3. Roman
Roman
For the first few days that Tate is on campus, tailing him feels too easy.
I get up early the next few mornings.
I sit on one of the wooden benches across the lawn from the Wallendorf dorms to see when he heads out, and I do what I do best, watching him like a stalker would. I need to get into the mind of what his real stalker could be capable of.
His blond hair is always easy to spot.
Sometimes he wears bright neon green or pink tank tops, like he’s trying to be seen.
The beast inside me wants to hunt.
Chase him down.
Take him like I’m a wolf and he’s a fucking gazelle, because I know exactly how easy it would be to overtake him.
But he gives me no chase.
Following him is so easy it puts me to sleep. Tate isn’t even being careful, the fool.
He comes out of his dorm around nine each day.
He goes for a run in a long loop around campus, the same run that many of my Onyx Society brothers make all the time.
He always wears tank tops. His class schedule is simple to memorize, with a course in the language building in the morning and two in the general studies building in the afternoon.
He listens to music as he walks down hallways in the buildings, an earbud in one ear, humming along to melodies with a surprisingly good voice.
The first day I follow him, my curiosity is mild.
With each passing day, it grows stronger.
Because I don’t fucking believe him.
So far, Tate’s been acting like a perfect angel, and I’m starting to think it’s an act.
He never once looks back toward me when I’m following him. Not that I would try to hide myself if he did.
Is he hiding something?
Or… maybe just waiting for the right moment to flee?
His brother told me he wouldn’t enjoy having a bodyguard, and that he would try to slip out from under me whenever he could. But so far, he hasn’t seemed to do a single thing out of place.
It feels like I’m playing a game.
Waiting for his move.
Joke’s on you.
I could do this for my entire fucking life.
Right now, he’s in Colossus dining hall, sitting alone at a table with a sandwich.
I take a booth a few rows back, observing.
The pendant light above the table showcases the pale blond highlights throughout his hair.
It’s been about a week since he arrived on campus now, and I’m still not used to the way I’m fixated on his looks. It’s like a sore spot I can’t keep poking at, inside myself. The hair… his lashes… his fucking lips, when he takes a sip from a bottle.
What is it about him that bothers me?
All week, I’ve gone back to my phone, re-reading the messages he sent me that night.
Calling himself a cock slut.
Telling me he’d let me fuck him.
So mouthy, and so irritating.
My phone buzzes on the tabletop, startling me.
Nata
Coming tonight?
Roman
Can’t.
Sad. I miss you when you aren’t at dinner.
Have to stay on campus tonight. Will you be ok with Yegor?
I’ll try not to punch him.
Be good.
Natalia is a friend of the family. Our mothers used to be very close friends, until my mother’s death changed everything.
The phone buzzes again, and this time it’s a selfie from Natalia. She’s smiling, showing me the dress she’s picked out for the formal dinner. A glittery, champagne-colored tight thing, with a plunging neckline to reveal a good portion of her tits.
I suspect Natalia has had a crush on me for longer than I’ve known about it. She finally dumped her awful ex a few months ago, and since then she has flirted with me anytime she can.
It used to bother me that I felt nothing when I looked at Natalia.
Numbness, where there should be… something. Lately, I’ve found it harder to care.
I lock my phone and slide it back in my pocket.
And when I look back up I do a double take.
Tate’s table is empty.
Fuck.
Not possible.
I lost him.
I glance around the dining hall, trying to locate his blond hair. But the crowd is thick with students milling around, and I don’t see him anywhere.
I get up and do a loop around the large hall.
He’s not in line at any of the food stations. I duck into the bathrooms, checking that all of them are empty.
I knew any distraction would be too much.
I was lulled into a routine, but I should have fucking known.
I get another text, yanking my phone out of my pocket.
Blondin
Miss me yet?
Roman
Tell me where you are.
It’s not like you can tail me 24/7 to begin with. Don’t you have your own classes? And… sleep?
I skipped those for a couple of days to learn your schedule.
Dedication.
Tell me where you are.
You fucking know I’m not in danger, Roman. Why do you care? You’re just upset I finally slipped away, and you didn’t catch it.
Correct.
You’ll find me eventually. Promise.
I stride fast back to my own table.
I need to grab my jacket and leave, and I don’t know Tate well enough yet to know where the hell he might go right now.
But when I get back, I know I’ve been played.
My chest tightens and I slow down as I approach.
Tate is sitting at my table now. He has a black snapback baseball hat on, covering up his blond hair, and he must have purposely worn it when walking around to hide his most noticeable feature from me.
He looks up at me with a satisfied gaze as he cocks his head to one side.
“Not that good of a watchdog, are you?”
I stand over the booth for a moment. Tate picks up my fork, spearing a chunk of my pineapple and putting it in his mouth.
I once saw my father slice a man’s throat for taking a third serving of flank steak at a dinner.
You could not survive an hour in my life.
I slide into the booth across from Tate, nodding.
“You know this is a buffet?” I tell him. “Go get your own food.”
He ignores me, taking another piece.
He leans back, draping one arm over the back of the booth, still pinning his gaze on me. He’s in a loose grey tank top with the arm holes cut super low, yet again, to reveal the sides of his abs.
“But yours is good,” he says.
“Why are you at my table now?”
“I want to make you an offer.”
I lift an eyebrow.
Tate’s eyes dance across my face. “I’ll pay you double whatever my brother is paying if you agree to quit following me around campus and leave me alone.”
So you have noticed me tailing you.
You just haven’t let me know that you know.
“You don’t want protection?”
“I don’t need it.”
“Your brother said that you are under threat.”
I don’t mention that his brother also told me, in our short phone conversation, that he simply wanted someone watching over Tate to make sure he didn’t do anything to put himself in danger, either. I got the impression that Tate loved life, but could be self-destructive, too.
Tate shrugs. “You’ve seen me this week. Nothing is happening, Roman. I don’t need a bodyguard to watch me going to classes.”
“I’ve watched you playing nice, and I don’t believe that’s what you always do.”
“I wasn’t putting on a show for you. I was just living my life. Do I need to remind you that you don’t even know me?”
I’m silent for a few beats.
Tate is trying to seem confident, negotiating with me.
But his leg is bouncing, and one of his hands is on top of the table, fiddling with a straw wrapper until he turns it into a tiny little ball.
His wounded, bandaged hand moves more stiffly than the other, his fingers struggling to bend.
He’s nervous.
And that means he knows he doesn’t hold any power between us.
“I agreed to a job,” I tell him softly, “and I am going to do it.”
“I’ll pay you triple what Luke’s paying.”
I frown. “You want me gone that badly? What do you plan on doing, if you’re no longer being watched? Holding a piece of glass on someone else’s throat?”
He exhales, looking up at the wooden beams along the tall ceiling of the dining hall.
When he looks back at me, he leans forward on the table with both arms, getting closer to my face.
Jesus.
Seeing him this close up is disorienting after days of following him from far away.
I can see each individual brown freckle on the tops of his cheeks. A small dusky birthmark on his lower neck, too, just above his collarbone.
“Maybe I’m just tired of it,” he says, and something changes in his eyes. “I’ve been watched for my whole life, and I finally thought I was getting a shred of independence coming to this campus.”
Nineteen isn’t all that far off from twenty-one, but considering his life compared to mine… there’s nothing similar about us at all.
He looks so young.
“You didn’t have independence in the city?” I ask him.
“Not really. I had fun, but everywhere I go, I’ve always been watched.”
“And did you have friends?”
He nods. “Always. I make friends fast, but they’re all busy with their own shit in the city. Most of them were football friends, and now it feels like they’re a million miles away.”
I pause for a while, and he doesn’t say more.
“You were not safe in the city, Tate,” I tell him. “I’m not convinced you’re safe here, either. You can’t shrug off death threats when you’re worth millions.”
He frowns, reaching to mess with the straw wrapper again.
Suddenly, I see myself through his eyes, as he stares down at my forearms.
It’s the first time Tate’s seen my skin fully exposed.
I’m in a black short-sleeved shirt, and his eyes are trained on the dark lines of ink that loop around my arms. He glances at the black beaded bracelet I wear that used to be my mother’s.
Holy shit.
His fingers are shaking, a little bit.
He has been bluffing more than I realized.
He is intimidated by me, and actually afraid when I tell him he may still be in danger. He is usually better at hiding it.
Something deflates in my chest.
I clasp my palm over his hands in one steady movement. He looks up at me, surprised at my touch, inhaling as his eyes go wide.
“Hey,” I tell him. “It’s okay. Talk to me.”
“You hate talking.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. Talk to me.”
He leans back a little on his booth seat, letting out a frustrated sigh as he looks up at the ceiling. “Of course I know I’m not safe.”
It’s the first time he’s admitted it to me.
He scrubs his palms over his face, then finally looks at me again, and there’s a flash of sadness behind his big eyes.
“Are you afraid?” I ask him.