulders and forced him to turn. “Yeah, I don’t buy it.”
“What makes you think it was anything else? You’ve only known me for a few weeks.” Frustration made him sound bitter.
“You’re right, and in that short time I’ve watched you hide when things got too real. I didn’t realize it then, but the night we met I watched you down seven shots in less than two minutes. You were trying to ignore the way our kiss made you feel, weren’t you?”
“Fuck off.” Ansel shoved Fitch’s shoulder, but the bastard didn’t budge.
“And all those times in this room, when it got too intense you’d try to push back. When you couldn’t, you hid. I should have figured it out sooner. I was just so fucking caught up in the idea of you being with someone else...” Fitch trailed off and his grip softened into a caress. “What was it, Angel? Please tell me.”
Ansel stared at Fitch’s chest, head and heart in turmoil. What was the big deal? He’d told a room full of strangers during his turn at the podium. He’d told Ange. He’d even planned on telling the boys soon, maybe tonight. It wasn’t a fucking secret anymore. And maybe, if Fitch knew what a goddamn basket case he was when it came to family shit, Fitch would finally understand he wasn’t worth the effort. He looked up to meet Fitch’s eyes and had to bite his lip at the affection reflected back at him.
Fuck.
He’d better get this over quick.
“My mother found my number in my brother’s pocket and called to see who it belonged to. When she realized I’d been talking to him, she made her irritation very clear. She told me to stay away from him, berated me like she used to do. I let it get to me, just like always. She knows exactly what to say to break me down.
“It’s no excuse for my behavior. I’m old enough to understand that actions have consequences. Everything that happened after she hung up, that’s all on me.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. “I make bad decisions, Fitch, I always have. I’m irrational, flighty, selfish, impatient and insecure. I’ve got so much baggage it wouldn’t fit on an aircraft carrier. Trust me when I say you don’t want to be involved with me. You deserve—”
“Shut the fuck up.” Fitch crushed their mouths together.
Ansel’s worn-out heart soared at first contact. The flood of need racked his body and he went along with the rush. He opened under Fitch’s onslaught. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, it was a desperate, aching connection between two souls who’d pined for each other. Too fucking long, his body insisted, he’d been away from this paradise for too fucking long.
Panting heavily, Fitch pulled away and sifted fingers through Ansel’s hair. “Can we start over?”
“There is no going back,” Ansel said with regret. One of the things he needed to accept was living in the moment and not dwelling in the past. No one could turn back time.
Fitch’s face fell and the sight broke Ansel’s heart. He didn’t want to be the cause of Fitch’s pain.
He took a shaky breath.
“But we can move forward,” he whispered. “If you want.” There was no way he could stop his pulse from beating the hell out of his ribs, but when Fitch smiled, he didn’t give a damn.
“Yeah, Angel,” Fitch said. “Forward is perfect.”
* * *
Fitch brought his mouth to Ansel’s again—he needed another taste. Kissing his dancer had, at some point, become like breathing. Necessary.
Thank fuck he’d gotten his head on straight and come back to confront him. Otherwise he’d be sitting alone in his apartment like a stale piece of bread. There was still so much they needed to hash out, so much he didn’t understand. But right now, all he could think about was feeling his lover’s hard body, hearing the moans of pleasure, savoring the beautiful mouth. And, damn, relishing the scent.
Ansel was wearing the perfume.
Fitch’s chest expanded as he breathed it in, remembering the day, the look on Ansel’s face like he’d never received a gift before. After everything, he wore it. Did Ansel think of him when he sprayed it on his skin? When he caught a whiff during the day? Christ, why did those thoughts make his hands shake?
Sweeping his tongue along Ansel’s bottom lip, he glided his palms down into the loose waist of his lover’s jeans to grip his ass. With little effort he smashed their fronts together. The contact scorched through the thin shirt he wore, straight to his heart. So hot, it burned.