Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“You’re starting to.”
“Am I, friend?” Amani poked the center of Vic’s chest. “You’re arrogant, to assume that.”
“I am.” And Vic caught up Amani’s hand, drawing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles with that mouth that would be Amani’s undoing, warm and firm and tightening the chambers of his heart. “But I don’t think I’m wrong.”
“Mmph.” Amani pulled his hand back. “Don’t you have an early day tomorrow?”
“I have an early day every day. And what time is your first class?”
“Seven PM, but I have to be at the parlor by six AM.”
“Then…” Vic sank down against the pillows, and unceremoniously dragged Amani with him. “We should probably sleep.”
“Oof.” Amani tumbled down, then grumbled and rearranged himself to stretch out, tangling his legs against Vic’s body and pillowing his head to one strong shoulder. “We probably should.”
“Goodnight, friend.”
Just for that, Amani smacked Vic’s chest—though he wasn’t quite sure when he’d started smiling. Ass. “Goodnight.”
Vic reached over Amani’s head and flicked the lamp off, casting them into darkness where the only light came from the city reaching in for them from outside, brighter than even the stars. Amani closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of Vic’s breaths lull him, until that deep voice rumbled beneath him again, soft and sleepy.
“Amani?”
He opened one eye. “Hm?”
“You’re not nearly as hard as you pretend, are you?”
He smiled faintly. Did he pretend to be so very hardened, then? “Everyone has a soft side. I just try not to wear mine on the surface.”
“Do you ever want to?” Vic asked, and Amani went still, gaze fixed on the far wall, and the night stretching away, away, ever away, as if the horizon tried to flee and yet was always, always caught by the sun.
“Sometimes,” he admitted softly, then turned away, twisting over to give Vic his back, and quietly, desperately willing himself to sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
VIC WOKE BEFORE HIS ALARM as always, deep in the hours of predawn, yet this time not for the usual reasons. Not because the ongoing to-do list in the back of his mind had ticked over another task item and just couldn’t wait for him to wake up to acknowledge it. Not because he’d woken from another formless nightmare involving something to do with that Board room and crumbling tiles slipping through his fingers. Not even because he’d never slept at all, spending a restless night reviewing revenue reports over coffee, as he frequently did when sleep eluded him.
No…he woke this morning because of the warm weight resting against him, unfamiliar and strange and so very wonderful that he couldn’t sleep another minute when he could be awake to experience this.
He’d thought Amani would be a restless sleeper—but instead he was still and quiet and peaceful, his features relaxed, that hint of wary aloofness gone to leave only calm and sweetly parted lips sighing on sleeping breaths. His hair tangled everywhere, still twined through with silver chains, making a river of night crossed by shooting stars, spreading and coiling across the sheets and pillows and Vic himself. He’d somehow managed to drape himself half on, half off of Vic, cheek pillowed on his chest and arms wrapped around him, hugging him like he was some kind of human teddy bear.
He was smaller, somehow, in his sleep—but it didn’t make him lesser. Not when he was still so beautiful, unearthly, as if any moment he’d be gone, wisping away back to whatever ethereal plane let him slip into the mortal world for a few whirlwind moments. How someone so tiny could be such a dervish was beyond Vic…but he’d left Vic tossed and torn, at once quiet inside with a newfound peace and chaotic all around the edges of the hole where his old self had been.
Or at least…his ideas of his old self, if he was honest. Everything he’d tried to make of himself was an idea, laid in a mask over who he really was so no one could see him and he didn’t have to see himself. He was the same person he’d always been, but…
Maybe, just maybe, he could see himself more clearly now.
And maybe, just maybe, if this warm feeling in his chest was any indication…
That wouldn’t be so bad.
He wasn’t quite sure how to process this, right now—not when everything felt changed, the world a photo frame that had been off-kilter for twenty-four years only to finally be set right. It would take time and exploration and experimentation to know what would change, moving forward. What he wanted with his life, if he was really going to keep putting on that mask every day and doing the same thing again and again and again. He didn’t know, yet. He just didn’t, and he needed time to try to think clearly once the euphoria wore off.
The only thing he did know for certain was that one day soon, Amani would declare an end to this, and in all likelihood there was nothing Vic could do to convince him to stay.