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)
Vic didn’t know what to say. He felt like anything he said would be trite, useless, a platitude that wouldn’t do anything for old hurts that had already been cut into Amani and couldn’t be erased. It would be disrespectful, too, he thought—so out of respect for Amani he held his tongue for now, giving him a moment to himself, a moment to compose himself without Vic intruding. Moving to the coffee table, he set one of the glasses down for himself, then settled down on the sofa near Amani, draping himself to face him with one leg drawn up and offering him the second crystal glass of sparkling water.
That wary look again, as if judging if the distance between himself and Vic was safe, and just in case Vic eased back a few inches, still offering the glass. After a moment, Amani took it, his fingers briefly brushing Vic’s before withdrawing as he took a slow, testing sip, then a longer one.
“…thank you.”
Vic only smiled slightly and retrieved his own glass, taking a sip and letting the cool, tart fizz roll over his tongue before he ventured, “Is that why you hate rich people?”
“No, I hate you because you’re useless drains on society with absolutely zero perspective on what life is like for real people.” Yet there was no real venom in the words; if anything Amani sounded tired, and his brows knit together as he looked down into his glass. “Even those people who were so happy to patronize the music school…they did it because someone like me gave them an excuse to feel superior. They were better, you know, and just granting some poor nameless kid the grace of their presence because no matter how talented I might be, they knew I could never hope to be them.”
“Do you want to be them?”
“No. I want to be me.” Amani lifted his head, golden eyes simmering as he looked at Vic. “Do you have any idea what that feels like, Mr. Newcomb?”
“In my own way, yes. Like I said, I…I was never supposed to be the one who took over the company. That was originally my older brother’s place.” He couldn’t help a small, aching smile as he reached over to set his glass down once more. “Maybe if I hadn’t had to step up, I could have been the sort of philanthropist you wouldn’t despise so much when you look at him. The profligate younger son, throwing every bit of money he could get his hands on into charities before running away to Tibet to live as a barefoot monk.”
“That would still be privileged,” Amani shot back. “What makes you think those Tibetan monks want you there?”
“Fair call.” Vic tilted his head, draping his arm over the back of the sofa. “Do you think that’s how I see you? Some strange marvel for me to gawk at like an object, here for my entertainment?”
“I don’t know how you see me, Mr. Newcomb. Like you said…we don’t really know each other, do we?”
“Maybe I’d like to change that,” Vic murmured.
Amani’s eyes narrowed. He studied Vic with a skewering gaze, before snorting softly, mouth turning downward at the corners. “Is that so,” he said flatly. “When are you going to ask me what you really want to ask me?”
“I…uh…fuck.” Vic rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I that transparent?”
“You’re curious about my sex life. It’s painfully obvious, and has been since you first caught on to my particular…tastes.” It came out almost defiantly, but also with the first breaking hint of laughter creeping past that bitterness, softening the harsh lines that had started to settle into Amani’s face. “Are you really that sheltered? Hiding behind your glass walls in your little fishbowl of a world?”
“No. And yes, but no.” Vic sighed. “I wasn’t going to ask you. I admit I’m curious, but I wasn’t going to ask.”
“Weren’t you?”
“No,” Vic repeated. “But you seem more comfortable talking about that than everything else. So if you want to talk about it, we can.” Vic shifted closer to him. “I’m not trying to upset you, Amani.”
“You’re not. What you are upsets me. Not who you are.”
“That’s progress, I suppose.”
“Progress toward what?” But before Vic could respond, Amani held one hand up, stopping him. “Don’t answer that,” he said, as he took one more sip of his sparkling water and then tilted forward to set the glass on the coffee table. Settling back, he curled his legs up again, his bare feet barely visible past the cuffs of those flowing trousers, toenails painted a soft shimmer of gold. He tucked his hands under himself, looking down at his feet. “I guess it is easier for me to talk about sex and kink than anything else. It’s…it’s my safe space. It’s where I feel in control. And it’s something that can be so gentle and loving and fulfilling, and it pisses me off that people demonize it, so…” He shrugged one shoulder, dark hair playing over bare skin, tangling in skeins along one slender arm. “I guess I prefer to talk about it. Just to help make it more normal.”