Chapter 9 ~ Rafe #2
Then he whispers, “Minho.” And from the way his eyes widen, I know the name slipped from his lips accidentally, and I have to wonder if he forgot the hour-long drive in which he told me in explicit detail how in love he is with Minho.
“It's okay to love him still, you know,” I reassure him, and there's no lie. I can’t say I have never seen the appeal of the Walker men.
I had the biggest crush on Colton back in high school, and I remember almost telling him at one of our games when we played for Eden U’s hockey team.
I never told him because by the time I came out, my best friend had already met his girlfriend, who he’d gotten pregnant. And then I left, travelled abroad instead of pursuing hockey as a career.
When I came back, Colton was married, his kids were teenagers, and then Minho got fuckin hot, and I swear, he flirted with me the day his dad married Victoria. I would be lying if I said that it didn't excite something in me.
So I understand where Bellamy is coming from. The only difference is that he has a chance, while I cannot cross that line with Minho for so many reasons.
Never.
I can never even think of going there with him.
Not that I want to or anything.
As if he’d spaced out and only heard what I’d said, Bellamy blinks, then laughs awkwardly. “I am not in love with Minho.” He wipes away nonexistent tears, then adds, “That would be absurd—stupid even because we are stepbrothers and we hate each other.”
My eyes narrow. “Uh huh.”
“Yes—yeah.”
My god, he is either delusional or truly scared shitless of still being in love with the same person he helped drive out of this town a year ago.
“Whatever, kid,” I say, and gesture for him to pull up his shirt so I can touch up the tattoo there, the one I know is the date he fell in love with Minho in Roman numerals with black hearts and butterflies surrounding it—two inked hearts and two butterflies that represent them always orbiting each other.
“You can keep living in fantasy land, or you can grow a pair and be honest with yourself.”
“We are not talking about this,” he gritted out.
I chuckle. “Maybe not today, but someday you are going to want to get it off your chest with someone and since you can’t necessarily tell your mom or her husband for obvious reasons—”
He laughs. “You think I’d want to talk about a stupid crush with the man who's seen said crush's dick?”
My eyebrow raised. “So you’ve seen Minho’s piercings.”
I won’t lie, I had fun doing all of them for him, especially when he got hard and looked a little embarrassed by his dicks reaction to me touching him. Knowing he trusts me with this body in that way, even though I know I shouldn’t.
“Yeah, felt it too.”
I think my brain exploded.
“When did this happen?” I ask.
He smirks as if pleased with himself for a moment. “This morning during class.”
“The fuck?”
Bellamy waves me off. “Don’t worry, no one saw us, and it didn't get as far as I would have liked since I think I may have left him with blue balls.”
I break into a fit of laughter because what the actual fuck is wrong with him? He can do all that, but he can't tell Minho he is sorry?
Who needs a football game when you can enjoy these two being so fucked up about how they feel for each other?
When Bellamy first came to me with the concept for this tattoo—the one beneath his heart—he hadn't told me the story behind it, but after his drunken confession, I knew the two hearts, the date—it all came back to one person.
Minho.
Bellamy is so in love with him that he’s brave enough to get it tatted on his skin permanently, but he’s scared to say it out loud.
It’s sad.
When I finish shading the butterfly wings, Bells sits back in his chair for a bit as if lost in thought. “Do you think he can forgive me?”
I know he isn’t asking me that question, but I answer him nonetheless. “I think you know the answer to that question; you are just scared of what happens if he does but doesn’t want to be with you.”
It's a fact at this point. Minho could forgive him, but it doesn’t mean he would magically want to be with Bellamy in that way.
“I have to make sure my brother isn’t making out with my one useful employee in my office, but feel free to raid the mini fridge before you leave,” I tell him and then head to the back before pulling out my phone and dialling Minho’s number.
The ringtone rings for what feels like forever before he picks up. “If it isn't my favourite workout buddy.”
“You are a menace, Minho, a real fucking king of heartbreak, you know that, right?” I say, cutting to the chase. “Letting him play with your dick in class and then doing whatever you did to make him look like a sad puppy before his first game in a few days.”
Minho laughs, but it lacks the warmth I have gotten used to hearing. “Don’t tell me you are mad with me.” There's a long stretch of a pause before he continues. “How can I make it up to you, Rafe?”
God, I hate how much I love it when he says my name like that—as if it is something precious he can’t get enough of when he says it.
“Be nicer... please.”
Minho grumbles something through the phone. “He shouldn't have touched me and then expected me to fold for him, but fine, I won’t shoot the puppy more than I already have since you asked so nicely.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” I confirm.
The line goes dead, then just as I make it to my office door, which is closed and when I reach for the doorknob, I hear the smack of skin and Ollie moaning and whimpering for Seb to fuck him rougher.
“Seb, please,” he whines. “Make me come—I want to come, please.”
“Fuck baby, come for me.”
Nope.
Not going in there to see that. I’ll fire Seb and Ollie tomorrow and hire new people before Minho comes in for his appointment with me. And for the first time in a long time, I understand exactly why Bellamy hasn’t gotten over Minho.
He’s an addiction you don’t want to get rid of—one I didn’t refuse to taste for myself a year ago.
Because he demands attention without needing to ask for it, and neither Bellamy nor I is prepared not to give it to him if the hockey captain's mood and my conversation with Minho are anything to go off of.
I might need something stronger than one beer because, yeah, I am so fucked when the little menace comes here tomorrow.