Chapter 11 #2
On impulse, one hand crosses to the opposite arm, sliding up my forearm, elbow, and then bicep. My fingers slide over the tangle of chaotic ink over that one spot…
The hand drops away, and I blink as I swallow it all back.
Again, it’s a me thing. It’s why I don’t allow myself to get close to anything real, ever.
Keep it fun, easy, loose, simple. Nothing serious.
Someone’s phone dings. I reach for my pocket before remembering that I left my phone on the fire escape step.
…Which is when Lyra shrieks.
“VAL!” She cracks up, screeching with laughter but also with a look of disgust on her face. She quickly turns away from the phone sitting on the steps next to her—my phone—squeezing her eyes shut and giggling loudly.
“What!?” Naomi blurts.
“Someone just texted him a photo of two assholes!”
I grin and reach over to pluck the phone away from Lyra.
“Okay, settle down, let me—”
Oh.
She meant literally. Crissy just sent another pic.
“It’s rude to look at other people’s phones, Lyra,” I tease.
She groans and covers her eyes. “It’s also rude to be such a ho that people are sending you butthole selfies at eight in the fucking morning!”
I sigh dramatically. “I’m feely very judged here,” I mutter. “And since when do we kink shame?”
“I dunno,” Lyra grins. “Maybe some shaming would be healthy?”
I flip her off, making her giggle. “For your information, though it’s none of your fucking business, I was a good boy this weekend. Minimal shenanigans.”
Zero, actually, unless we're counting the multiple jerk-fests I had, solo, while thinking of all the ways I’d like to defile Roman Nikitin.
“Oh my God, are we sure the world is still turning?” Naomi says, a dramatically worried look on her brow.
“Whatever,” I roll my eyes. “You're just annoyed that you settled for one dick for the rest of your lives and have to live vicariously through my hookups now.”
Naomi arches an amused brow, glancing past me to Lyra.
“You heard the settled part, right?”
Lyra smirks. “Girl, I will settle for what I get at home, on the reg, every time.”
“Yup,” Naomi giggles. “I’ll settle right down on top of that—”
“Okay, okay, Jesus,” I groan. “Who’s being fucking gross now? Remember the part where you’re both like sisters to me?”
“Yeah, sisters who get A-plus dick at home!” Lyra crows, laughing hysterically as she and Naomi high-five.
I shoot them a sour look. “We done now?”
“Hey, you started it with that pic on your phone,” Lyra snickers.
Naomi makes a face. “Do I need to see this photo? TWO of your hookups texted you their asses at the same time?”
“Literally in the same pic,” Lyra cracks up.
Naomi sighs and shakes her head. “Is this a cry for help? Are you spiraling?”
I’m flipping her off when Lyra turns serious. “Oh, before Evie gets here…” She frowns, lowering her voice. “Speaking of spiraling…I was at Doomsday the other night for a hot second.” Her brow furrows. “I saw Roman there.”
My jaw tightens. “Yeah?” I mutter under my breath.
She nods, still frowning. “Yeah…” Her lips twist. “He did not look good. Like he was trying to pick a fight or something. And he was shitfaced. Like, I went over and said hi to him and he looked right through me. It was spooky.”
Naomi's brow creases. “That’s…not good.”
“Well,” I shrug, “maybe he’s precisely what no one wants to say out loud: a grouchy dickhead with a serious drinking problem.”
“Val!” Lyra glares at me.
“What?”
“I mean,” she shrugs, “he’s obviously going through something, or…I don’t know…just try having a little compassion?”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I snort.
I don’t tell them that I’m pretty sure I know exactly what Roman is going through. Intimately, and all too well.
A piece of him knows exactly who and what he is. And the rest of him is rebelling against it, and refusing to acknowledge that truth.
Bluntly, it’s called self-hate, and I want no fucking part of it where that asshole is concerned.
“Uh…” I clear my throat. “How bad was he?”
“Bad,” Lyra says, serious worry in her voice. “Like, super fucked up, angry, sad…I dunno. I called Carmine and he said he and the guys would try to track him down and make sure he was okay.”
The guys. Carmine and Nico Barone, Nero De Luca, Bane Antonov, and usually Laz Kislev too.
Those are Roman’s Team Straight buddies, who seem to have some sort of bond, though I have no idea what it is.
I once—at a party at Nero’s place after he and Milena became a thing—overheard the group of them talking about “the court” in hushed tones, but I have no idea what that was all about.
Anyway, they can concern themselves with Roman and his issues.
“Here comes Evie,” Naomi murmurs, turning to wave at our innocent friend coming down the alley with her dance bag. “Let’s change the subject. I don’t want to worry her.” She turns back to us. “What are we doing tomorrow? It’s Friday.”
Lyra perks up. “Maybe Doomsday?” I think I heard Laz say this kickass DJ from Madrid will be there.” She turns to wink at me. “I looked him up. Super cute, and totally your type.”
Perfect. Right now, my type is “comfortable with their sexuality”, i.e., “not Roman Nikitin”.
All I need to do is ignore the confused fucker with a drinking problem and shake him from my system.
Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy.
Done.