Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (6 page)

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.

He’d already chosen his best pair of blue jeans, but he still debated the shirt. The last two times they’d met, he hadn’t put in any effort. This time, he wanted to look his best. He’d showered, shaved, sprayed himself with cologne, and even bought new boxer-briefs.

And some condoms and lube.

Maybe that was presumptuous, but why lie? After his night of research and a trip to the store he was ready to be honest, at least with himself. He was nervous as hell, but every time he closed his eyes, he could taste Ansel’s kiss and his pulse started to race.

He had no idea what he was getting himself into, but he wanted it more than anything in his life so far. He’d made a vow to take control of his life, and this was one way to do that. Going after the things he wanted and saying no to those he didn’t.

No more avoiding conflict just to spare someone else’s feelings.

If he kept doing that, he’d never be truly happy.

His cell rang so he retrieved it from his dresser and answered.

“Fitch, man, where have you been?” Rob asked. “Annie has been asking about you again. Why don’t you come down to the pub?”

“Annie?”

“Yeah, you remember Annie Hurley, the redhead with the great rack?”

The description brought to mind the daughter of one of Donovan Construction’s best local clients and her extremely annoying voice. “Right. Sorry, buddy, I’ve got plans tonight.”

“What do you mean? It’s Saturday night. There are no games this weekend and you’re not seeing anyone.”

He was distracted by his closet again. Should he go with the dark blue button-down or more casual with a decent T-shirt? It would be warm in the club, especially when the dancing started, but he wanted to make a good impression.

“Whoa, are you seeing someone? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Rob asked, bringing Fitch back into the conversation.

Shit.
“No, not seeing anyone.” He answered a little too fast and immediately felt guilty for lying. But technically it wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment.

This was their first date, a little premature to start talking about it. What if it didn’t work out? What if, when they started getting to know each other, the attraction faded? There was no sense spilling the beans about his potential gay lover when nothing had happened...yet.

So, why stir the pot now? If things got serious with Ansel, he’d tell Rob. Eventually.

He’d tell everyone, if it came to that.

Although he had no idea how.

Luckily, Rob didn’t seem to notice Fitch’s silent alarm. “Then come out with us. The guys are all here, Sammy, Todd, Ralph, and Craig. Even Rich was able to get away from the wife and kids for a few hours.”

All his friends were getting together without him. He sighed. “I wish you’d have told me sooner, but I can’t break my—” He paused, not wanting to say
date
. “Uh, my appointment.”

When Rob replied, he didn’t hide his disappointment. “It was kind of a spontaneous thing, that’s why I called. Oh well, another time, I guess.”

“Yeah, for sure. See you around.” He hung up, feeling terrible for putting off his friends in favor of a date with a stranger.

Okay, truthfully, if he were going out with a woman he wouldn’t care, but he wasn’t, and choosing Ansel over his friends made him a little uneasy. What did it say about him that he’d rather have a chance at sucking cock for the first time than hanging out with his friends?

He growled and rubbed a hand over his face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was he doing?

Twenty-nine was too early for a midlife crisis, wasn’t it? And by now he should know his own sexual identity, shouldn’t he? Why was he so willing to do something that could turn his life upside down? Dating Ansel had the potential to turn everyone against him.

He was pretty sure his family would come around eventually, but that wasn’t a given. What if they were disappointed in him? What if his mom wanted grandkids so bad she never forgave him? And his friends, shit, if they found out how hard he got thinking about Ansel, they’d never look at him the same.

He sat on his bed and stared into the closet. The shirt he’d worn to the club was tossed in the corner, but he hadn’t washed it. Probably never would.

Ansel’s challenging smirk flashed in his mind, those glittering green eyes lit up by the club lights, his plump lips painted bright red. And the way his abs had fluttered under Fitch’s palms during the lap dance...Fitch’s pulse steadied and his limbs grew warm and heavy. His breathing calmed until he could stand again and walk to the closet.

He pulled out the green button-down his sister had given him for Christmas last year. She’d said the colors looked good with his complexion. He just thought it would play well off of Ansel’s awesome green eyes. It was fitted near his waist and made his shoulders look bigger than they were. He rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, left his collar loose by two buttons, and grabbed his keys and phone. It was only eleven. He was way too fucking early, but if he stood around waiting for another second he might never leave his apartment.

And he didn’t want to chance living the rest of his life without knowing.

If nothing else, he’d at least have a crazy story to never—
ever
—tell anyone.

The drive into the city took longer than expected. Traffic was backed up on the New Jersey Turnpike due to an accident near the waterfront exit. Which meant, instead of being early, he arrived at the club with barely enough time to push his way through the crowd before the lights began to dim. Heart thundering with a mix of excitement and adrenaline, he ordered his Coke and waited. The anticipation made it hard to concentrate.

He couldn’t remember ever being this nervous—or this fucking eager—for a date in his whole life. Not even when he’d finally scored one with Debby, the prettiest girl in his ninth grade class. Not when he’d met Sandra, the perky little Vietnamese girl he’d dated for three months in college. Not even during his last relationship, with Sara. It could be the newness of it all, but he suspected it was more likely due to a pair of wicked green eyes, long-as-sin legs, and a haughty smirk.

* * *

“Sorry I’m late.” Ansel ran through the back door of the club and pulled off his shirt. They were supposed to be onstage in twenty and he still had to fix his hair and do his makeup.

“Thank God you’re here.” Tam pressed a palm to his bare stomach. “I thought I’d have to rearrange the positioning on the fly. Not to mention what Castor would do.”

“Where were you? Have you been drinking?” Z sidled up behind him as he sat in the chair, and met his eyes in the mirror.

“Back off, Z. I took an extra shift and then the fucking train was late and I missed the bus. Threw me off schedule, okay?” He’d managed to get his foundation done in the cab on the way to the club and his cheeks were already highlighted and rouged, but he still needed to color his lids and apply mascara. “I’ll be ready, I promise. Can you get my clothes out of my bag?”

Lirim moved to collect his belongings on the floor where he’d tossed them upon entry. “No problem, just beat that face and take a deep breath. We still have time.”

“I was thinking we could do Gaga’s ‘Applause’ and ‘Bad Girls’ tonight.” Tam straightened the shoes against the wall.

“Really?” Ansel liked both of those routines, but Fitch was coming and he wanted to see “Slut Like You.” Ansel finished painting his lids and set the compact on the counter. “I was kind of hoping we could run through our newest set again.” He didn’t look up. Instead, he picked up his liquid liner and unscrewed the top.

“But we just did those routines last night.” Z was still standing behind him and his eagle eyes were squinting at Ansel’s reflection. He picked up a comb and ran it through Ansel’s windblown hair.

“I know.” He couldn’t help the one-shoulder shrug. “It’s okay if we don’t. I just thought...” He trailed off and went back to applying the rest of his makeup. Tonight, he was going for fifties glam, complete with winged liner and voluptuous lashes. Instead of the standard red lip, he chose a hot pink to match his nail polish.

“This is for that guy, isn’t it?” Z bent down so their faces were side by side. “You called him.”

He pressed his lips together before speaking, “It’s not a big deal.”

Lirim whistled and sat in the chair next to him. “He’s coming tonight?”

He used the application of gloss as an excuse not to answer.

“All right. We’ll do Pink and Brit again. We could use the practice anyway.” Tam smiled at him in the mirror.

“Thanks, hon.”

“I’ll just go tell Dag of the change. Be right back.” He turned and slipped through the stage door that led to the DJ station.

While he was away, Lirim gathered Ansel’s costume pieces and draped them over the nearest empty chair. Tonight he’d wear tight black faux-leather leggings, platform heels, and a long piece of black ribbon twisted up one arm and down the other. When he was dressed and ready, he took his place in their circle. He wrapped his arms around Tam to his left and Z to his right and hugged them close.

“Let’s kick some ass and take some names, girls.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Love you guys.”

“Love you too, bitch.”

Their laughter was drowned out by the cheers of the crowd and their introduction by the DJ. As they took the stage, his heart thudded.

His fingers warmed and tingled. His cock was already half-hard and the music hadn’t even started yet. When the strong steady beat of Britney’s “Work Bitch” started, he fell into the routine. The music washed over him. The adrenaline of performing was almost as addictive as any drug, but tonight was different.

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.

“What’s that?”

“Henry David Thoreau. It was my anthem way back.”

“Don’t tell me, you’re stripping your way through college.”

Ansel scoffed and shook his head. “More like stripping my way through life, honey.”

They rounded the corner laughing just as a group of guys crossed the street. Fitch didn’t pay much attention to them until one yelled, “Faggots,” shoulder-checking Ansel hard enough for him to stumble into Fitch.

It all happened too fast. One second they were laughing and the next Ansel was in his arms and the strangers were chuckling dastardly as they walked away. Fitch’s stomach knotted as he realized they’d included him in their insult.

He was a faggot.

For the first time in his life he was being ridiculed, and all because he stood next to Ansel.

He gritted his teeth and helped Ansel right himself. Even though he tried to be subtle about it, he could tell by Ansel’s pale face that his fears were broadcasted clear as day. And then, not only did he feel like an idiot, he was also embarrassed.

Anger flooded his system until he was ready to punch someone. Fitch was just about to turn toward the group and say something when Ansel’s hand caught his elbow.

“Trust me, it’s not worth it,” Ansel said. The understanding look in his green eyes was the only thing that stopped Fitch.

“They shouldn’t get away with that shit.”

Ansel’s pointed laugh was tight and tense. “That was nothing, don’t let it ruin the night.”

“Does that happen to you a lot?”

Those beautiful lips twisted. “More than you’re ready to know.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence and at the diner Fitch chose a table near the back, partly for privacy and partly to remain hidden from anyone walking by on the street. If Ansel guessed his motives, he didn’t say anything.

The place was long and narrow, with only a single row of booths in the center and tables scattered near the windows. The decor was classic fifties with red, black and chrome accents. Only two other customers took up space at this hour, one guy sipping coffee at the counter and a hooded figure in a booth on the other side.

As soon as they sat down, a tired waitress came over and presented them with menus. As he studied each option, his date flipped through the entire list in a few seconds. After he pushed the plastic aside, Ansel began folding a napkin from the dispenser on the table.

“Something to drink?” the waitress asked when she returned a minute later.

“Coke,” Fitch answered.

“Same.”

“I’ll be right back to take your order.”

They both said their thanks and she left to get their drinks.

“So, Fitch Donovan, why are we here?”

* * *

Ansel rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “No bullshit,” he warned. “I’m allergic.”

“I’m not much of a bullshitter. Not my style.”

“Good, so tell me, honestly, what is this?”

Across the table Fitch wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, an obvious stall tactic Ansel could see right through. No matter how forward Fitch had been in the club, being seen in public with someone like Ansel probably gave the straight guy hives. But instead of deflecting his question like Ansel expected, Fitch finally met his eyes.

“A date?” The way he said it sound like both a question and a statement, and oddly it gave Ansel pause—for a second at least. Then his instincts kicked in and shields were firmly back in place.

“Sorry, sugar. I don’t date. I fuck.”

Fitch coughed. “Oh. Right. Okay.” His brow scrunched adorably and Ansel sighed.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment. It’s just, dating seems too sentimental. You know?”

“Not really, dating is all I’ve ever done, one girlfriend after another. Sometimes even when I didn’t want them.”

“So, you
are
straight. Not bi?” Mesmerized by the endearing bob of Fitch’s Adam’s apple, Ansel silently chastised himself. When had he become the type of person to go gaga over a dude’s throat?

“Straight as a razor, until Thursday.”

Did he really think it was a switch that got flipped at some awkward moment? Being handed so much power was wicked flattering, but Ansel knew better than to get caught up in it. “Just because your crank got turned doesn’t mean you’re suddenly all about the D.”

The waitress returned with the drinks, distracting them from the conversation as they recited their orders. When they were alone again, he pulled out Ray’s old flask and poured some rum into his Coke. Task complete, he leaned back and crossed his ankles, waiting for Fitch to reply.

“You’re right. I’ve been trying to test myself ever since,” Fitch said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been looking at other guys, you know, watched porn, to check my reactions. It’s not like I never noticed a good-looking dude before, but I’ve never been,” he cleared his throat before whispering, “aroused by one.”

Ansel matched his volume. “It’s not a crime. Why are you whispering?”

Fitch let out a breath and shook his head. “You don’t give a guy a break, do you?”

Ansel flipped his hair over his shoulder. “Why should I? No one has ever given me one. And anyway, I’m not the guy you want to be around if you’re ashamed of people thinking you’re gay. Hello.” He gestured to his painted face and glittery outfit. “I’m a blinking rainbow sign that says Queer as Fuck.”

Fitch looked at the table and drew a circle in the condensation left by his glass. “You’re vibrant, that’s for sure.”

“So, I’ll ask again. Why are we here?”

Again Fitch made eye contact. His deep brown eyes projected honesty and lust. “Because I can’t seem to get you out of my fucking mind.”

Ansel’s stupid, idiotic heart actually fucking skipped a beat. To mask the warmth suddenly spreading outward from his chest and up his neck, he lowered his head and pressed his lips together.
Don’t fall for it.
Pretty words came and went. He’d learned the hard way—love was a lie.

“But I do have some questions,” Fitch continued.

Glad for the distraction, he smirked. “Yes, it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.”

“What? Oh.” Fitch shook his head and chuckled. “No, not about anal. And it can’t hurt that bad or so many people wouldn’t be doing it.”

“True enough. What’s your question?”

Before Fitch could speak, though, the food arrived. Ansel’s order of chili-cheese fries, a side of chicken fingers, and mozzarella sticks took up half the table while Fitch’s double bacon cheeseburger and onion rings fit on one plate.

“Are you really going to eat all that?”

“Hell yes. You’re paying, right?” He winked to let the guy know he was joking before biting off half a marinara-dipped cheese stick.

Fitch laughed and shook his head. “I thought this wasn’t a date,” he said, biting into his burger.

“Touché.”

They ate in companionable silence for a while, Ansel enjoying the diner’s fries more than he remembered even while Fitch kept staring at him. If it had been anyone else across the table he probably would have felt like a bug under a microscope and gotten defensive, but Fitch’s eyes were warm and syrupy and full of awe. It gave Ansel the distinct and unaccustomed sense of comfort. Which in turn ignited his fear. He was who he was, after all.

“What? Do I have sauce on my nose or something?” he finally asked.

Fitch shook his head. “This is going to sound crazy, but you look hot shoving melted cheese in your mouth.”

Ansel’s laugh was so loud and unexpected it drew the attention of the old man at the bar, so he quickly muffled it with his hand.

“If you think that’s hot, baby, wait until I get on my knees,” he replied when he caught his breath, and batted his eyelashes for extra punctuation.

The groan that escaped Fitch’s generous lips set Ansel’s blood on fire and instantly they went from teasing to blast-furnace desire.

“You shouldn’t say shit like that to me in a public place.” Fitch took a deep breath and licked grease off his bottom lip. Everything about the man screamed hunger. And Ansel was the feast about to be devoured.

Holy shit.

He took a giant gulp of his rum and Coke, searching his muddled brain for a change in topic. They needed to douse the inferno before he combusted right there in the middle of the diner.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Anyway, you said you had some questions?”

“Right.” Fitch sat back in the booth and stretched out his legs, pulling at the denim in a familiar move that had Ansel wondering just how thick the guy’s cock was beneath the fabric.

“Well, the thing is, I’m not very familiar with the LGBTQ subculture other than what my sister tells me.”

“Just spit it out.” Ansel winced at his bitchy tone. “Sorry, I’m just impatient.”
And horny.
“I promise I won’t be offended.”

“Okay.” Fitch smiled. “So, Meg’s friend said you guys aren’t drag queens.”

He dipped another stick in the sauce. “She’s right. I am nowhere near as fierce as a queen.”

“But you wear heels and makeup. What’s the difference?”

“I don’t tuck, most queens do. They often wear fake breasts too. Drag is for show. A performance. We don’t try to pass ourselves off as women. We dress like this every day. We just like pretty things.”

“So you’re trans?” Fitch scratched his jaw before popping another onion ring in his mouth.