Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Fitch leaned against the hood of his Chevy, fiddling with his phone. It’d been three days since their date and he hadn’t been able to get Ansel out of his head. Time slowed to a crawl. Every day he woke up thinking about him, and he went to sleep with Ansel’s name on his lips. The dreams. Fuck, the dreams were incredible. So real he had a hell of a time waking up in the mornings. His goddamn imagination had never been so vivid, except when it tortured him with hollow images of his dancer. Every sharp curve and wicked smirk his mind conjured were so much like the real thing he been suffering from a permanent hard-on.

He’d called twice. Left messages both times, but Ansel still hadn’t called him back. After the first miss, he brushed it off as a timing issue, since it had been pretty late on Sunday night. He’d spent the morning sitting in church listening to the pastor go on and on about forgiving sins and the path to heaven. All the while irrationally terrified of being struck by lightning for entering a house of God still smelling of sex.

Gay sex.

After, his mother insisted he and Meg come over and he’d ended up staying late. Pop had seemed uncharacteristically melancholy. His mother was putting an overly cheerful face on things, which only served to betray her worry.

When he finally made it back to his apartment all he wanted to do was hear Ansel’s voice and try to forget the day.

Except Ansel hadn’t answered.

And when Fitch had called the next afternoon it was the same thing again.

He’d waited. Hoped. And still no word from the man who occupied his mind every waking minute, hell—every unconscious minute too. Three fucking days of torture.

If Ansel wanted to talk, he had Fitch’s number.

So why was Fitch staring into space, debating yet another desperate attempt to reach him?

Because he’d been hypnotized—by long legs and green eyes, by a smooth cock and a perfect ass. Fitch swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.

It wasn’t like they’d made any declarations. It was only one night. They’d fucked. Yes, Fitch had made Ansel promise they would see each other again, but that didn’t mean anything. Ansel danced for huge horny crowds night after night. He took his clothes off and shook his ass for money, and he seemed to enjoy it. He was magnetic when he moved to the music. Hell, when he fucking breathed. There was every possibility that he had more than a few lovers. Maybe Fitch was just another notch on his bedpost.

The thought made him grit his teeth.

The whole fucking thing had happened so fast he’d been unprepared for the strength of their chemistry, or the power of his own desire.

He didn’t want to think about Ansel with other guys. Fuck, the idea of it made him want to punch something, but what could he do? He kicked a clump of dirt with his steel-toed boot and sighed. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the type to get possessive over someone who clearly didn’t feel the same way. He liked to think he had more confidence than that. Usually he was relieved when his girlfriends finally broke up with him because, more often than not, he’d wanted to end the relationship much sooner and never had the heart.

Hell, he’d never once felt like he might die if he didn’t kiss someone.

Not until Ansel.

The idea that Ansel was blowing him off after the night they’d spent together made him doubt his own feelings. Was he just being clingy and dramatic? Or had their connection been as real as he thought it was?

Fuck. He needed to forget the guy and get back to his old life. He should be working. They still had a bunch of stuff to get done before Easter weekend.

So far, his father had stayed away from the job site, giving Fitch the space he needed to get the project back on track. They were now on schedule to finish by the last week in June. He had to haul a load of lumber to the site and pick up construction materials. He needed to fill out the paperwork for the plumber and schedule the inspection so they could start laying the tiles in the kitchen and bath. Then he had to help get the workspace cleaned up for the long weekend.

And yet he’d stood by his SUV since lunch. Jesus Christ on a fucking cracker.

He didn’t chase.

But he also didn’t give up easily. He clutched the cold plastic in his hand, doubts assailing him. How could he be this worked up over another guy? And why? Damn it, why was he so sure it’d be worth all this effort?

Yes, the sex had been out of this world, but he could get decent sex with less stress.

Closing his eyes, he brought to mind Ansel’s green eyes, the way they’d blinked open for him, filled with so much pain and hope and fear. It was those eyes that decided it—they both deserved the chance to see what could be.

He blew out a shaky breath and called his dancer for the last time.

He wouldn’t beg. He’d be honest.

Ansel appreciated honesty.

So when, yet again, he heard Ansel’s voice mail message, he closed his eyes and lowered his head, waiting for the beep.

“It’s me. I promise this will be my last message. You don’t want to see me again, and I get it. Maybe I’m not what you want, that’s okay. Whatever the reason, you should know that you changed my life. I won’t forget you. Please, never stop sparkling.”

When he hung up, he had to force air into his lungs. Somehow, he’d move on, but he’d never forget the man who’d given him a new look on life.

And, apparently, transformed him into a poet.

Rolling his eyes, Fitch lumbered toward the building where his crew was hard at work. At least now he would never need to reveal his secret to anyone. He’d never need to deal with their shock or homophobia. He’d never find out which friends would still be friends if they knew he’d fucked another guy.

The tiny bit of relief he felt with those thoughts flooded him with shame.

* * *

It had been four days since he’d seen Fitch. Four measly days. But for some reason it felt like forever. Like he was going through withdrawal. He couldn’t concentrate at work. Picking up Tam’s new choreo was more difficult than it had been in years. And dealing with the concerned stares from his friends was worst of all. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear that Ange had gone behind his back and spilled the tea.

But no matter how angry she might be at him, she’d never betray his trust like that. Still, something was up with the boys. They kept giving him weird looks and whispering behind his back. Finally, during rehearsal, Ansel snapped.

“Is somebody going to tell me what the fuck has you hookers’ panties in a twist lately? For fuck’s sake, you keep acting like a bunch of gossiping tweens and I might have to reconsider my afternoon plans.” He glared at them all in turn, but not even Z met his eye. Z never backed down from a fight. The guy had conflict in his blood. So Ansel knew it was bad.

“Lirim? Tam?”

But neither of them answered. They swung their gazes to Z and even from a few feet away Ansel could read the pleading in their eyes.

“Shit,” Z said with a put-upon sigh before turning toward Ansel. “Do you even realize you’re halfway to wasted right now?”

“The hell I am.” He’d only had two beers at lunch and a couple of sips from his flask after work. He was far from wasted—he wasn’t even tipsy.

“Okay, you keep playing that denial card, honey.” Z sounded annoyed but not totally angry. “Thing is, Castor has noticed too and he’s not happy.”

“Fuck Castor.”

Z sighed. “Normally, I’d be right there with you.”

“But?”

Z didn’t answer. Instead he lifted a perfectly plucked black eyebrow toward Tam, who did a turtle imitation. His slender shoulders came up around his ears, but he did finally meet Ansel’s gaze.

“He threatened to tell my parole officer I’m hooking again,” Tam said, his voice softer than it had been in years. It was the same timid voice he’d had when they first met, and hearing it again after so long made him ache for his friend.

“Said if we miss a performance for any reason he’d make it impossible for me to keep living at Prism Center. Without the Center, I’ll have to go back to jail. Staying there, getting counseling, is a condition of my parole.”

“What a fucking asshole,” Ansel said. But what did he expect? They were just starting to get their lives together, just starting to make something out of what little talent they had. Of course something was going to ruin it. That was how life worked.

“Right, so we all need to make sure nothing interferes with our performances,” Z said.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Bitch, you know exactly what I’m saying, don’t play the dumb blonde with me.”

“Wait, is this some sort of fucking intervention?”

“No,” Lirim said. It was the first word he’d uttered all day. “We’re worried about you, Ansel.”

“Jesus, I’m fine. Why don’t you all start worrying about your own damn selves. I don’t need mothering now any more than I did six years ago.”

“Right, so you’re going to tell us that you’re not doing your damnedest to sabotage your life with booze? That you didn’t fuck Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scrumptious the other night? And that it didn’t make you want something you think you can’t have?”

Z was making far too much sense. His words hit a nerve Ansel hadn’t realized was exposed and he flinched.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“What the fuck do you know about it?”

“Not a damn thing. But I wonder, are you so fucked up that being happy scares you so much you go running into the bottle? You keep pushing all the good stuff away, babe, and you’ll end up broken and alone. You’ve been there once already, do you really want to go back?”

Something ugly slithered inside his chest at Z’s words and the truth behind them. No, Ansel didn’t want to go back to where he’d been six years ago. But what was he supposed to do? Start believing in the impossible? Shit, that was Ange’s territory, not his.

He was a realist.

But then he remembered how Ray had saved him, how he’d found the Prism Center, how he’d met the Boyz. All those good things, they were real. They happened. They weren’t just dreams Ansel had conjured up to keep himself warm at night. Maybe. Just maybe, Fitch could be real too.

What was the harm in trying? It wasn’t like he had that much to lose.

* * *

Ansel had always considered himself overconfident to the point of cocky. He strutted around in his high heels and bright colors like he was a fucking pop diva. He didn’t give a fuck what people said to him or what they thought. He’d learned from a goddamn ex-Navy SEAL how to defend himself. He wasn’t afraid anymore. At least, he hadn’t thought he was. But maybe his real fears had only scurried deeper into the depths, like roaches avoiding the light.

He’d avoided Fitch’s calls and ignored the messages, but each time his phone beeped with the little reminder, his determination weakened. Who knew what might happen if he answered the phone? Seeing Fitch didn’t mean he had to get his heart broken. Hell, he was already broken. His family had tossed him aside because he hadn’t fit their mold of the perfect son. Nothing would ever hurt more than that, and yet he’d survived. You might even say he’d thrived. It had been a struggle at first, but he’d managed to find people who cared.

Not everyone looked at him and judged him worthless.

So late Thursday night, buzzing because one of his regulars had paid for shots, and wet from the shower, Ansel sat on his bed with his knees tucked under his chin, and finally listened to Fitch’s messages.

His wet hair dripped down his naked back, but it wasn’t the chill that gave him goose bumps. It was the sound of Fitch’s voice, defeated, hopeless. It killed him that he’d made Fitch feel like that. Somehow, in the past few days, guilt and regret had become the two emotions he was most familiar with. After years of thinking only about himself, it was odd to be semi-responsible for someone else’s happiness.

Odd, and also a little thrilling.

Ange’s words echoed in his mind and combined with the new, unusual warmth of having a relationship with his brother. It made believing in the impossible suddenly not so farfetched. If his brother could come back into his life so smoothly, maybe happily-ever-after wasn’t such a long shot.

Ansel closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and called Fitch.

“Hey, Angel.” Apparently Fitch’s voice still had the power to set him on fire, though it was gruffer than he remembered.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

A grunt and some muffled movement. “It’s okay, nice to finally hear your voice.”

Ansel swallowed past the regret lodged in his throat.

“So, um, how have you been?”

Fitch hummed. “Haven’t been struck by lightning.”

“Were you expecting to be?” Ansel lowered his legs and leaned his head against the wall at his back.

“Not really, but sitting through church service next to my parents on Sunday was more bracing than I’d anticipated.”

Ansel smiled in the darkness, but didn’t reply.

“What about you?”

“Also not struck by lightning.”

Fitch’s chuckle was deep and comforting. Some of the tension in Ansel’s gut released.

“What’s new in the exciting life of Ansel fucking Becke?”

Ansel sighed. “Do you want the long answer or the short version?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do tonight but talk to you.”

It wasn’t really an answer, but he figured Fitch wanted to hear whatever he wanted to tell him.

“Remember how you asked about my brother the other day?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, you wouldn’t believe who I ran into last week...”

“Really?” The surprise and interest in Fitch’s voice warmed him, and he sank deeper into the comfort of their conversation.

“Yep, it was crazy. I hadn’t seen him in six years and then out of the blue we literally bumped into each other.”

“How was it?”

Ansel couldn’t have hid his happiness if he’d wanted to. Knowing he had family in the world who didn’t hate the sight of him helped restore his long-buried optimism and gave him something to look forward to. “Good. We’re going to stay in touch, I hope.”

Fitch was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was softer, gentler. “Can I ask why you haven’t seen each other?”