Chapter 4
Eric
God.
Fucking.
Damnit.
Why the hell does he have to be so talented? I was secretly hoping he’d stumble his way through these songs and the guys would decide he wasn’t a good fit.
Okay, so maybe my desire to see Dmitri fail isn’t my best-kept secret.
By now, I’m one hundred percent positive the others have figured out how much I hate him.
In case the yelling at the door didn’t give it away, I also made some comments about wishing he would choke on his drumsticks, along with some creative suggestions on where he could shove them.
What can I say? I’m a poet.
Naturally, that’s not how things unfolded.
He slipped his drumsticks out of his pocket in a move so smooth it made me want to scream. Seated behind an unfamiliar set of drums, he dove into the first song, maintaining a perfect tempo with energy that Anthony never matched in all the years we played together.
He even threw in a few little tosses mid-song with a brazen wink in my direction.
We played nonstop for two hours, and he didn’t miss a beat. Not a single fucking one. Now he’s sitting there, basking in the band’s adoration. It’s like college all over again, where everyone bows to the music god.
Every one of them has stars in their fucking eyes as they coo at how amazing he is, and the relief on Dante’s face could have its own zip code.
He shoulders so much of the stress, and having someone so readily able to fill the seat for Anthony will make his life infinitely easier.
Part of me feels guilty for wishing this wouldn’t work out, but the other half…
Goddamnit!
Dmitri’s eyes meet mine from between the heads of his newest fan club, and I track the drop of sweat that trickles down his forehead. So much like the one that night…
No.
It takes effort, but I avert my eyes from his and release a tired sigh.
My throat is raw and scratchy after the demanding practice.
We pushed longer than usual with fewer breaks, and it seemed like everyone was trying to impress him.
They fawned over him as though he’s the successful one…
like he's the one who’s thrown his heart and soul into this band for the past four years.
Fuck that noise.
It feels like I’m nothing more than an observer in my own life.
A narrator, watching with all the snarky commentary in my head but having no control over how things unfold.
Even as the guys interacted with me during practice, I was nothing more than a flimsy cardboard cutout of myself, full of forced, two-dimensional smiles.
Unlike him.
I crack open a bottle of water and groan quietly as the cold liquid soothes my overused vocal cords. Dante’s voice is quiet behind me as he says my name, and I turn toward him with an eyebrow raised as I continue to drink.
“Is this going to be a problem, Eric?”
My eyes veer back to Dmitri in the background, laughing and joking with Theo, and my heart twists as he claps Theo on the shoulder. He’s still just as effortlessly charismatic as he was in college. It seems so easy as he swoops in and drags everyone into his gravitational pull.
Like I’d wanted to be swept in.
Like I had been.
All these years, I've buried these feelings deep down until I can believe they don’t exist. I've been pretending he didn’t shatter my entire world and make me question everything about who I am.
The longer I spent apart from him, the more distant the clenching in my gut became whenever I thought about that night, but it was always there.
Now he’s back in my face, rubbing my nose in the mess he made and acting like he’s the victim.
“I’ll be fine,” I lie, before grabbing my keys and rushing for the door. I run away, because that's what I do best.
“Eric!” Dmitri’s voice calls from across the room, and I can’t help my easy smile as I turn to look him over. Kappa Sigma’s annual Spring Fling party is in full effect, with music so loud you can barely hear yourself think and drunk college students filling every square inch of the house.
I lean against the wall as he gets closer, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a thin black hoodie.
“Hey, man,” I say, and my words are slurred.
It makes me laugh in a way that’s higher and goofier than my normal deep chuckle.
“I think,” I say with another of those bizarre laughs, “that I’m drunk. ”
“You think?” he asks dryly, swiping the Solo cup from my hand as I bark out my objection. He puts it to his lips and smiles around the rim before he lifts it in a single, long gulp. My eyes lock on the bob of his throat as he swallows, a rush of heat hitting deep in my belly.
He brings out these crazy intense feelings in me, and it’s fucking with my head.
I’m straight. I’ve always been straight.
But from the moment I laid eyes on Dmitri, something pulled me to him. I’ve never found a man beautiful before, but I could stare at him for hours and never tire of watching that dimple form on his left cheek.
I want to pour a shot of tequila in that sexy divot and slurp it out. Find some salt to lick off his body.
He coughs and sputters, pulling me out of my thoughts with a wicked grin as I watch him pound on his chest. “Dude! What the fuck was… Ugh!” He turns his head to the side and retches, rubbing his throat as he glares at the cup like it was poison.
Finally, he swallows and turns back to me. “What the fuck was in that?”
“That, my friend, was four shots of Southern Comfort I’d been sipping on. Congratulations, now you’re drunk too.”
“Aww, fuck, dude, you know I don’t drink much.”
Another loud, ringing laugh pushes out, all the way from the pit of my stomach as I catch the apprehensive expression on his face.
“Come on, sit with me for a while and it’ll pass.
” We make our way to the porch, where the cool spring air has ensured there aren’t many people hanging outside.
I drop onto the outdoor sofa and slap the cushion next to me.
He looks at me for a second before muttering, “I’ll be right back. Hang on.”
I watch him wander into the kitchen, unable to stop myself from staring at the flex of his ass before he disappears, then returns with two more cups.
Thinking it’s water, I pull mine to my lips and feel them instinctively curl at the sharp bite of liquor.
He’s already got his at his mouth as he smiles at me again. “In for a fucking penny, Eric.”
The party blares on behind us as we sit outside, chatting and drinking, and the alcohol numbs my body to the point that I don’t understand why Dmitri’s frowning at me.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“You’re shivering,” he says, scooting closer to me and rubbing his palms up my arms. Another deep swoop in my gut hits at his proximity. When I glance up, his face is only inches from mine, and his eyes are locked on my mouth.
“What, uh… what should we do?” I ask stupidly, stuck on the pounding pressure that’s building in my crotch. My heart pounds wildly as I realize I’m half-hard. For a guy.
No, not a guy.
Dmitri.
“We could go inside,” he whispers, but I shake my head. I don’t want to be around all these people anymore. Everyone flocks to him and wants a piece of his attention, but right now…
I just want him to myself.
He swallows roughly, and I track the movement with the sudden urge to drag my tongue up his neck. “Or we, um…” He trails off, sliding the tip of his tongue across his lips again.
“Hmm?” I hum, leaning closer and testing the limits of my inhibitions. He doesn’t budge, just sits frozen. Gathering all the liquid courage that churns through my veins, I stand and look down at him, hearing his quiet groan as he sees my rising cock pushing against my jeans.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he climbs to his feet, towering over me and swaying enough that I grip him by the arms to steady him.
A deep chuckle leaves my throat as I stare up at him. “You really don’t drink that often, do you?” He shakes his head with a sheepish grin, and my attention is caught by that fucking dimple again. “Now, what were you going to say?”
He closes his eyes for a second, tilting his face skyward before looking back down at me. “Or we could go to the dorms? I’m not sure if my roommate is home or not.”
“I have a private room,” I whisper, and his eyes flare as he stares at me. “Luck of the draw, really.”
“What building do you live in?”
“Stratton Tower.”
He gives me a small smile, and without another word, we set off toward the dorms. Thankfully they are only a couple of blocks away from the party.
Neither of us is in any condition for a trek.
A nervous swallow forces around the lump in my throat as I bump my hand against his, the contact sending a rush through my body.
Gathering my nerves, I reach over and slide my hand into his, holding my breath until he weaves his fingers through mine.
Pulse pounding like a drumline inside my chest, we make our way up to my room, but Dmitri stops me as I unlock the door and twist the knob. “Eric,” he whispers, and my eyes climb to his. “Are you… are you sure?”
Faint light glitters off the dark expanse of his eyes, and I know deep down that I’ll never be the same after him.
My hand wraps around the nape of his neck, dragging him down to close the distance between us. Lips hovering just a hairbreadth apart, so close I can taste the punch of alcohol on his breath, I nod.
“I’m positive,” I whisper back as I crash my mouth into his.
I startle awake, sitting straight up in the bed as I groan at the throbbing in my crotch. It would be nice to pretend that I’ve purged the memory of that night from my mind, but it’d be a giant fucking lie.
I think about it all the time.
My cock rages between my legs, my nuts already drawn up tight like they’re trying to coax an orgasm out of me. I flop back onto the mattress and push the sheets away, glaring at the tent in my pants and pissed off that I’m this horny because of him.
For a few seconds, I regulate my breathing to see if it’ll go down on its own, but my mind keeps returning to the dream I was having.
No, not a dream.
Memory.
My throat constricts with the recollection of his kiss, the softness of his lips and the unexpected roughness of his stubble brushing my cheek. His hands, strong enough to bend me to his will, but gentle on my skin. The swipes of his tongue against mine as we stumbled into my room.
“Goddamn it,” I groan, pushing my boxer briefs around my thighs as the swollen, leaking tip of my cock falls against my stomach.
My fist circles my shaft, and I’m trying to conjure thoughts of anything else as I stroke.
But my mind is a dog with a goddamned bone, and it keeps looping back to that party.
That fucking night that screwed with my head like nothing else I’d ever experienced.
The night and the man that broke me.
The realization snaps my resolve back into place, and I release my cock and let it fall to my stomach, angry, weeping, and begging for relief.
“Fuck you,” I mutter at it. “And fuck him.”