6 Eric
Eric
Dante’s assessment of Dmitri’s talent wasn’t an exaggeration. He’s a genius—a goddamned prodigy. I’ve never met anyone else who can pick up an instrument and become a master within weeks.
It’s very uncanny valley, like he’s not quite human.
It’s always been that way, and part of me wishes he’d be arrogant and insufferable about it.
But no—he’s humble about his incredible talent. He brushes it off, shrugging away the compliments that people rain down on him. If he’d sit there with a cocky smirk on his face, it’d be so easy to hate him… to want to punch him in his perfect fucking face, and knock him down a peg or ten.
Instead, he just flashes that easy smile and waves away all the fangirling the world throws at him.
The hatch of my SUV lifts open, and I glare at the jam-packed interior. It’s my fault for offering to unload. Who’s going to argue and tell me not to bother? No one refuses free labor, especially when there’s a bar calling their name.
The rest of the guys usually go out partying after shows. They drink, dance, and act like idiots, if the pictures they share on social media are any indication. They’ve always invited me along, and I’ve joined them a handful of times, but drinking doesn’t hold the same appeal anymore.
Not after that night.
Since the Kappa Sigma party, I can count the times I’ve been drunk on one hand. Alcohol brings up memories, and those…
Those are dangerous things.
A surge of nostalgic pain stabs through my chest as I relive it once again.
“Goddamned idiot, Eric,” I mutter to myself as I pull my phone out and slide my earbuds in, searching for a good playlist to be a distraction.
Once the thump of heavy bass and screaming electric guitar hits my ears, I return to my trunk and get to work.
After a few trips back and forth, most of the bulky items are stored in their specific places.
Dante made a bunch of labels in a fit of anal retentiveness one day, and complains for a week solid if someone doesn’t respect them.
I groan as I realize that a crate of sheet music has toppled over during the drive, then lean into the SUV to gather everything.
An unexpected touch on my back startles me, and I spring up too fast, slamming my head into the open hatch. “Fuck!” I roar, whirling around and finding myself face to face with Dmitri.
His dark eyes are wide as they dart over my throbbing forehead. His mouth moves, but his words are swallowed by the blaring music in my ears. I rip my earbuds out and shove them in my pocket.
“Sorry,” he says carefully, eyes finally meeting mine. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I called your name a few times. Are you okay?”
“What the fuck, Dmitri? Why are you here?” My forehead pounds, and I reach up to rub the small knot forming with a wince.
Dmitri swats my hand away, then steps forward into my space. His proximity steals every molecule of oxygen as painfully gentle hands tilt my head so he can look closer.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, my words not going past the broad chest right in my face. Unable to bear his touch any longer, I jerk out of his hands. “I said I’m fine! Now, why are you here?”
His gaze lingers uncertainly for a few heartbeats before he takes a hesitant step backward. “I brought the rest of the equipment. Didn’t notice there was a loading bay.”
“Yeah, well, now you know.” Sarcasm chews up my words and spits them out as I turn to my trunk to finish gathering the scattered papers.
I bend forward, a surge of self-awareness hitting me too late as I realize I’m literally putting my ass on display for him.
Unable to help myself, I glance over my shoulder at where he was standing, but he’s gone.
There’s nothing left but the ghost of his presence and the faint lingering scent that belongs to him.
My heart flutters in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s relief or disappointment.
Relief, ass clown. It has to be relief.
Headlights wrap around the building and he parks his truck beside my SUV. Wordlessly, he unloads everything, and when the giant amp is the only item that remains, he turns to me as he grips the back of his neck and tugs in a manner that’s almost shy.
“Care to help me get this unloaded?”
“Why? Big, tough Sticks can’t carry an amp on his own?” There’s a small dose of venom in my voice, but I’m already striding toward him.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “I mean, I probably could, but if I dropped it and broke it, you’d just hate me even more.”
“Yep,” I say, and a flicker of annoyance crosses his face as I enunciate the P at the end. That always used to drive him crazy, and I bite my lip to conceal my grin as I realize it still does.
We get the amp into the storage room when he finally speaks again. “Can we talk, Eric?”
“Nope, not doing this,” I mutter as I march toward the door, but his long legs allow him to block my attempt to leave. He slams it shut and leans against it, leaving us in darkness. Only the faint glow from under the door and through the rafters bleeds into the dim room.
“Yeah, we are,” he argues. “We’re doing this.”
“Locking me in? Real mature. Get the fuck out of my way.”
“Or what?”
A frustrated growl climbs from my chest as I clench my fists in front of me, barely refraining from grabbing his shirt and shaking the shit out of him.
“God, you’re impossible. ‘Or what?’” I mimic his voice in a high-pitched whine that makes his nostrils flare.
“How about this? Move or I’ll shove one hand up your ass and one down your throat, and I’ll play your little black heart like an accordion while you choke? ”
Moonlight gleams off his teeth as this motherfucker smiles. “Didn’t peg you for a kinky one, Eric, but if it’s double penetration you’re offering, I’m game.”
My hands flex into claws in front of me again, fingers curling as I reconsider my stance on shaking him. “That’s your problem, do you know that? Everything is a joke to you. I was a fucking joke to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps, suddenly serious.
I shake my head and take a step back. “Nah, this isn’t show and tell. It’s not a trip down memory lane. There’s a line drawn in the sand, Dmitri—before and after. We’re in the after now, in case you wondered. A time after I stopped giving a flying fuck about anything to do with you.”
“Oh, come on!” he shouts in a burst of frustration. “All these years, Eric. All these fucking years of trying to figure it out and I’ve got nothing!”
A scornful laugh huffs out of my nose. “Really? You expect me to believe that you’ve thought about me this whole time?”
“Yes,” he whispers, and my stomach takes a nosedive. The curling sensation in my gut sends a wave of dizziness through my body. My limbs feel weak, and the pounding knot on my forehead matches the frantic beat of my heart.
And I hate it.
I fucking hate this reaction to him.
He steps closer to me, and a shudder races up my spine. “We were so good together,” he murmurs. “I want that back. How do we get that back?”
“We can’t,” I snarl.
“We can,” he insists. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I can’t think of anything else.”
“Fuck you,” I say again, but this time my voice lacks the heat and conviction it had moments ago. This internal battle with myself is precariously close to tipping the scales in a dangerous direction. He takes another step closer and I snarl, retreating until I’m pressed against the wall.
Warning lights blare inside my head. “Fuck you, Dmitri.”
“Why’d you run?” He’s close now, too close, as he places his palms on either side of my head.
As I adjust to the darkness, I can make out the depths of his eyes staring down at me. He’s framed by the light that surrounds him, just like it did in the past. If I thought he was amplified by my memories, twisted into something exaggerated and inaccurate, this moment proves it wasn’t.
He’s stunning, even in the dark.
Especially in the dark.
“I didn’t run,” I say, furious at the shake in my voice as he watches me with predatory intensity.
“You did run. And I think I know why.”
“You know nothing—” I argue, but he interrupts.
“I wanted you—needed you—and you wanted me too, didn’t you, Eric?”
I’m backed into a corner, wild and angry, with a snarl contorting my entire face. “Go to hell, Dmitri,” I say, though my words struggle to escape through my gritted teeth. “And take your narcissistic theories with you.”
He continues like I didn’t say a goddamned word.
“You were too fucking scared to admit that what we had was bigger than some stupid crush, and you panicked. Instead of accepting that maybe we could’ve been something, you shut me out.
But we wouldn’t have been something, baby, we would’ve been everything—”
My growl echoes off the metal walls as I lurch forward and slam my mouth against his.
He grunts in surprise before pushing my body with his, never separating our mouths as my back meets the wall again.
His lips are aggressive as he kisses me, his hand sliding from the wall to my jaw as he grips me and positions me where he wants me.
And this…
This is what I’ve been missing.
This isn’t some sweet, gentle kiss.
It’s a face-off.
A battle for dominance.
The culmination of every explosive feeling we’ve been harboring for years.
His thumb digs into my chin as he pries my lips apart, his mouth working in tandem with his hand to get what he wants. Coaxing me to open further, he forces me to give him room as his tongue slips into my mouth.
A loud moan leaves my throat, fighting to free itself even as I try to hold back.
My tongue meets his on a clash, another desperate sound escaping as we lick and suck at each other.
We fight for the advantage, pushing and forcing our way into each other’s mouth, each of us trying to gain control of this raging fire.
Pretending we’re not both about to burn alive.