Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DEX
When I wake up in the morning, I’m alone in the bed. And I can tell by the way it’s cold beside me, Rome is long gone. Twisting out of the sheets, I search everywhere for a note, then check my phone, but there’s nothing.
It was almost like it never happened at all. The scent of his faint cologne still clinging to my pillow is the only real evidence this happened at all. Well, that and the ache in my back because I’m not usually that athletic.
I take a beat, then pull up the text thread and send him a message.
Me: You coming back?
The message sends on my end, but as I wait, nothing happens. Forget about read, the message isn’t even delivered. So either he’s blocked me, or his phone is off.
Fuck.
I should have kept my mouth shut last night. Or, rather, kept my hands still. But I had to go and get ahead of myself and say something ridiculous like ‘I like you.’ Maybe I should have left it at ‘I hate you.’ Hate sex might have gotten him to actually stick around after.
God, I am such a fucking dipshit. I roll over onto his side of the bed and take a deep breath. It smells like laundry powder, his cologne, and sex. My chest aches with what I’ve lost.
I hate that he didn’t stay.
I’m not sure why I want him the way I do. With the way he treats me like I’m some kind of cross he has to bear—like fucking a hearing guy is such a burden—it’s not exactly the recipe for the most stable relationship, but there’s something between us.
Something more than the fact that he sucks dick like a god. But hell, even if it is just physical, it’s good between us. Better sex than I’ve had with anyone in a long, long time. Hell, maybe ever. And there’s so much we haven’t done.
I mean, damn, I still haven’t had time to play with that curved barbell pierced through the end of his dick. I want to feel him trace my lips with it and feel the weight of it on my tongue.
Grabbing a pillow, I shove it over my face and let out a frustrated growl. If I’m seriously fantasizing about having some guy rub his cock all over my face, I can’t claim any form of straightness ever again.
Rolling off the bed, I shuffle into the bathroom and start the shower before leaning on the counter and staring at myself.
I don’t look any different than I did two weeks ago, before I knew what Rome’s tongue tasted like. I’m still the same guy. I feel…different, and yet not. I’m still me. And I guess this has always been me, whether I’d said it aloud or not.
Which I haven’t. Yet.
I lick my lips. “I’m bi. Bisexual. Queer.” The last word gives me pause. A straight guy saying that can make it a slur, but…I guess I’m not that, am I?
Hearing the words echo off the tiles doesn’t change much. My sexuality has never been a big part of who I am, but that’s my own fault. I’ve never been an introspective kind of guy. I liked who I liked, and before Rome, that had been women.
Now, it’s not. Now, it’s him too. The only reason I hate it is that he isn’t making this easy. Or simple.
Rome is fucking complicated. He hates me for who I am, but he wants me for it too. He can’t stand the sight of me, but he shows up uninvited to all of my gym classes to torment himself with ab workouts and glute building.
He looks like he wants to murder me while I’m lifting, but he follows me to the showers and sucks my brains out through my dick.
The contradictions are too fucking much. And when I reach out—when I think that maybe there can be something here—he lets himself have me, and then he ghosts me.
I don’t know how much more of it I can take, but I can’t stand around staring at myself forever. I have a life to get on with.
I make my morning shower as quick as I can and as cold as I can stand because I don’t want my dick getting any more bright ideas, and then I throw on something other than gym clothes because I need to run by campus before getting to work.
Before all this Rome business, I was stressing out over the latest ASL assignment, and I need to try to catch Denver during his office hours, which always seem to be the same time as when I have a spin class.
Luckily, today I have some free time, and it’ll be nice to think of anything other than Rome.
And maybe that can be how much I fucking suck at this language.
I refuse to give up on it, but I wish my brain were more wired toward that type of learning instead of protein intake and how much I need to lift to burn fat while also building muscle.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the work I’ve done on myself, but I want to be more than just the gym himbo everyone thinks I am.
Denver makes it easy, of course. Well, harder because we’re also friends outside of the college.
I’ve seen him twirling around onstage in fishnets and a skirt so short I could see the bottoms of his ass cheeks, which makes class a little awkward at times.
But he’s also an amazing teacher, so I can separate both worlds.
And he never judges me. Not ever. Not even when I’m so far behind everyone else that I think I’m never going to get it.
Okay, enough wallowing. It gets me nowhere.
I shove on a pair of sandals, then grab my phone to check my messages. I have a couple of texts waiting for me, and my heart leaps for a second, thinking maybe Rome just got sidetracked. That he meant to head back after all, but none of them are from him.
I have one from Zev letting me know he needs to extend his leave by another six weeks, and then from Thom asking if I’m at the gym.
Me: I’m on my way to campus. I think Brian’s the manager on duty. You okay?
Thom: Yep. I’m god. I’m hedng over to see Robbie. I’ll cach up ltr with u?
That’s actually an amazing idea. Thom and Rome aren’t exactly friends. Rumor has it, Rome has labeled Thom his mortal enemy, but Thom would know better than I would if there’s any gossip about me and him. Or if something happened to him that he didn’t want me to know about.
My gut twists at the thought. God, why am I like this?
I deserve better. I deserve to be as happy as my brother and the rest of our friends, and Rome is so not the guy for that.
Snagging my keys, I check my messages one last time before the spark of hope dies. The only thing in the text thread is the last message I sent—now left on read. Nothing else.
It’s just as well. The universe is giving me a clearly written sign, and as much as I’d like to pretend I can’t read, I can.
“So,” I say to my brother when I catch him walking across the campus parking lot. I measure my tone in an attempt not to give anything away. “Have you or Robbie seen Rome today?”
“Rome? Dude, he’s not here anymore.”
“What do you mean he’s not here anymore?”
Thom scoffs. “I mean he’s not here. He left for France at ass o’clock this morning.
And ask me how I know,” he says darkly. I don’t, but he tells me anyway.
“He woke Robbie up to say goodbye on FaceTime, which interrupted this amazing dream where Robbie was…well.” He stops and blushes.
“Anyway, yeah. His flight left at like eight this morning, I think.”
I stare at Thom, trying to process his words.
“For how long?”
Thom shrugs. “I don’t know. He said three years, but it could be for good. Robbie said something about him taking over his dad’s office in Paris.”
My heart tumbles down to my feet, and I wish to god I hadn’t asked. I wish to god I hadn’t seen Thom at all. I want to go back to living in ignorant bliss because what the actual fuck?
I hadn’t actually expected Thom to have seen him, but I also didn’t expect him to tell me the fucker had moved to fucking France.
“When did you find out he was leaving?” I ask Thom as we head toward the language building. “Was it a spur-of-the-moment thing?”
Was it because of me, is what I mean. Was he leaving because he and I hooked up?
Thom shrugs. “Nah. He told Robbie about it like a month and a half ago. Robbie was pissed, of course. He accused Rome of running away from his problems or something.”
I frown. “What problems?” A month and a half ago was before our night together at the club, so it couldn’t be my fault.
Thom scoffs. “Who the fuck knows. That dude is too much for me, so I try not to pay attention. Why do you care though?” He gives me a firm side-eye.
He knows about the night after the club, but he doesn’t know about the rest.
“No reason. I was just…curious.” God, the lie tastes bitter on my tongue, and I bite back a few angry words, my hand tightening on my phone as I fight the urge to pull up Rome’s contact and FaceTime him to cuss him out.
Rome moved. He snuck out of my house before dawn and left the fucking country for a job.
So what the hell was that last night? A goodbye fuck?
God, he’d lied right to my face when I asked him to stay and he said he would.
And instead of giving me even a hint that this could mean something, he ghosted me and got on a plane without so much as a “thanks for the great night, but I have to go to France forever now.”
He was such a dick.
I take a deep breath so I don’t let on that I’m upset because at this point, I don’t want anyone to know my feelings are hurt. “Yeah, kind of sounds like him though. He’s a bit of an asshole.”
Thom eyes me and then waggles his eyebrows. “Yeah, but his asshole is good, right?”
I stare at my brother and then throw a punch at his arm. It bounces off his muscle, and he giggles.
“Sorry, that was rude. I don’t know if you’ve fucked yet.”
“We aren’t fucking. It was a drunken mistake,” I say. I do my best not to give anything away.
Thom lifts a brow. “So you’re not bi, or—”
“No, I am. I mean…I think I am. The mistake was fucking Rome,” I amend.
Thom studies me for a moment, then shrugs. “Well, you must like him enough to ask.”
I wish he were less observant sometimes.
“Why does he hate hearing people so much?” I can’t help but ask.