13. Killer Queen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
killer queen
ROMAN
A dinner party.
A goddamn dinner party.
I should turn back around, go home, and cuddle Mitzy on the couch. It’s only a twenty minute walk. I can tell Logan I got sick, or I fell in the Bay. People fall in there all the time. Mostly drunk college students, but still.
Before I can come up with another hare-brained scheme to get out of this, I find myself grabbing the obnoxious bat-shaped door knocker and I bang it against the wood. I can feel the sweat trickling down my spine. It’s not even hot out, but the thought of seeing her is sending me into a spiral.
“Please don’t answer the door, please don’t answer the door…”
A deep blue blouse and a pair of black dress pants greet me as the door whips open, but thankfully, it’s Abi’s face smiling back.
“Oh, thank God,” I sigh.
The words are already out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
“Wow, Roman!” She laughs. “Should I pass that message along to the host?”
I roll my eyes and thrust a bottle of wine toward her, but Abi bypasses it completely, going in for a hug instead.
“He knows how I feel,” I mutter as I wrap my arms around her.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch a flash of lavender, and my stomach tightens.
“You good, big guy?” Abi asks, finally taking the wine. “Looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Just the usual,” I chuckle, hanging up my jacket near the door.
When I finally work up the courage to look, Imogen is there at the end of the hall. She’s in a black long-sleeve dress that hits her mid-thigh, her hair flowing down her shoulders in loose curls. She flashes me a smile before disappearing, and I can see every single goddamn curve taunting me from afar as she goes, only to be quickly replaced by Logan trotting down the stairs. He’s in an orange sweater with a pumpkin on the front. And he’s got mismatched socks on.
“You look absolutely ridiculous,” I chuckle, pulling him in for a hug.
“Well, you RSVP’d and I thought I’d wear your favorite sweater,” he pats me on the shoulder. “Come on, into the living room. Everyone’s there!”
Everyone including his sister.
This is going to be great.
The house is massive, an ostentatious Victorian-style monstrosity, but Logan has it packed with horror memorabilia, along with framed movie posters on the walls. I think he spends more money on this stuff than he does on groceries or clothes. It’s a perfect encapsulation of him as a human being.
The living room is cozy and jammed full of people, but my eyes are immediately drawn to a large crimson sofa with Frankie conspicuously draped across it. He’s loudly chatting to somebody halfway across the room, and then his gaze falls on me.
“Hey, you made it!” He chirps, raising his drink.
“Are you kidding? Miss my favorite sweater?” I elbow Logan in the ribs.
“Thought you’d be eyeball deep in a Chopped marathon or something,” Frankie teases. “I was waiting for a text telling me how pissed off you were that they were using the ice cream machine.”
“It’s a poor use of the time you have,” I reply. “And the damn thing’s always broken anyway.”
Frankie claps me on the shoulder while Logan grins, handing me a drink.
“Thought this might ease your nerves a little. Do the rounds real quick and slink your way back in here, I’ll make sure you don’t have to do any more fraternizing than necessary.”
I move around the room, shaking hands with Dr. Richard Barnes, who writes about police corruption. It’s some of the most brilliant work I’ve read in decades. Then there’s Janine Rogers, who primarily works in the area of domestic violence. She’s been instrumental in enacting policies that make it safer for women to leave abusive relationships. Janine has been around for as long as I can remember, and she’s got to be close to retirement by now.
No matter how interesting the topics might be though, I’m distracted, trying my best not to stare at Imogen. She’s sipping on a glass of white wine, chatting in the corner with Abi. She looks so casual, like she belongs here, and somehow way less nervous than me.
I begin to move toward her, but I’m interrupted just steps away.
“So, how’s your new TA working out?” Logan walks up, gesturing to his sister with his drink. “Thought I’d bail you out, but you look like you’re doing fine.”
I want to guzzle my whiskey right here and now.
“Imogen and I are getting along great.”
“Of course, you are. She’s a Flynn, after all,” he replies.
“My ears are burning,” Imogen announces as she turns toward us.
“Relax, I wasn’t going to embarrass you. I was just asking how things were going,” Logan smirks. “But now that you’re here, I’m not sure if he’ll be honest.”
“Roman’s been very…” I catch her brow twitch as she holds back a sultry little smirk of her own. “Accommodating.”
Is she fucking with me, or am I seeing everything she does as something flirtatious? Either way, it’s a struggle to stop thinking about ripping that tight little dress off her.
As Logan and I filter our way through the room, I find myself content just to listen to the myriad conversations. Everyone’s talking about work, journal submissions, and what they did over the summer besides teaching. Every so often, I catch Imogen’s eye, the two of us immediately looking away each time. How the hell am I going to get through this dinner unscathed?
After doing the rounds, Logan stops and lets out a deep sigh, looking around the room with a warm smile.
“I love this,” he says, gesturing between Imogen and I. “My best friends, my family, all in the same place…”
“Someone take the Pinot Grigio away from Flynn,” Frankie calls out. “He’s gonna start serenading us in a minute.”
“You wish, buddy!” Logan points at himself. “I’m the King of karaoke in this town, I don’t give it away for free.”
“Dude, you sing like someone swung a cat around by its tail,” Imogen teases, grinning from ear to ear.
I chuckle into my drink, trying not to laugh too hard.
“I refuse to be the punching bag tonight. Iggy, Abi! Get over here! Come and mingle with the rest of us!”
The word mingle makes her visibly cringe. I want to tell her that I know the feeling all too well, but things are about to get a hell of a lot more awkward as she sits down across from me, her dress riding up her thighs. I look around the room, searching for any conversation that will keep me from staring.
Frankie and Janine are talking about some upcoming conference in Aspen, and I pretend to take an interest. Unfortunately, it’s easier said than done, as the conversations get muddled with all of us sitting in one area. It sounds like everyone’s talking at once and I begin to feel like I’m drowning.
Focus. All I have to do is focus on something that’s not Imogen, her laugh, her voice, especially not her gorgeous legs.
Even if I want to bury my face between them.
I try to pay attention to Logan, nodding and pretending to be fully invested in some conversation about an academic publishing company, but fail miserably when I spot Dr. Barnes sliding into the seat next to Imogen.
He takes a brief moment to look her up and down, his eyes lingering on her chest, then her thighs. Imogen shifts her body slightly, turning away from him as she crosses her legs. The jealousy feels like a hot knife twisting in my chest, initially worrying about my reaction only to be emboldened when I see Logan staring daggers at him as well.
“So, Imogen, what did you do your master’s thesis on? Same topic?” Barnes asks.
“Oh, um, sort of. It was mainly around identity management in the kink scene. Specifically, people who work prestigious jobs where that sort of lifestyle is still seen as somewhat deviant or harmful.”
Fuck this. I’m getting in there.
“What kind of jobs?” I ask, leaning in toward the pair.
Her eyes gleam as she swirls the wine in her glass.
“Doctors, lawyers, judges… professors.”
My blood runs cold as Frankie grins, hopping into the conversation.
“How did you get that kind of access?” He asks, cutting in. “Like, did they talk to you in person?”
“No,” Imogen replies. “I mostly had to go with social media posts and Reddit forums that talked about it. It wasn’t an easy feat, but I got a couple of interviews with doms who worked with high profile clients, people seen as pillars of their communities.”
She’s looking at Frankie, but I can tell she’s talking directly to me.
“They could lose their jobs if someone found out what they liked to do on the weekends. A lot of kink clubs have strict anonymity policies— the good ones, at least. And no phone rules. That can cut down on someone’s day job being leaked, but there’s still a risk, and so people have to navigate who they’re going to be in that space.”
Dr. Barnes, who’s been getting more and more irritated with each additional person hopping into the conversation, opens his mouth to speak but is cut off when his phone rings.
“Apologies, folks. It’s the missus.” He begins to sheepishly scurry out of the room. “I’ve gotta take this.”
Imogen sneers.
“Creep.”
Frankie’s beaming, staring at Imogen like he’s proud of his great decision to take her on. He should be proud. She’s already been answering emails about the assignment and the feedback I’ve gotten from students is overwhelmingly positive. Our little affair aside, she’s really taken the initiative.
But I’m terrified that the lines could continue to blur. Especially if she keeps shooting me those coy little glances.
“I’ll be right back. Need a refill.”
Imogen gets to her feet, holding up her empty glass, and I try not to turn my head too much as I watch her long legs stalk toward the bar.
This is going to be a long night.
“So?” Logan asks me, resting his chin on his hand as Abi plunks herself into Barnes’ chair.
“So what?” She asks before I can respond. “What did I miss?”
“He’s not gonna give it up,” Frankie laughs.
“Give up what?” I look around at the three of them, confused.
Do they know? Did Imogen say something?
No, she wouldn’t.
Dr. Barnes wanders back inside, frowning when he sees Abi in his seat.
“They wanna know where your girlfriend is,” she chuckles. “I told them you’d be coming alone.”
I sigh, shaking my head as I stare into my empty glass. I wish I had about six more of these in my system, then maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a trainwreck.
“There’s no girlfriend,” I insist. “We’re just…”
“Just what?” Frankie asks. “Come on, this is your first relationship since–”
“It’s not a relationship,” I groan. “I don’t know where the three of you knuckleheads are getting these ideas from, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m still single.”
Logan frowns.
“You said you had a good time with her, right?”
“Yeah, I did, but that doesn’t mean things automatically work out,” I reply, frustration slowly creeping into my tone.
I wish this whole thing between Imogen and I hadn’t turned into such a giant clusterfuck. But we can be professional. We can be cool about this. Besides, she’s clearly not having these issues, it’s me. I’m the problem. Maybe I’ve been alone for too long, and I forgot how to admit to myself that I might be falling for someone.
“So, things fizzled?” Abi asks. “That sucks. I’m sorry, Roman.”
“They didn’t fizzle–”
“Hey, guys!” Barnes calls, trying to snatch back the attention he’d lost. “We’re playing a game! Top Ten Desert Island movies!”
“Oooh!” Frankie coos, getting to his feet. “I love this game. Logan has terrible taste.”
“I do not!” Logan laughs, following him toward the group.
“You wanna watch 976-EVIL and the shitty sequel for the rest of your life, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do!” Logan sings. “They’re cult classics!”
“I’ll never forgive you for making me sit through both of them,” Frankie mutters as the two make their way back toward the rest of the guests.
Abi grins at me, still seated.
“You joining in?”
“Just gonna grab a drink first,” I reply. “I’ll meet you there.”
I get to my feet and head toward an empty bar at the back of the living room. As I approach, Imogen pops up from behind it with a bottle of chilled white wine clutched in her fist.
Shit.
“Hey!” She chirps, pulling off the foil and tossing it aside.
I laugh, both nervous and excited to be alone with her again.
“So, you the bartender this evening?”
“As long as you’re drinking something that’s super easy to make. My limit is two ingredients, and you have to cut the lime yourself.”
“Wow, you run a tight ship,” I tease. “I think bourbon is pretty easy.”
“We’ll see, I bartended in college for a couple of months.” She tries to flip the bottle and barely catches it with both hands. “Impressed?”
“With moves like that, how could I not be?”
She snorts, grabbing a corkscrew.
“I wanted one of those bartending jobs where I could commiserate with patrons, but all I could find was a nightclub that sold overpriced vodka.”
I lean against the bar, watching her uncork the bottle with a violent twist. She winces as she jimmies the cork out.
“It’s not champagne, you know. Nothing’s gonna happen.”
“I know, I just hate the squeaky sound it makes!”
She yanks at the cork one final time, the bottle finally letting out a satisfying pop, and she fills up her glass before grabbing two kinds of bourbon and resting them on the bartop.
“Pick your poison, cowboy.” When my eyes meet hers, she blushes. “Sorry. It just slipped out.”
“It’s no trouble, ma’am,” I murmur, pointing to the bourbon on the left like it makes a difference. I just need alcohol in my system. “I’ll take that one.”
“Excellent choice sir,” she quips, pouring out a generous portion before sliding it across the bar. “Hope this whole thing isn’t too awkward for you.”
“Only a little. How are you holding up?”
She sighs, brushing a perfect curl off her shoulder. Up close, she looks even prettier, almost untouchable, like changing anything about her would be labeled a crime. There’s some shimmer on her collarbones, making them stand out even more against her black dress.
“Oh, you know… just in a room with a bunch of people who are way smarter than me. It’s super intimidating.”
“Seems like you’re doing just fine.” I sip my drink. “Dr. Barnes has taken a shine to you.”
“Richard? Logan says he fucks anything that breathes… except his own wife.” She lowers her voice, leaning in and giving me a good whiff of her vanilla perfume. My mouth waters, remembering how she tasted that first night. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We’ve all heard the stories about him.”
She quirks a brow.
“Makes what we did seem not so bad, huh?”
My cheeks burn. I want to respond but Imogen quickly straightens up.
“Frankie, six o’clock,” she mutters.
“Wh–”
“You bartending tonight, Imogen?” Frankie asks as he approaches.
Shit. We were doing so well. Once we get going, we fall into a natural rhythm again, like back at the mini golf course.
“For a bit, yeah.” She leans up against the bar, glancing at Frankie. “What are you drinking, Dr. Hughes?”
“Jack and Coke,” he replies.
“Comin’ right up!”
She takes his empty glass, grabbing a bottle by the neck.
“Should I do my Tom Cruise in Cocktail impression again?” She asks with a confident grin, her crooked little tooth adorably visible.
“Not unless you’re paying for that bottle,” I laugh.
Imogen rolls her eyes, fixing Frankie’s drink as he turns to me.
“So? How’s it going with you two?”
The question makes me nauseous, and I gulp down the rest of my bourbon, relishing the way it burns the back of my throat.
“Just fine,” I reply. “Like I said to Logan, Imogen’s great.”
“And Roman’s a great boss,” she chimes in. “I’m learning a lot about what it means to be a good TA, you know? How to handle student concerns and other… mishaps.”
Her eyes flick to me, almost challenging me to say something. Is she flirting with me? All of a sudden, I’m sweating again, heart thumping a little faster as I wish I still had something to drink. Frankie shoots me a look. Does he know? Only a few more hours and I can go home and jerk off in peace while I think about those pillowy thighs, but it could all come tumbling down any minute.
“There really are a lot of those more complex mishaps,” Frankie chuckles. “One time, I was on a flight to Italy and accidentally deleted every single student’s grade off of Blackboard. Instead of getting them to resubmit, I just gave them all an A and called myself a moron.”
Imogen passes him his drink with a smile.
“Well, hopefully, I don’t screw up that badly.” Her voice is sweet and sugary. “Right, Dr. Burke?”
Christ, it’s like she’s trying to get caught.
“I’m–” I choke, my voice breaking. “I’m sure you’ll be great.”
“Hey, guys?” Logan calls from the doorway. “Dinner’s up in ten, so get your asses into the dining room!” He yelps as Abi elbows him in the ribs. “Please?”
Saved by the bell.