Chapter 28
ROMAN
Why the fuck are you here?
There are so many lies I want to tell myself. That I need final closure. To tell him to stay the fuck out of my life and to make damn sure he realizes that no one can ever know what happened between us.
Or even to warn him that my father has let loose Gunner and his psychotic war dogs to look for Dasha, and that it might come back on him.
But as I skulk down the dark alley behind the Mercury Theater and bring the flask to my lips, I know none of those is the real reason I’m here.
I’m here because I just fucking miss him.
I blink, the alcohol burning through my system, making my vision swim a little. For a second, I stop and lean against the wall next to me, looking up at the city and drinking from the flask again, letting the vodka burn away the emotions clawing through my chest.
I know I should be furious with Val. I am, for overstepping with the Dasha thing and blowing up something I’ve tried so hard to keep secret.
…Maybe even from myself.
Because now, when I stare at myself in the mirror and force myself to meet my own gaze, it’s like there’s a block there, stopping me from saying it, even though it’s right there on the tip of my tongue.
Gay.
Queer.
Questioning?
That one is the biggest, lately; but am I asking myself the right question? Am I gay? Do I find men attractive? Or is it just Val? Or is it just that that particular motherfucker has crawled so deep under my skin that even if I was attracted to men in general, I’d be blind to anyone but him?
I suppose that’s why I’m here tonight: because I miss him, and the needy, aching feeling I have for him when he’s around, touching me, or kissing me.
I’m here because I fucking want him, even if I’m furious at him. Because even if I think about going out into the wilds of New York to find some other man to act on these impulses with, all it does is make me recoil with disgust.
I don’t want “some other man”.
I want Val.
I want his intensity. The punishing possessiveness in his touch. The brutality in his kiss, the savage way he fucks me like he’s conquering me.
I shouldn't want these things, but I do. And no amount of liquor I drink changes that.
Near the back door to the Mercury, I slink into the small alcove by the metal fire escape stairs.
I know he’s here late, because he posted on his Instagram not even twenty minutes ago about “hitting the weights”—a selfie of him in the basement weight room here wearing a gym tank top, his muscled, tattooed arms on full display and that infuriatingly sexy, smug grin on his chiseled face.
Rehearsals are long done for the day. But I slip into the shadows to wait for him, just in case anyone else stayed late too.
I take another swig of vodka and let it scald its way past the demons taking up residency in my chest. I tug out my phone and open Instagram again to ogle his last selfie shamelessly.
I know why I’m here. Because I’m drunk. Because I’m lonely.
Because I’m horny, and I fucking want him.
The back door to the theater suddenly bangs open. My pulse jumps when I see Val step out with his heavy dance bag slung over his shoulder. I quickly slug back another heavy swig of vodka before I screw the cap back on and shove the flask into my jacket pocket.
“Hey.”
“Fuck.”
He whirls, instantly dropping the bag and raising his fists. His brow furrows when I slide out of the shadows of the alcove, smiling weakly.
“H-hi,” I mumble.
Val’s piercing blue eyes narrow. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
I flinch, recoiling and tensing up. “I—sorry, I just… I wanted to see you.”
He exhales slowly, dropping his arms and glaring at me. “I meant lurking in fucking dark alleys and sneaking up on people.”
“I—I just…” I frown, stammering, my words disappearing and my thoughts colliding together as the burn of alcohol sears into me.
“What do you want, Roman,” Val growls.
I smile again, my face throbbing and my pulse thudding as I meet his gaze. “I just…I needed to see you.”
Val barks a cold laugh. “Well, here I am. Happy?”
He starts to turn away, reaching for his bag.
“I overreacted.”
The word drops from my mouth, halting him. He turns toward me, his face half-shadowed.
“You? Overreacted?” he growls. “What a fucking shocker—”
“You fucking outed me!” I hurl back.
Val scowls. “Excuse me?”
“To Dasha!” I blurt. “Having her walk in on—”
“Outed you about what, Roman?” He growls. “About you actually being gay? Or bi, or queer, or whatever? Which is it?”
I swallow, my ears ringing. “I—I don’t—”
“You have to be something other than straight to be outed, motherfucker.”
My jaw tenses. “You had no right to—”
“Maybe not,” he snaps. “I’ll own that. But were you ever going to break off that disaster of an engagement that neither of you wanted?”
I purse my lips. “I… I don’t know,” I mumble.
Val glares at me. “Yeah, you do. The answer is no. So, you’re fucking welcome for getting you out of that.”
I take a shaky breath as I step toward him. “Please,” I murmur. “I… I am thankful for that. You’re right,” I shake my head. “I never would have ended things with Dasha.” I take another step toward him. “And I’m so glad and thankful that you did that for me…”
Val’s perfect lips thin as his eyes pierce into mine. “What do you want, Roman?” he mutters. “Why are you here?”
“To apologize,” I say weakly, trying to force a smile. “I…I’m sorry.”
He arches a brow. “Is there more to this apology?” He looks me up and down. "Or…not? "
My brows knit. “Come on!” I blurt at him. “This shit is new to me, okay?!”
“Interacting rationally with humans?” he snaps. “Talking about your feelings? Or do you mean fucking a guy.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. I hate how fucking attractive he is when he’s mad like this. How the blue of his eyes glints like turquoise fire. How his chiseled, steely jaw tightens in such a masculine way.
“D, all of the above?” I say with another attempt at a smile.
Val shakes his head. “That’s a you problem. Figure it the fuck out.”
He turns, hefts his bag back onto his shoulder, and starts to walk away.
“Fuck you!” I hurl at his back, fury dripping from my lips as I glare at him. “Just…fuck you!”
Fuck you for sucking me into your goddamn orbit.
Fuck you for consuming me.
Fuck you for making me want you and miss you so fucking much when you’re gone.
Val whirls on me, his nostrils flaring. “Fuck me? No, Princess Closet Case, fuck you,” he growls. “For the record, I can smell the vodka on your breath from here.”
I bristle, feeling both anger and shame slam into me. “Why the fuck does that matter?”
“It matters because you’re wasted!” he yells.
“So fucking what!?”
I startle as he surges forward. My breath catches as his heat and his tobacco, leather, and sage scent slams into me, pulling every fucking trigger I have. His blue eyes glint in the orange glow of the single streetlight, and something cracks and shatters in me when he jabs a finger in my face.
“Had to drink a whole fucking gallon of liquid courage just to talk to me? To fucking apologize?”
I shake my head. “No,” I murmur. “To do this.”
I don’t know where I get the nerve. Not from the vodka, that's for sure. Maybe from somewhere deep inside me that only opens and unclenches when he’s with me. Or maybe it’s his nearness and his scent and his whole essence flowing into me right now.
Whatever it is, I don’t think.
I just do.
I grab the front of his shirt, slide a hand up his jaw into his hair, and yank him to me, slamming our mouths together.
I moan into his lips, not waiting for him to do the conquering this time as I kiss the fuck out of him.
He growls, grabbing the back of my hair and making me whimper into his mouth as he kisses me back deeply.
But then just as explosively as we came together he’s shoving me away, his eyes glinting as his lips curl.
“That’s not how this works,” he hisses.
We stand there, chests rising and falling as we suck in air.
“What?” I blurt.
Val shakes his head angrily. “I’m not your on-call gay experience, fucker.”
“No?” I hurl back. “Since when?”
“Watch it,” he hisses quietly.
“Didn’t seem to bother you before, having your cock sucked by the straight guy. Didn’t mind being my on-call gay experience then, did you?”
His jaw tightens as his face goes livid.
I know I’m goading him. But that's the point. I need the raw, unhinged Val right now. The Val that takes away my control and ties my hands over my head before he fucks my mouth. The psycho Val who pins me to the wall and fucks me like an animal. That is what I’m craving.
“That’s the only reason you ever wanted me, isn’t it?” I continue. “I’m the fucked-up straight guy. It’s the same reason you’re so proud of never having anything real or meaningful. Why you’re this cavalier, fuck-who-I-want, nothing serious, man-whore.”
“The fuck did you just call me?!” Val’s eyes turn black.
“You fucking heard me,” I snarl. “It’s why you only have fuck buddies, and why you went after a straight guy like me: so you wouldn't have to risk anyone sticking around long enough to see how fucked up you are!” My very skin throbs as it all comes rushing out.
“You think you’re so in control, Val, but all you ever do is run.
One-night stands, straight guys, fuck-and-forget.
It’s easier than admitting no one could ever love—! ”
I gasp, choking on my breath as he surges into me, whips me around, and slams me hard face-first against the wall. My muscles coil and shudder when he grabs my wrists and shoves my hands to the brick, and a chill skitters down my spine when I feel his breath hot against the nape of my neck.
“You think I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing?” he rasps darkly into my ear. “You think provoking me is going to make me forget what an asshole you are and I’ll fuck you like the needy slut you are?”
I fucking whimper; a full-on, pathetic, needy whimper. And he hears it.