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)
Ah, fuck it. He was being a coward.
With one hand clutching the dog tags around his neck, he pulled out his phone. He’d already memorized the number because he was insane like that. He took a deep breath and dialed.
Fitch answered on the third ring. “Hello?” The guy’s sexy voice sounded deeper than he remembered.
Ansel’s fingers tightened around the necklace until the metal dug into his skin. “Uh, hey. This is Ansel, Ansel Becke.” When Fitch didn’t reply, he continued. “You gave me your card, at the club. Sorry if this is a bad time.” Smooth.
“Yeah, I remember.” Fitch cleared his throat. “Hi.”
God, just that and he was already gagging for it. “Okay, well, how are you?”
There was a rustle on the other end of the phone. “Good, great. How are you?”
Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling nervous. “Good, just enjoying the sun for once.” Really? The weather? How fucking lame was he? He banged his forehead on his knee.
“I know, I was out back earlier, but I came in for the game.”
“What game?”
“Baseball, the Jackals are playing the Bears. Do you watch sports?”
The hazy memory of his parents taking him and his brother to a Yankees game in the Bronx slithered through him like a poison snake. His mother had actually smiled and laughed that day. She’d bought Ansel one of those foam fingers and let him eat a hot dog. But the happiness was temporary and Ansel had been so very careful not to destroy it that he barely remembered the game.
He blinked away the past and forced a laugh because Fitch’s tone was so hopeful. “No, sorry. Unless you count ice skating or the dancing on So You Think You Can Dance.”
Fitch’s chuckle was good-natured. “Some of those people are probably in better shape than your average professional athlete.”
“Right, don’t football players take ballet to improve their flexibility?”
“Yep, nothing wrong with that.”
“Which team do you like?” He stretched out his legs and picked at a section of grass coming up through a crack in the stone.
“I’m going for the Jackals, but just to piss off my sister. She’s an epic Bears fan. It’s hilarious when they lose.”
“Is this Meg, the sister you were with on Thursday?”
Fitch cleared his throat again, and after a short pause, answered with, “Yeah, that’s her. Only sibling I have.”
“She seemed great.”
“She’s all right.”
“Was it her purse you were looking for?”
Fitch chuckled and the sound rumbled through the phone like good whiskey. “No, I can’t believe I completely forgot about the damn bag. It’s her girlfriend’s, she left it at the club.”
“What’s it look like?”
“She said it’s blue with a silver clasp.”
“I’ll have a snoop around and see if I can locate it for you.”
Fitch’s appreciation was warm when he said, “Really? That would be great. Thank you.”
Basking in the ease of their conversation and the enjoyable day, he didn’t reply.
“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” Fitch asked, after a few seconds of silence.
A pang speared Ansel’s heart and he stopped picking at the grass to rub at the ache. “Yeah. A younger brother, but I haven’t seen him in years.”
“Oh, that’s tough. Does he live far away or something?”
“No, not really. It’s a long, boring story.”
The TV blared in the background, the cheers of the crowd filling the silence between them. “I get it,” Fitch said, finally. “Maybe one day you’ll tell me, I’d be happy to listen, but no pressure.”
Maybe it was the heat from the sun or the tone of Fitch’s voice, but something had his muscles relaxing. “Thanks.”
“So, can we—I mean—I’d like to see you again. Maybe dinner tonight?”
“I would, but I have to work every night except Sunday.”
“At the club.”
“Yeah.”
“Will you be doing the dance I saw you rehearsing?” Fitch’s voice was so gruff, it sent sparks of electricity from the roots of his hair down to his toes.
“Possibly. It’s up to Tam.”
The half growl, half moan resonating through the phone forced him to shut his eyes on a surge of lust.
“That dance was hot. I’ll come by the club. Can we go somewhere after?”
His skin was on fire at the thought of Fitch being in the audience again. Technically he could leave right after their show, but that meant missing out on a whole night’s worth of tips. He bit his bottom lip and pulled at the hem of his T-shirt, debating with himself.
He needed the money to pay his rent. But damn, if the guy could get him this excited from nothing more than a simple conversation, he’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity for a good fuck. Of course, he ignored all the other warning bells, knowing this wouldn’t be his typical one-night stand.
“Yeah, okay, sounds good.”
Chapter Nine
Fitch stood in his bedroom studying his closet, trying to figure out what to wear on his date. It was a date, to him. A date with another guy, yes. He was still trying to convince himself Ansel’s gender didn’t make a difference, and the phone conversation was heavy proof. Ansel intrigued him.