I am addicted to reading and MM romance!
“I have three things that keep me going. I model for money. I play guitar to satisfy some weird compulsion to help someone I care about who’s always been there for me… and I paint.”
“You said you model for money, play music to help your friend. What does painting do for you?”
He waited a heartbeat before answering. His gaze became noticeably intense. “It’s how I breathe.”
Second, and not unrelated, was that Will mostly said whatever he wanted and considered honesty to be far more important than protecting people’s feelings. When I suggested that sometimes a little white lie was more valuable than telling a truth for no reason other than to pat yourself on the back for being truthful, he said that he categorically refused to take other people’s feelings on as his responsibility. That if he’d let himself choose his words or his actions based on what might or might not hurt or uplift other people he’d never have made it past high school much less in New York.
I found myself suddenly furious with Will, not just for not wanting me, but for, with one sentence, wrenching away the fantasies that I’d been playing on a near continuous loop for more than a year. I had needed them just to get through the day sometimes, especially this past year. And now he had burned them to the ground.
So she didn’t like him, huh? She didn’t consider him a friend, she’d been horrified at the idea that he might be “courting” her, and she was plainly appalled at the idea her family might think they were even going out together. Too fucking bad, he thought cheerfully.
If a man was what she wanted, she needed to look no further. He volunteered for the job.