Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I want us to be the belles of the ball,” James said with a sigh.
I winked. “And you will be, I promise.”
He tilted his head to the side, considering me. “Have you ever thought of pursuing that for a living?”
I laughed. “I don’t think there’s a huge market for sci-fi convention costume designers. But if there is, sign me up.”
I was kidding. He apparently wasn’t. “I’m serious. You love doing it, and you’re so good at it.”
“My father would just love that. ‘Hey, meet my son, the big gay geeky costume designer.’” I shuddered at the look of disappointment I could already imagine in his eyes. “No, thank you.”
He frowned. “You need to stop worrying about what your father thinks.”
“I know, I know.” I’d heard it all before, especially from him, but it was easier said than done. “I quit my job, didn’t I? Baby steps.”
“True. I’m proud of you, Richard. You know that?” His voice had gone soft and tender.
“Thank you.” I leaned in to press a kiss on James’s cheek. “Tell Sawyer I said hello. Happiness looks good on you,” I murmured before turning to leave.
After stopping to grab a few bottles of cheap wine, my takeout bag was ten times heavier than it had been at the Thirsty Dragon. I tried not to think about how annoying it was to carry heavy bags home from the restaurant, but I had to admit it was a reminder that while I may be capable of hard work, I certainly didn’t enjoy it.
“Fuck,” I muttered, shifting the bags again to get a better grip. Who was I kidding? I would never make it on a ranch. I’d let my ego do all the talking when what I really needed was a cushy office job, preferably near a Starbucks and a really decent deli. I needed the kind of job where I could be the guy who wore quirky, colorful business socks each day. The receptionists would titter and treat me like their gay bestie, and I would always have someone to gossip with.
Surely I had enough friends here in the city to call on for help. Not that many of them actually worked for a living… Even so, that was better than working on a ranch, for fuck’s sake.
Fine. Tomorrow morning, I’d tell Oscar to shove his stupid ranch job in a pile of horse manure where it belonged. He’d take great delight in saying, “I told you so,” and holding it over my head, but I would just have to suck it up.
I looked up as I heard a bark of laughter ahead. People dressed in club attire spilled out of Sacha’s apartment building, laughing and chatting happily. Hopefully, that meant the place would soon be empty, and I could retreat to the guest room and crawl into bed. My dinner was begging to be followed by a few episodes of something on Netflix and at least half of this wine.
But when I got to Sacha’s place, I realized the overflow outside had only been the people who couldn’t actually physically fit inside the apartment itself. It was shoulder to shoulder, and the music was blasting out of speakers seemingly everywhere.
I kept my head down, trying to avoid notice as I slipped through the crowd and down the hallway to my room. With a sigh of relief, I pushed the door open, only to cough in surprise at what awaited me: a tangle of bodies on the unmade bed. They were all naked. I was pretty sure most of them were men, though it was impossible to tell. I couldn’t even tell how many there were, given how entwined and writhing they were.
I quickly pulled the door shut and leaned my head against it. I was tired, still jet-lagged from the Capri trip, and desperate for a quiet place to sleep. But my money—or what was left of it—certainly wasn’t enough to cover a night in a city hotel. I retreated glumly toward the living room.
“Come join us, boo bear!” Sacha’s voice trilled from somewhere among the throng. “There’s Richard, everyone!”
After plastering on a smile, I nodded in Sacha’s general direction and shouldered my way to the kitchen, where I could at least find a glass for my wine.
I poured a deep glass and unpacked my burger. After taking the first decadent bite, I felt the buzz of my phone in my pocket.
Oscar: Boone will be expecting you on the ranch tomorrow.
My eyes widened. Tomorrow?
A second text came through, providing an address. I sighed and shoved the phone back into my pocket to deal with later. The burger sat heavily in my stomach, but I finished it anyway between slaps on the back and friendly hello’s from people I knew.
My father’s voice ran through my head like an annoying chyron at the bottom of the screen during the news. You don’t have what it takes to make it on your own. You’ve never worked hard a day in your life; you don’t even know what it takes to succeed… to earn your keep. You’re fucking worthless is what you are.