Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (21 page)

“What if your family doesn’t approve of us—of me?” Ansel looked at his chest. “I’m not your average gay man.”

“I don’t want average. I want amazing. I want you.”

Ansel stopped their frantic kiss with hands to Fitch’s shoulders. “I’m serious. After everything, if they don’t like me, it’s all fucked.”

“I’m not saying it will be sunshine and puppy dogs, but you really don’t have to worry so much. Just can we please keep kissing?”

He rubbed a soothing hand on Ansel’s thigh and waited. He wouldn’t push, but he did hope that one day he’d be able to introduce his family to the guy who’d changed his life forever.

* * *

Fitch was watching ESPN and waiting for Ansel to call on Tuesday evening when his phone rang. Recognizing his parents’ number, he gritted his teeth and answered.

“Fitch?”

He sucked in a breath at his mom’s tentative voice and the telltale hollow echo that meant she was on speakerphone. He was prepared for anything—another lecture by his dad, begging, maybe even crying on his mom’s part. He just hoped that when it was over they’d all be able to look one another in the eyes.

“Yeah, Ma?”

He waited while his parents whispered to each other. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he could tell his mom had won.

When she finally spoke again, her words were confident. “We would like to invite you and your beau to dinner this Sunday.”

His stomach clenched. Dinner. Christ, he was overcome with appreciation for his parents even while he was filled with dread. Was Ansel ready to meet the parents? Hell, they’d just gotten back together. How would he deal with the pressure of family?

He let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s nice, Ma. Thanks. Maybe it’s a little too soon, though. I wouldn’t—”

“Your mother wants to meet the man you’re carrying on with, son. You will bring him to dinner on Sunday.” His father’s voice was stern like when Fitch was a boy and he’d done something that displeased him. Franco Donovan had never shouted at his children, he’d never had to. Because he had
that
tone. The one that meant Fitch had better do exactly what he was told or there would be dire consequences. And even though he was almost thirty years old, that tone still worked.

“Yes, Pop. I’ll invite him.”

“Damn straight you will,” Pop said.

“Franc,” Fitch’s mother chastised him. “Watch your mouth.”

“Just making sure he doesn’t disappoint you, Margie.”

His mom sighed. “Honey, we’re
both
looking forward to seeing you this weekend. Okay?” The way she emphasized
both
filled Fitch’s heart with warmth. They might never be able to understand his choice, but at least they were trying to accept it.

Now all he needed to do was convince Ansel to take the leap too.

They said their goodbyes and for the next hour Fitch wondered how he’d persuade his Angel to face his fears and join him for family dinner. When Ansel finally did call, before his performance, Fitch hadn’t come up with anything clever.

“Something troubling you?” Ansel asked, after he finished a long-winded retelling of his afternoon.

“Not troubling, per se...” Fitch trailed off.

“Don’t bullshit me. You know I’ll break out in hives and then Z will tear you a new one for ruining the show.”

“My parents called,” he said simply.

Ansel’s quickly indrawn breath was his only reaction.

“They invited us to dinner this Sunday.”

“Us?”

“Yes, both of us. As a couple.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for longer than was natural.

“Angel? You still alive or should I call an ambulance?”

Ansel cursed under his breath. “Sunday?”

And all of a sudden Fitch smiled. His chest felt like it expanded four sizes and his skin was too tight for his body. Ansel was so much braver than he’d given him credit for, and his pride in him was overwhelming.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

* * *

The familiar jingle of Enrico’s bell sounded as Fitch pushed through the door into the deli. It was Friday afternoon, and he’d decided to pick up lunch for the crew. Mostly, he just needed to get away from all those curious looks and all that judgmental testosterone. But before he could even make it to the counter, a familiar redhead sidled up to him. Her cloying perfume made him shudder even as he smiled.

“Annie. How are you?”

“Missed you the other night.” Annie Hurley was the oldest daughter of John Hurley—owner of Hurley Realty, a local development firm that sent Donovan Construction thirty percent of their work. And the woman Rob had been trying to set him up with. It seemed like ages ago now. So much had happened since then. He was a completely different person.

He rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, had plans.”

“Those plans include pizza at Bella Vita’s with some big blonde tramp?” Her tone had gone from sweet as sugar to acid rain, but it was the words that caught Fitch short.

His date with Ansel. How did she know?

“Wha—”

“My sister saw you practically drooling over your date. Pathetic, she said.”

Fitch blinked at her. They were in the middle of Enrico’s and it was early afternoon. The place was packed and every single customer knew who he was, where he’d grown up. They knew everything about him...except this one thing. People he’d known all his life tried to look like they weren’t eavesdropping, even though they were. And he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

This was his neighborhood deli and Annie fucking Hurley was getting in his face because she was jealous? They’d never even kissed, for Christ’s sake.

“Skinny little thing, too, Gracie said. No chest to speak of. I can’t believe you’d walk away from all this,” she said with a gesture to her own ample bosom, “for some scrawny piece of ass. What’s she got that’s so special?”

He could feel every eye in the room focused on him. The burning itch started between his shoulders and climbed up his scalp until it felt like a million fire ants were making a meal out of his skin. Enrico raised a brow at him, but Fitch couldn’t even offer the man a nod because he was stuck.

Shit, he’d been stuck for weeks in this crippling confusion and dread. It made him feel like the biggest fool because he knew better than to worry about what other people thought. Their opinion would never give his life meaning.

The question hung in the air, sucking all the oxygen from the place until Fitch was lightheaded enough to throw caution to the wind.

He was so done with hiding. He wasn’t ashamed of his relationship. Ansel was amazing and Fitch was so fucking proud to know him.

And hell, if his parents could make an effort to accept their relationship he didn’t care about anyone else. So, fuck Annie Hurley, and fuck her gossiping sister, and fuck their father too, if necessary. Fuck everyone.

“A cock, for one,” Fitch finally answered.

He felt the gasp spread through the crowd like a pebble in a pond as everyone grew silent around them. But he ignored their audience and focused on Annie’s shocked face. Her mouth gaped open so she looked like a fish.

“But, but, Gracie said she was—”

“Yeah, he gets that a lot. His name is Ansel, he’s my boyfriend. And yes, he gets mistaken for a girl all the time because he’s fucking gorgeous. But I can assure you, he’s one hundred percent male.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, just for fun.

At this, Annie turned red as the sliced meats in Enrico’s cooler. But Fitch barely paid attention because the confession seemed to take the weight of the world off his shoulders. All of a sudden he felt free and calm, and the only thing he wanted to do was see Ansel and kiss the daylights out of him.

He knew the gossip train had been set in motion, and in no time everyone in town would hear about what happened, he might have just lost a big client, maybe he’d return to the site and no one would be there—but he couldn’t work up the energy to care.

He’d made his choice. He chose Ansel fucking Becke.

Glitter and all.

Chapter Thirty-Four

A suit. He actually bought a fucking suit. And a tie. Christ, he was either an idiot or...nope, just an idiot. Ansel readjusted the shopping bags as he approached the entrance to Z’s apartment. Ever since Fitch invited him to dinner, his heart hadn’t stopped the insane tap dance. It was driving him crazy. How long could a guy be this nervous and not die of a goddamn heart attack?

He was in serious danger here.

And he’d bought a fucking suit.

Gray. A gray suit.

Gross. Who wears gray? Boring, normal, straight people, that’s who.

And if he wanted the Donovans to like him, he needed to fit in and be boring and normal too.

He pushed the key in the lock.

“Ansel?”

With one hand full of purchases and the other on the door, he turned toward the familiar voice.

“Lars, what are you doing here?”

He had the insane urge to check behind him to make sure his mother wasn’t about to attack. His brother pushed off the wall and came over to help him with the bags.

“Your landlord said this is where I could find you. Why did you move? I’ve been trying to call the number you gave me, but it’s out of service.”

With a sigh, Ansel pushed the door open and led the way into Z’s quiet apartment. “You shouldn’t be here. Mother will be pissed.” His stomach clenched painfully in remembered anguish, but he swallowed it back and concentrated on his new strength.

“Maybe, but I don’t care.”

Ansel locked the door behind them while Lars dropped the bags and crossed to the window.

“I heard her on the phone with you,” Lars said to the glass.

Ansel had never heard his brother’s voice so full of fury. He wrapped his arms around his middle. It didn’t matter that it had been weeks since the call, it still hurt. He still held on to the regrets from everything that followed.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that position. She had no right to speak to you that way.” Lars turned to meet his eyes.

“It wasn’t anything new. You know that. It just took me by surprise.”

“I should have known better. Hell, I should never have kept it a secret in the first place. You’re my fucking brother and I have every right to know you.” He was practically vibrating with determination.

Warmth filled Ansel’s chest. “Thanks, but I don’t want you to lose your education just to hang out with me.”

“They’d never do that. I’m their last chance so, basically, I hold all the cards. I told them I’m coming to school in the fall and I will talk to you whenever I want. Our relationship is none of their business and unless they want to lose another son, they’d better leave it alone.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, man. We’ve already missed too much of each other’s lives. I don’t want to miss any more.”

He didn’t smile, but he did pull his brother in for a hug.

When they separated, Lars looked him in the eyes. “So are you going to tell me why you moved and what happened to your phone?”

On a groan, he crossed to the refrigerator. “I fucked up.” He stared into the cooler and right there on the top shelf was a six-pack of beer. His fist closed around a bottle before he’d even realized what he was doing. The glass felt cold and familiar—comforting. The urge to take it out, twist it open, and guzzle it down was so strong he shook with it. He could imagine the taste, bitter and hoppy, and his tongue watered. It was a good brand. Z tended to be a snob about things like that. It would be smooth and full and satisfying.

It would make him feel better.

He could be numb again.

His stomach clenched and he forced his fingers to release the bottle. With a deep breath he grabbed two cans of soda and quickly shut the door. His pulse raced and he’d started to sweat, but his mind was clear.

More than anything, he wanted it to stay that way. He no longer needed the oblivion of alcohol. He never wanted to be numb again.

He popped open his can and handed Lars the other. “There is one thing you should know. It’s kind of important.”

His brother sat on the couch and opened his soda. “Okay, shoot.”

“I’m an alcoholic.” It wasn’t getting any easier to admit.

“Oh.”

“I’m one week sober, going to meetings and everything.” He tucked his hair behind his ears. “Just trying to get my shit together.”

“Whoa, you’re seeing someone.”

“What?” Shock made him lift his head and meet his brother’s open curiosity.

“Dude, it’s all over you. Plus, in my experience, men only better themselves for women. Or, in your case, another guy.”

“And how much experience can a nineteen-year-old possibly have?”

Lars laughed. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Shut up, smart-ass.” He laughed too and sat beside his brother on the sofa. Defying their parents took a lot of courage, and a healthy dose of insanity. He admired his kid brother for standing up to them. All he’d ever done was run away. Running took a lot less courage.

“So, what’s his name?”

Ansel punched his shoulder. “His name is Fitch.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Fitch arrived at Z’s apartment with a ridiculous bunch of flowers in his hands. The smart-ass laughed when he opened the door, his dark brows wagging with delight.

“Did you seriously bring him flowers? You are such a starry-eyed moron.” Z grabbed the bouquet and led the way into the cluttered kitchen area.

“Habit,” Fitch offered, in an attempt to save face.

“Uh-huh, sure.” Z filled a glass with water and carefully arranged the stems. Actions which clearly opposed his sarcastic tone.

When the blooms were perfectly displayed, Z turned to him and tipped up his chin. “He’s been in the bathroom for an hour. He even went shopping.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Not entirely, but the bags weren’t from any of the shops I recognize. Let me go hurry him along.” He strutted down the hall calling for Ansel.

A minute later, Z returned with a funny look on his face.

“What’s wrong? Is Ansel okay?”

The guy squinted at him, pressed his lips together, and crossed his arms.

Before Fitch could push for an answer, he heard Ansel’s voice.

“I’m fine, sorry for making you wait.”

No wonder Z was pissed. Ansel wore a suit. A regular, standard gray suit. His beautiful blond hair was slicked back into a bun and there was no trace of makeup or jewelry. No trace of Ansel.

He looked gorgeously masculine in a way that Fitch found surprisingly appealing. He never would have thought a man in a suit could fluster him, but Ansel did. He looked perfect.

And completely wrong.

Fitch took a moment to center his thoughts before speaking. “What are you wearing?”

Ansel pressed a hand to the stiff fabric of his suit jacket and looked down at his polished black shoes. “I wanted to make a good impression. Don’t you like it?”

Fitch glanced at Z, who shot daggers at him, and then back to Ansel.

“You look fantastic no matter what you wear, but this isn’t who you are.” He gestured to the suit and took Ansel’s hand. “I don’t need you to change yourself for my family, Angel. I want them to know the real you.”

“The real me is an alcoholic stripper who wears too much makeup and prances around in heels, not exactly the kind of person parents want dating their formerly straight son.”

“No, the real you is a magnetic, funny man who is interesting and beautiful, full of confidence and strength. Never, ever dull your shine, Angel, not for me, not for anyone. You make the world a brighter place.”

“Fitch—”

“I want to see glitter and heels and confidence like the night we met. That cocky smirk and that killer strut. Ansel Becke doesn’t give a fuck what people think of him.”

Ansel closed his eyes and sighed. “But I do. I care now because of you. Everything has changed.”

It took all of Fitch’s strength to stop the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him at Ansel’s confession. But he didn’t want a watered-down version of a shooting star.

He needed his Angel bright, wild, and full of life.

Cupping Ansel’s cheek, he said, “You know, the first time I saw you I thought you were a girl.”

Confusion at the change in subject was quickly wiped away, replaced with irritation. “Is that supposed to surprise me? Everyone assumes I’m female, at first.”

“I thought you were hot, but then you turned around and I knew I was wrong. You weren’t just hot, you were explosive. I was ten times more attracted to you once I knew the truth.”

Ansel’s brow wrinkled.

“Talk about being confused. I’m almost thirty years old and all of a sudden I was getting a hard-on for another man. But it was your confidence, your balls-to-the-wall and fuck-everyone attitude, your bravery. That’s what got me.”

Ansel blinked.

“Things change. That’s life,” Fitch continued. “We grow, we learn, we keep moving forward. It’s scary as fuck, but all we can do is hold on to what’s important. You know who you are. You have known since you were young. You left home because of it. You’ve gone through so much, fought so hard, to have that kind of freedom. Don’t go trying to be normal now. Normal is boring.”

With sure fingers, Fitch reached around and untangled Ansel’s hair until it fell in a smooth golden wave. Then he slowly gathered the strands and twisted them around his wrist and gently tugged until Ansel’s shocked green eyes snapped up on a gasp.

Fully aware of Z watching them from a few feet away, Fitch leaned close enough to graze his lips over Ansel’s cheek.

“Go change, Angel,” he whispered. “Just be you. You are amazing. But hurry, or we’ll be late.”

Ansel bit his lip, indecision swirling in his eyes. Not wanting to give his lover time to argue, Fitch kissed him. He took his time exploring the lips he loved, and the tongue he’d come to crave, until they were both out of breath. When he was done, he released Ansel’s hair and turned him by the shoulders.

With a pat on the ass, he shoved Ansel toward the hall. When the bathroom door slammed, Fitch turned to raise an eyebrow at Z.

“Impressive,” the smart-ass said. “I knew I liked you.”

“Glad you approve.”

“When are you going to tell him you love him?”

Fitch shoved fingers through his hair and eyed him with a questioning squint.

“Just because I’m immune to that particular disease doesn’t mean I can’t recognize the symptoms in other people,” Z answered the unspoken inquiry.

Fitch sighed. “It’s too soon.”

Six weeks.
It was so difficult to believe it. Just a little over a month and Fitch felt like he’d gone through hell and was holding on to paradise with his only pinky finger. One false step and he’d fall into the pit and never find a way out. Every night he sat in his empty bed knowing the man he loved was dancing for other guys, and the jealousy ate at him. He’d struggled with the irrational fear. And knew he’d be struggling with it for a lot longer.

Because Ansel would run again.

And Fitch would chase him. He’d be chasing Ansel for the rest of his life.

* * *

The Donovan house was just as Ansel had pictured. A quaint little three-story single-family home with an adorable bay window and perfectly manicured shrubs. As Fitch pulled into the drive and shut off the motor, Ansel admired how welcoming and warm it looked. Not for the first time, nerves threatened to freeze him in place. It was one thing for Fitch to say it would be okay, but another entirely to face the potentially disapproving looks.

What happened to all his bravado? Christ, he felt like he’d gotten his balls chopped off. Even wearing his favorite black patent-leather pumps with the red bottoms and his killer ruby lipstick, he was out of sorts. Though changing out of the suit was probably for the best. If the Donovans were going to judge him, he’d rather know right up front. Still, he had toned it down a little. He’d kept the suit pants on but chose a simple white camisole and black sequined shrug. He’d forgone the majority of his jewelry but had kept the tie, which hung loose around his neck to highlight the green in his eyes.

Fitch squeezed his knee to draw his attention away from the house. “It’s going to be good. I promise.”

“I trust you.”

Fitch’s brown eyes softened and his dimples appeared. “Thank you.” He leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to Ansel’s lips. Exactly the same way as the last time he’d confessed his trust, like Fitch knew how hard it was for him to it give away. How difficult it was to earn.

But it was so easy to trust a man like Fitch—he was solid and sincere. He’d never once given Ansel any indication he was untrustworthy, but his parents were a completely different story. No matter. For his lover, he would face them and hope they were as honorable and accepting as their son believed them to be.

They got out of the truck and walked to the front door hand in hand. It swung open before they’d climbed the stairs and an aging, big-bosomed woman appeared.

She wore a calculating expression and an apron she twisted in her hands, but her energy wasn’t hostile.

“Ma, this is Ansel. Ansel, this is my mom, Marge Donovan.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ansel extended his manicured hand.

Marge shook it. “I’m glad you accepted the invitation.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

The corner of her lips tipped up just enough to be called a smile, but not enough to portray true happiness.

So Ansel met her grin with a tentative one of his own.

She turned to Fitch. “Honey, your dad got a call from John Hurley this afternoon. He’s not happy.”

Fitch sighed. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Maybe you can explain to him what happened.”

Ansel didn’t know what they were talking about but from the look on Fitch’s face it wasn’t good.

“It’s nothing. There was just an incident at the deli on Friday.”

Marge hugged her son and then led them into the house. “I made my special pot roast with fingerling potatoes and an heirloom tomato salad. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Fitch, Meg and Tara are in the living room arguing with your father about sports. Go distract them and prevent bloodshed while I finish up in the kitchen. We’ll eat in just a few.”

“Would you like some help, Mrs. Donovan?”

Fitch’s mom squeezed his arm. “It’s Marge, dear. And thank you, but no. You go in and introduce yourself. Meg has been so excited to see you again.”

They followed the sound of raised voices down a narrow hall.

“Did you tell them about me?” he asked in a whisper.

Fitch scrunched his brow. “What do you mean?”

“She didn’t even question the heels or the lipstick. Did you prepare them?”

“I never got the chance, but Meg might have.”

“What happened on Friday?”

Fitch cringed and rubbed his knuckles on his scruffy jaw like he did when he was nervous. “I, kind of, came out, I guess.”

He couldn’t have heard that right. “What do you mean?”

“This girl and her sister saw us at Bella Vita’s. I told her you were my boyfriend. Everyone heard me say it so I’m sure the whole town knows by now. Her father is one of our biggest clients. He’s the one who called my dad.”

Holy shit.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before dinner?” He kept his voice low because they were standing in the hall and he didn’t want anyone to overhear, but his fears were rising up to choke him again and it made his words shake. “Christ, you know they are going to blame me, don’t you?”

“Hey—” Fitch pulled him into a hug “—nothing is your fault. It was my choice and I’ll take responsibility for whatever comes from my actions. I couldn’t stand hiding it anymore. I didn’t want to keep pretending.”

“But, Fitch...”

Fitch pulled back just enough to meet Ansel’s gaze. “I can face anything if you’re by my side, Angel.”

Without another word, Fitch led him into the living room to meet the rest of the family.

Because Fitch needed him.

He recognized Meg immediately; her laughing eyes were so familiar because they were just like Fitch’s. She and Tara sat on one of the couches touching in a way that clearly said they were lovers. Fitch’s father sat in a reclining chair with his ankle over his knee.

“Pop, this is Ansel. Ansel, meet Franco Donovan, the most stubborn old man in New Jersey.”

Franco rose, his shrewd eyes scanning Ansel from pointy toes to extended lashes. “So you’re the man that has my son tied up in knots, willing to abandon his own family.”

“I’d never abandon you, Pop.”

But Franco held up a hand. “I will speak to you later.” His focus returned to Ansel, waiting for a reply.

“I guess I am, sir. And you must be the one who raised him to be such an open-minded, tolerant person. Thank you for that.”

He heard Meg’s muffled laugh behind them, but didn’t dare turn around to acknowledge her.

Franco took Ansel’s hand in an overly aggressive grip. His still-sharp eyes were glued to Ansel’s face, no doubt waiting for any sign of weakness. No matter how much that handshake stung, Ansel wouldn’t flinch.

“And this is Meg,” Fitch said, with a warning growl, interrupting the exchange and forcefully pulling Ansel away. “I’m sure you remember her loud mouth.” Meg kicked Fitch’s calf and waved without getting up. “And Tara, her girlfriend.”

“Nice to see you both again,” Ansel said.

“Oh my God, I love your shoes. Are those real Louboutins?” Tara’s eyes went big as she took in his prized possession.

“They’d better be for the price I paid.” Ansel lifted a foot to show off the red bottoms. “Even getting them secondhand broke my bank account.”

“Damn, I bet. But totally worth it. They look great on you.”

“Everything looks great on him,” Fitch said with an encouraging shoulder squeeze before pulling Ansel down to the sofa opposite the girls.

At Fitch’s remark, Meg smiled. “My brother, the romantic.”

The weight of Fitch’s muscular arm settled over Ansel’s shoulder like a comforting blanket.

“Don’t tease him, you’re exactly the same,” Tara quipped.

“They get it from their father. He’s always showered me with affection, gifts, and flowers for no reason,” Marge said, as she entered the room and kissed Franco on the cheek before announcing, “Dinner’s ready.”