Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
What was with these vivid dreams? His mind had turned the alarm into a blaring siren. He breathed easier in the silence, but his heart rate hadn’t slowed.
It was all a dream, right? He glanced around the apartment. Everything looked normal. He rose to his feet and looked out the window. The world hadn’t changed, but he still wanted to call someone and make sure none of what he’d imagined was real. It had felt so fucking real.
In the dream, he’d called Clarice, but her line had been cut off. Next, he’d tried calling Marc and got the same message. Feeling desperate, he called Thorne. He couldn’t remember exactly what happened next, but suddenly he was walking and then running through the streets. There were no cars or people anywhere except that random guys he’d slept with popped up in front of him, mocking him, asking where he was going. When he tried to ask what was going on, they disappeared. He reached the edge of the city, and a desert stretched in front of him. Suddenly, he was in the middle of it, hungry and thirsty and…
He didn’t want to think about it anymore. Maybe some water would help. He was actually thirsty. He filled a glass from the dispenser in the fridge door, drained it, and refilled it. He felt as if the sand from his dream was in his throat. What the fuck was wrong with him?
He grabbed his phone and called Clarice.
She answered on the second ring. “Good morning, I don’t think you’ve ever called me this early before. Are you already at the shop?”
“I…no, I’m home. I… I had the weirdest dream.”
“Are you drunk?”
Did he sound that out of it? “No. I just needed to know you were okay.”
“Aww, honey, you really had a nightmare?”
“Yes, a bad one.” But she was okay. Knowing that was helping to slow his heartbeat.
“I was in it?”
“No, you weren’t. That was the problem.”
“Well, I’m fine, so don’t you worry. Do you need me to stop by and see you?”
He was tempted to ask her to, but he had to get ready for work. “No, I’m fine now. I need to get dressed for work.”
“Okay, but you call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” He ended the call, feeling better but still dazed. How long would it take him to shake off the fear and confusion his mind had dredged up? Coffee. That’s what he needed.
Rather than showering while the coffee pot did its job, like he should have, he stared at the stream of liquid filling the carafe.
Maybe Clarice was right. Maybe he should sell Marc’s costumes. This week he’d work on a plan for how to expand, and then talk to Marc.
You should ask him out.
No.
Adding a costume line was the kind of challenge he needed, but when he thought about asking Marc out he felt as horrible as he had waking up from that dream. No. That wasn’t true. Finding himself completely alone had been terrifying.
Was his subconscious trying to make him ask Marc out by convincing him he would end up miserable if he wasn’t paired up with someone? For all he knew, he and Marc would decide they hated each other after one or two dates. That was far more likely than them continuing on in coupled bliss.
But what if they beat the odds and lasted? What if he fell in love with Marc and then lost him and never recovered, just like his father? After Darius’s mother died, his father had never gone out with anyone else. He kept part of the house like a shrine and spent time there every day, mourning her. Darius had vowed never to let something consume him like that.
But watching Dirty Dancing with Marc had been fun, not to mention hot as fuck. Maybe doing that again would be okay. They were just watching a movie. He could even invite Marc over to his place for pizza and fucking. Those weren’t real dates. They could be fuck buddies.
He’s still your employee.
Shut up.
That would make him like a friend. Darius didn’t need a lover, but he needed more friends.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a few sips. When he got to work, he’d suggest another movie night to Marc. There; that was settled.
He grabbed his phone and texted Gary. I’ve made a decision. I’m not taking the offer.
He headed for the bathroom, cup in hand. Time to wash off the lingering unease from his nightmare. Good thing he had a shelf in the shower that fit his mug perfectly; no reason he couldn’t bathe and caffeinate at the same time.
***
Marc got to work early on Monday morning. They had a client coming in right at nine to try on the suit Darius had made for him. Normally they didn’t take appointments before ten, but this man was one of many clients sent to them by Thorne, so Darius had made an exception. Marc had expected Darius to already be there, but the shop door was locked and the lights were out. Fortunately, he did have a key now, so he let himself in.