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)
The deli was already packed with customers hanging around, nibbling on free samples and chatting around the tables near the back. Aisles on the left displayed all sorts of Italian and Spanish goods, plus anything one might need in a hurry like smokes, milk and bread. Under the glass counter they stored the fresh goods: cheeses from Italy and France, sliced meats to make Enrico’s famous hoagies, and antipasti fixings that would make your mouth water.
“That right? Wait ’til you’re an old man like me, and we’ll see how many ladies are knocking down your door.”
Ladies. Not a beautifully effeminate man who danced like sin and made Fitch’s dick ache. Fitch hid his embarrassment with a cough and a scratch to the back of his neck.
“How many ladies you need, you selfish bastard? You’ve already hooked the best gal in town.” Fitch winked at Enrico’s wife, Esmeralda, who manned the register.
“You’ve always been a good boy, Fitch Donovan,” Esmeralda said. “And much more handsome than my no-good husband.” Her smile was wicked.
Enrico grumbled as he crossed to where she sat. “Woman, how many times have I told you to stop flirting with the customers?”
“But it’s good for business.”
“Good for business, bad for my ulcer.” He kissed Esmeralda on the cheek. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Essy.”
She patted his hand. “Maybe, but you’ll surely die happy.” She giggled at her own joke before focusing on Fitch again. “How’s your mother?”
“Ma’s good, whole clan is doing well. Meg’s studying real hard, just celebrated her twenty-first.”
“She didn’t.” The outrage in Enrico’s voice was comical and Fitch smiled.
“‘Fraid so, old man.”
“Mama mia!” Enrico crossed himself like he was chasing away evil spirits. “I must be dying, little Meg Donovan is all grown up.”
“Calm down, Rico. You’re not dying, you’re just old.”
The bell jingled again, signaling the arrival of another customer. Enrico waved at the newcomer then focused on Fitch again. “What can I get for you today?”
“A classic Italian with extra hot peppers and oil.”
While Enrico went to work slicing the meats and cheeses for the sandwich, Fitch took a moment to pick up a few essentials. He scanned the racks, grabbing pasta, jarred sauce, some bread, and peanut butter before moving to the next aisle. Various shampoos, soaps, toothpaste, and grooming supplies filled the space and at the very end were rows of condoms...and lube.
Lube.
He’d never bought lube before. That one time he’d had anal with a girlfriend she’d done all the prep work. All he’d had to do was slip his dick in, but from everything he’d read and seen last night, there was so much more to gay sex than that. And he was going to need a lot of lube.
He could feel the heat rising up his neck to color his cheeks and he quickly checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking. Thankfully he was alone so he could peruse the labels. Not that he was going to buy anything. Not at Rico’s Corner Store and Deli. Not where everyone who came in knew his name, his parents’ names, and the names of their last four pets.
No fucking thank you.
He’d stop at the superstore at some point where he could get in and out again without seeing anyone he knew. Without having to explain why he was staring at a bunch of colorful boxes of lubricant and trying to figure out which one to buy.
Because, Christ, he wanted to have sex with another man.
And not just that, he wanted to do all the things he’d watched the porn stars do. All the things that seemed to drive them crazy with pleasure. Yeah, he wanted to experience it all with his dancer. To make Ansel moan like those actors did, but for real. With his tongue, with his hands, with his cock.
Damn it, he was getting hard.
This was stupid. There wasn’t any guarantee that Ansel would even call. Why was he getting himself all worked up? And why did the idea that Ansel wouldn’t call twist him up inside?
Shaking his head, Fitch took a deep breath and forced himself back into the present. He couldn’t think about it here. There were too many friendly eyes, too many familiar faces.
Worrying about how to explain his sudden obsession made him ill.
No one would understand.
Chapter Eight
Saturday breakfast with his roommate, Ange, was a tradition dating back to the day they met. The location had changed over the years, depending on where they were living and how much cash they had, but they’d never failed to make the date. It was one way they both stayed connected to Ray, the homeless veteran who’d saved their lives.
But it was also a good excuse for greasy sausage and pancakes.
Since they’d moved into their current apartment, they’d frequented the tiny diner less than a block away. The eggs were awful, but the coffee was good.