Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (18 page)

Chapter Thirty

Ansel hurried from the subway station to his apartment on Saturday night, the evening air colder than usual for late April. His AA meeting went long and there was some kind of delay with the trains so he only had thirty minutes to get ready if he wanted to make it to the club in time. He turned the corner and stopped.

Fitch sat on the concrete step leading to the apartment building’s front door. His arms rested on his knees and his head sagged forward, but Ansel didn’t need to see his face. He had everything about Fitch memorized—his build, his stance, the way he moved, the way he smelled. Every detail was etched in his brain like carvings in stone. He must have made some noise because Fitch looked up and their eyes clashed.

Ansel’s breath hitched and he tightened his grip on the bag strap over his shoulder. “Fitch.”

“Angel.”

He flinched at the nickname even while his tired heart perked its head up and took notice of the relief and desperation that tinged Fitch’s voice.

“What do you want?” Lifting his chin, Ansel crossed his arms. It hurt to see Fitch again. He was just getting used to not hearing that deep, sexy voice, to not looking into those brown eyes. Now he’d have to start the withdrawal all over again from the beginning. One taste of Fitch was more addictive than any drug, and more devastating than alcohol had ever been.

Fitch stood. “To see you again.”

The words weren’t meant to punish him, but they did. They were like feeding crumbs to a starving child when he knew there wouldn’t be anything else to eat. Ansel hugged himself tighter and stiffened his spine, reciting in his head the affirmations he’d learned at AA.

“Well, mission accomplished. Goodbye.” He moved up the stairs staying comically close to the railing to avoid any possible contact.

“Ansel.” The longing in Fitch’s voice was so sharp it made him stall just inside the door, his hand clutching the handle.

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—”

“It had nothing to do with you.” He turned away with the pretense of looking for something to wear. God, he really was a coward. Truth was, he just couldn’t face the worry in Fitch’s eyes, the guilt. Ansel was the one who’d fucked it all up, not Fitch. So
he
should be the only one full of regrets and remorse.

“What then?”

Keeping his head down Ansel answered, “I told you. You deserve better. I’m—”

“No good.” Fitch gripped his shoulders and forced him to turn. “Yeah, I don’t buy it.”

“What makes you think it was anything else? You’ve only known me for a few weeks.” Frustration made him sound bitter.

“You’re right, and in that short time I’ve watched you hide when things got too real. I didn’t realize it then, but the night we met I watched you down seven shots in less than two minutes. You were trying to ignore the way our kiss made you feel, weren’t you?”

“Fuck off.” Ansel shoved Fitch’s shoulder, but the bastard didn’t budge.

“And all those times in this room, when it got too intense you’d try to push back. When you couldn’t, you hid. I should have figured it out sooner. I was just so fucking caught up in the idea of you being with someone else...” Fitch trailed off and his grip softened into a caress. “What was it, Angel? Please tell me.”

Ansel stared at Fitch’s chest, head and heart in turmoil. What was the big deal? He’d told a room full of strangers during his turn at the podium. He’d told Ange. He’d even planned on telling the boys soon, maybe tonight. It wasn’t a fucking secret anymore. And maybe, if Fitch knew what a goddamn basket case he was when it came to family shit, Fitch would finally understand he wasn’t worth the effort. He looked up to meet Fitch’s eyes and had to bite his lip at the affection reflected back at him.

Fuck.

He’d better get this over quick.

“My mother found my number in my brother’s pocket and called to see who it belonged to. When she realized I’d been talking to him, she made her irritation very clear. She told me to stay away from him, berated me like she used to do. I let it get to me, just like always. She knows exactly what to say to break me down.

“It’s no excuse for my behavior. I’m old enough to understand that actions have consequences. Everything that happened after she hung up, that’s all on me.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. “I make bad decisions, Fitch, I always have. I’m irrational, flighty, selfish, impatient and insecure. I’ve got so much baggage it wouldn’t fit on an aircraft carrier. Trust me when I say you don’t want to be involved with me. You deserve—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Fitch crushed their mouths together.

Ansel’s worn-out heart soared at first contact. The flood of need racked his body and he went along with the rush. He opened under Fitch’s onslaught. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, it was a desperate, aching connection between two souls who’d pined for each other. Too fucking long, his body insisted, he’d been away from this paradise for too fucking long.

Panting heavily, Fitch pulled away and sifted fingers through Ansel’s hair. “Can we start over?”

“There is no going back,” Ansel said with regret. One of the things he needed to accept was living in the moment and not dwelling in the past. No one could turn back time.

Fitch’s face fell and the sight broke Ansel’s heart. He didn’t want to be the cause of Fitch’s pain.

He took a shaky breath.

“But we can move forward,” he whispered. “If you want.” There was no way he could stop his pulse from beating the hell out of his ribs, but when Fitch smiled, he didn’t give a damn.

“Yeah, Angel,” Fitch said. “Forward is perfect.”

* * *

Fitch brought his mouth to Ansel’s again—he needed another taste. Kissing his dancer had, at some point, become like breathing. Necessary.

Thank fuck he’d gotten his head on straight and come back to confront him. Otherwise he’d be sitting alone in his apartment like a stale piece of bread. There was still so much they needed to hash out, so much he didn’t understand. But right now, all he could think about was feeling his lover’s hard body, hearing the moans of pleasure, savoring the beautiful mouth. And, damn, relishing the scent.

Ansel was wearing the perfume.

Fitch’s chest expanded as he breathed it in, remembering the day, the look on Ansel’s face like he’d never received a gift before. After everything, he wore it. Did Ansel think of him when he sprayed it on his skin? When he caught a whiff during the day? Christ, why did those thoughts make his hands shake?

Sweeping his tongue along Ansel’s bottom lip, he glided his palms down into the loose waist of his lover’s jeans to grip his ass. With little effort he smashed their fronts together. The contact scorched through the thin shirt he wore, straight to his heart. So hot, it burned.

He pulled away from Ansel’s lips with a groan. “Damn, you are an instant fucking inferno.”

Ansel didn’t reply, he chased Fitch’s mouth until they reconnected. His deft tongue took control and deepened the mating like he was just as frantic, just as wild. Ansel ground against his denim-covered thigh so hard it had to hurt. They separated only to breathe, Ansel pressing quick kisses on his jaw, neck, and over to his ear.

But, suddenly Ansel stiffened with a groan. “Shit, I almost forgot.”

Undaunted and determined not to be distracted, Fitch grazed his teeth down Ansel’s neck and smiled when his lover shivered in reaction.

“Fitch,” Ansel moaned in frustration. “I’m late. I have to get to the club.”

“Mmm, I’m not done feasting on you yet.”

Ansel pushed at his arm. “I can’t be late. I had to miss a few rehearsals and need to run through the changes to choreo before our show.”

With a sigh, Fitch stopped what he was doing enough to look into Ansel’s face, but he didn’t remove his hands from their home on his ass.

“When do you have to be there?”

“Eight.”

Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket for his phone to read the time.

“It’s seven-twenty. I can drive to the club in ten minutes, fifteen at most. How long do you need to get ready?”

The corner of Ansel’s mouth rose and he shook his head. “I have to change and grab my makeup and stuff. Five minutes.”

Fitch gave his most feral grin. “That gives me twenty minutes to fuck you until you can’t stand.”

Those full painted lips parted on a breath. “I don’t have any supplies. I wasn’t expecting...”

Fitch shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Okay, so no fucking.”

“Blow jobs?”

“Tempting, but I don’t think I could stand not kissing you.” As proof he pressed his lips to Ansel’s.

“A good old-fashioned grind then.” Ansel flashed his trademark smirk.

He cupped Ansel’s bruised face and rubbed a thumb along his playful lip. “Damn, Angel, I’ve missed you.”

Ansel lowered his gaze, hiding his eyes behind thick lashes.

“No, don’t do that, not anymore, not again.” With one finger he lifted Ansel’s chin and stared into cautious eyes. “I missed you so much. Do you hear me? When you shut the door it was like you shut out the sun. All the light, the warmth, the joy, it all vanished and there was an Ansel-shaped hole in my world. I won’t let you hide anymore, Angel.”

There was a tense moment of silence between them, and in that single breath Fitch waited like he was on the edge of a cliff expecting someone to push him over.

“I missed you too,” Ansel finally whispered, the green of his eyes twinkling like emeralds.

Fitch was caught up in their brilliance while he struggled to calm his racing heart.