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)
Damn it, Fitch sounded just as lost as Ansel had felt for the past seven days. He peeked over his shoulder and really studied the man. His dark hair was ruffled like he’d been tugging at it. His clothes were unkempt, wrinkled. He had dark circles under his eyes and, most worrisome, the warmth within them was gone.
“I was hoping we could talk,” Fitch said.
Ansel’s fingers clutched the doorknob. Doubt and self-preservation warred in his chest. He owed Fitch one chat at the very least, after what he’d done. But he didn’t trust himself to withstand the cascade of emotions being alone with Fitch brought to the surface. Thanks to AA, he had more ways to cope without alcohol, but he was a long way from being stable.
“You’ll have to talk while I get ready. I’m late.” He puffed out a breath and launched himself up the stairs without waiting for Fitch to follow. If things went south, he vowed to call Tam. No matter what, he would not drink.
“What happened to all your stuff?” Fitch asked as he entered on his heels.
Ansel had completely forgotten the state of the apartment. It must look like he was robbed...He bit the inside of his cheek. No lying, no avoiding. Not this time.
“We’ve been evicted. Ange has already moved and the rest of my stuff is scattered around the city, hiding in my friends’ closets.”
“Evicted? What the hell, why?”
Ansel took a deep breath. “I invited a dangerous man into the building, had a drunken brawl in the entryway, broke the railing, woke up the whole building with the noise, passed out on the stairs, leaving my landlord to deal with the guy. Someone called the cops, though I can’t remember that part. I, apparently, woke up long enough to puke all over the floor. It took two police, Mr. Policek, and Ange to carry me into the apartment.” He swallowed the sour taste of humiliation. “So, yeah, we got evicted and it was my own damn fault.”
“Christ, Angel.” Fitch took a step closer.
Ansel winced again. Damn that fucking nickname. “Don’t.” He shook his head and backed away. “I have to change.” Wasn’t that the truth? Yes, he meant change his clothes, but the statement had a deeper, unconscious meaning for him. His life was a mess and he needed to make serious improvements if he wanted to have any kind of future. “I have no idea what’s in the fridge but help yourself.” He spun and hustled down the hall. Being close was harder than he’d thought, but confessing the disgraceful way he’d acted stung worse than ripping tape off pubes.
His room was fairly empty, only a small pile of clothes remaining. The bed was the only piece of furniture. The hinges squeaked when he sat with a sigh and bent to remove his high-top sneakers. No heels today, most of his shoes already transferred to Z’s place for safekeeping.
Of course Fitch followed him. He should have anticipated that and locked the door. Foolishly he hadn’t even closed the damn thing. Fitch leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“The guy, did you pick him up before or after you started drinking?”
“What?” Ansel looked up from untying his shoe, heart in his throat. Why the fuck couldn’t Fitch just get it through his thick skull that he was bad news. What was the guy still doing here?
“Before or after?” Fitch repeated.
“After.”
Fitch’s face scrunched and he nodded.
“But I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“And what was that?”
Looking away, Ansel resumed the task of removing his shoes. What had he been thinking as he’d lured the stranger to his apartment? Not a damn thing. He’d been so consumed with grief and self-loathing he hadn’t given a thought to the guy next to him. He pushed down the lump lodged in his throat and pulled off his sneakers, tossing them to the floor.
“Getting fucked by a stranger.” The words were hollow. He pulled his T-shirt off and tossed it to the mattress before unfastening his skinny jeans.
“Just one more question.”
Somehow Fitch had moved without him noticing, and now his breath heated the back of Ansel’s bare neck, sending goose bumps over his skin. Tightening his core to stop the shiver of reaction from betraying him, he turned but didn’t back up. He wouldn’t retreat, even if the desire to burrow into Fitch’s heat scared him to death. No fleeing. No chasing. He’d accept life as it was. Reality was a brutal bitch, one he needed to learn to face.
“What?” Ansel tipped his chin up and cocked a hip—an arrogant front to mask his unease.
“What were you running away from?”
Shock tore a breath from his lungs before he could stop it. Unable to speak, he shook his head.
“Was it me? Us? Was it too much, too fast?” Fitch asked. “I need to know. Did my own insecurities cause this? If I did something to make you run away from me—”