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)
Tonight, he could feel Fitch’s eyes on him, and it made every cell in his body come alive.
Chapter Ten
Meet me out front in 20.
The text message came only minutes after the dancers left the stage to a wild, cheering crowd and the DJ’s announcement that they’d be out to mingle soon. Fitch’s fingers tightened on his phone as he tried to calm his breathing. Twenty minutes.
For some reason it felt like an eternity and an instant all at once. Especially after their performance. He’d thought the routine was hot during their rehearsal, but tonight it had been epic. From the moment the lights came up, Fitch had been hypnotized—and hard as a rock.
Sense memory or some such bullshit, because he swore he could smell the perfume from twenty feet away, and it curled around his balls like a living tongue.
He sent a quick reply before shoving the phone back in his pocket. Then he headed out the door. The early morning air smelled fresh and the streets around the club were quiet. The peace wouldn’t last long, not in the city that never slept—better enjoy it while he could. He checked the time on his phone and leaned against the streetlamp, relieved the club was in the West Village and it was the middle of the night. He could be ninety-nine percent sure he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew.
The click-click-click of heels came from behind and he turned to see Ansel approaching from around the corner.
He took in the sight. The guy wore sparkling black heels, a pair of tight black pants, and a baggy T-shirt that said I woke up like this written in gold sequins. He shimmered with metallic jewelry, long necklaces, bangles, and oversized rings. The light from the streetlamp made it seem like the words were glowing, and his shoes were filled with stars. Fucking dazzling.
“Hey,” Fitch said.
Ansel tucked his hair behind his ear and smirked. “Hey, yourself.”
Okay, now what? He rubbed the back of his neck and flicked his gaze over Ansel’s face.
“You look—” He swallowed, because there wasn’t really a word for it. Gorgeous? Did gay guys like to be called beautiful? How was he supposed to know? Fuckable? Irresistible? Amazing? Like walking sin?
Ansel blinked and lowered his eyes to Fitch’s chest. “Better than the last time we saw each other, I hope.”
“Yeah, yes, fucking great. I mean, not that you looked bad last time. I don’t think it’s possible for you to look bad, honestly. But, yeah, you look good tonight.” He scratched his jaw before adding, “Shall we go?”
Ansel tilted his head. “Sure, where are we going?”
“There’s a twenty-four-hour diner only a few blocks away.”
“Yeah, I know it. They have great fries.”
“Should we walk? It’s a nice night.” He glanced down at Ansel’s shoes. He wasn’t up on all the fashion terms, but those heels looked pretty damn high.
“Sure, I’m fine with walking. These bitches are nothing compared to my five-inch patent-leather pumps. Those fuckers kill.” He lifted one leg and made a circle with his ankle. “These have padding so they’re actually kind of comfortable.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Fitch said, before tucking his hands in his pockets.
They walked side by side down the street. Even though they were inches apart, he swore he felt the heat of the other man warming his arm.
“What do you do for a living, Fitch Donovan?”
“My family owns Donovan Construction in Bayonne.”
Ansel looked him up and down and nodded. “I can see that. You probably developed those muscles from lifting packs of cement over your head.”
Fitch ignored the involuntary flex of said muscles. “What about you? What do you do, other than dancing?”
“Why do you think I do anything else?”
Fitch lifted a shoulder. “I get the sense that dancing is your passion, and I doubt it pays enough for rent in Manhattan.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Ansel paused a moment before finishing, “I currently have the most glamorous part-time job of slicing meat and filling sausages at a butcher shop in Midtown.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s a small place, good benefits, and pay is decent.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who’d willingly wear a hairnet and plastic gloves.”
Ansel laughed. “I know, right? I think of it as being incognito, like it’s my secret life or something.”
“So who are you really, if you’re not the guy who handles meat?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I do love meat.” The look he shot Fitch was full of mischief and Fitch couldn’t help but smile and roll his eyes at the innuendo. “Too much?” Ansel asked with a smirk.
“Nah.”
“I’m a lot to handle sometimes, or at least that’s what people tell me.” Ansel played with one of the long necklaces around his neck. “‘There is a vale which none hath seen, where foot of man has never been, such as here lives with toil and strife, an anxious and a sinful life.’” The last was mumbled half under his breath.