Chapter 2 #2
“Curious to hear all the delicious thoughts I have about you?” he interrupts, leaning in so close I can smell the faint vanilla of his shampoo.
His stare pins me in place, blue eyes glittering.
“Well, sit pretty and buckle up, baby, because I’m more than happy to indulge that needy little side of yours. ”
“Needy?” I echo, nose scrunching even as heat creeps up to the tip of my ears.
“First reason,” he says, ignoring my protest and ticking it off on one long finger while his gaze drags slowly down my body and back up. “You’ve got the superior head shape in the entire band. It takes serious BDE to walk around with a shaved head looking that good. Confident. Edible.”
“I’m awesome because of my… head shape?”
“Yes, you are, now keep up.” He steps closer, voice dropping to that soft, conspiratorial tone. “Second—you finger better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I choke on air, fist banging against my chest as my lungs seize. “Finger?”
“On your guitar,” he clarifies, but his lips curve wickedly, making it clear he’s enjoying every second of my reaction. “So yes, you play better, but I bet you’re good with your hands in other ways, too.”
He tilts his head, studying the flush on my cheeks like it’s art. “That could be your nickname. Dmitri goes by Sticks… we could call you—”
“You could just call me Dante.”
“The Phantom Fingerer,” he purrs, as he trails one fingertip lightly down the center of my chest. “Sounds mysterious. Sexy. Like you sneak in at night and make people feel things they didn’t know they could.”
“That sounds like a great way to get put on some lists,” I manage, shaking my head even as my pulse hammers.
“Butterfingers?”
“A bad trait for a guitarist.”
“Hmm…” His adorable face scrunches in thought, nose wrinkling and lips pursing in that way that makes me want to kiss the pout right off him. “Finger Licking Good?”
“Too many syllables,” I say, but my voice is rough now.
“You’re making this very difficult,” he complains, though his eyes are laughing.
I snicker despite myself. “Here’s an idea… you could call me Dante.”
“What was that?” He cups his ear and drops into a husky whisper. “Call you Daddy?”
“No,” I hiss, stepping into his space. My smile vanishes and the air between us thickens instantly. His teasing melts away as he studies me, those big blue eyes searching mine like he’s trying to read my pain.
Immediately placating, he raises both hands, palms out, like he’s soothing something wild that might bolt at any sudden move.
“Hey, hey… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.
I’ll drop it.” Even his voice turns velvet-edged and makes me want to lean into him instead of pull away.
Soft but not pitying, in a way that begs me to let it wrap around the jagged parts of me and hold them still.
Guilt hits me hard as I sink onto the couch. My forehead drops into my hands as if the weight of my skull might anchor everything else. “Fuck, Theo, I’m sorry.”
He wouldn’t have any idea why that single word rips through me like it does, or why it summons a flare of panic and shame I can’t outrun. None of them would. It’s a piece of my past I’ve buried so deep it only surfaces in moments like this when it catches me by surprise.
“It’s okay, Dante,” he whispers, and the cushion dips as he settles beside me, close enough that the warmth radiates off him before he even touches me.
“No, it’s really not. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
He hesitates for just a heartbeat, then slips his hand over my knee, fingers curling lightly. When I don’t pull away, he squeezes.
It would be smarter to keep distance between us, but instead of listening to logic, I lean into the weight of his palm like it’s the only solid thing in the room. I need him more than I’m willing to admit out loud, even in this small, wordless act of comfort.
“You understand you can talk to me about anything, right?” His voice stays careful, like he’s offering the words without demanding I take them.
“I do,” I whisper back, but the lie sits heavy in my throat.
I could never share that side of myself with him.
The weakness and the scars, and those parts that still make me feel small and broken even after all these years…
those are pieces I never want him to see.
Theo’s unwavering belief in me is something no one else in my life has ever given freely, and the thought of losing it—of him seeing how fragile I actually am underneath all the control—twists something deep in my chest.
“Do you want to go grab a drink?” he asks, hand still resting on my leg. His thumb brushes once, almost absentmindedly, over the fabric of my jeans.
What a fucking question.
Do I want to go out and spend the evening by his side—talking, laughing, and loosening up in the way that only happens when it’s him?
Of course I want to.
That’s exactly why I shouldn’t. Why I can’t.
“Not tonight, Theo. I think it’s better if I’m alone right now.”
“Okay,” he says softly, with no argument or push.
His hands slide up to cup my cheeks, gentle at first, then firm as he twists my face toward him.
Our eyes meet, and we hold each other’s gaze for several slow breaths, the room suddenly quieter than it has any right to be.
An understanding smile spreads across his lips as he stands and leans down to press a soft kiss to the top of my head.
“Just know that without you there to supervise, I might end up doing something crazy.”
I offer him a smile in return, grateful for the way he breaks the tension without forcing it. “You? Crazy?”
“Right?” he says with a bright laugh that feels like sunlight cutting through clouds. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Too bad I’ve already got the gear in my trunk.”
“What gear?”
He flashes me a wicked grin, the kind that promises trouble, but I see the real intent behind it. He’s trying to pull me out of my head, even if just for a second. He lifts his fingers one by one. “A rock-climbing harness, a few decks of cards, a shovel, and some cans of whipped cream.”
“And what exactly are you doing with those things?”
He grips my chin lightly, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to look at him. “Since you’re not tagging along, you’ll just have to use your imagination. Also, let me know what you come up with, because I’m struggling to figure out how to use them all at once.”
Another laugh leaves me, lighter than the one before.
“Will do, Theo,” I say, placing my hand over his where it still cradles my chin.
He gives my face a slight, affectionate squeeze before he finally pulls away, stepping back with a fluttering wave as he slides out the door into the golden wash of setting sunlight.