I wanted to talk to him.
But I also wanted to keep him to myself.
Just for a little longer.
Just until I figured out what this was.
Evan raised his glass.“To freedom.To fiction.And to finally doing something for yourself.”
I clinked mine against his.
“To not screwing things up.”I mumble.
He grinned.“Too late for that, babe.You already quit your job and started writing gay romance.You’re halfway to Wilde already.”
I laughed, but it felt like a nervous twitch.
Because maybe he was right.
And maybe I wasn’t ready to admit it.
Not even to myself.
Oh, I was so screwed.Notliterally,because I still hadn’t worked up the courage to reply to Ashton.Each hour that I pushed the task away felt like another brick in a wall I was building around my feelings.Like armour.I desperately wanted to talk to him, to build a connection.Find answers.But taking that step felt as big as stepping off a cliff.Fear was holding me back; I knew that.Still, I let it control me.That little voice in the back of my mind was getting louder.Wrecking my concentration.I’d been sitting at my desk for hour’s willing words onto the screen, only for them to dry up, the empty screen mocking me.Did Oscar Wilde have this problem, too?The self-doubt, questioning himself and his ability to get the book done and share it with the world?
From what little I knew of Wilde, the answer was no.He was an annoying overachiever.At least where writing was concerned.His personal life — well, that was another story that didn’t have a happy ever after or a love conquers all.
I was deflecting again, filling my head with random thoughts instead of focusing on what I needed to do.
Picking up my phone, I read over Ashton’s reply again, words I now knew by heart, and still the words I wanted to write wouldn’t come.
By this point, I was beyond frustrated, not just with myself, but with my mind-replaying images from Ashton’s last livestream.The more I felt drawn towards him, the more I pushed him away, or at least tried to.Except every time I closed my eyes, there he was.His eyes called to me, and his smile tugged at my heart.
I’d never been good at decision-making, and yes, I knew Ev was going to take matters into his own hands if I didn’t get my arse in gear.It’s just...I didn’t know how to take that first step, and I’d never needed to talk to my dad so much.
EVAN
Ilove Robbie; I reallydo!
But he was being a twat and annoying the ever-loving shit out of me.I thought that getting him a little tipsy would help him loosen up enough to reach out to Ashton.But he stopped at two glasses, saying, and I quote, “Wine’s sneaky.One moment you’re standing up straight, speaking in full sentences and the next-you’re weaving about and slurring like Captain Jack Sparrow...you savvy.”
Just what was I supposed to say to that?
I was so shocked I almost spilled my drink, and that stuff’s not cheap.
Watching him dither is painfully annoying.If he doesn’t pull his head out of his arse soon, then I am going to have to intervene.
Damn it!
For three days, I watched Rob closely as his hand reached for his phone and then pulled back as if it was attached to a bungee.
What was that saying?‘That it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to seek permission?’It’s something like that...which was why I stole Robbie’s phone when he was in the shower and messaged Ashton myself.
Robbie can thank me or shout at me later.
Only time will tell.
