3. Roman #3
I’ve already shared more with Tate than I would with just about any new person. I realize that even though I had thought of myself in that way for years and years—as a proud slut who fucked beautiful, smart, strong women—it really hasn’t been true in the past year.
I’ve slowed down.
The raw thrill that I used to get when a woman first saw my cock, and when she first felt my size inside her… I haven’t chased that high in a long time.
Until the first night I pinned Tate to that wall, and my cock went crazy for some fucking reason.
Tate’s eyes study my arms with more open curiosity now.
“I like your tattoos,” he finally says.
“Thank you.”
“If you’re studying physiology, do you want to be a doctor? Physical therapist?” he asks.
Doesn’t matter what I want to be… my life is paved out for me.
“I am undecided. But yes, the human body interests me.”
He nods, his teeth coming down on his lower lip, then releasing it. “Are you close with your family?”
Loaded fucking question, boy.
“Yes and no.”
“Your parents?”
My heart aches a little. “My mother is dead. My father… I am not close with. He wishes that we were more similar.”
My father wishes I was a soulless killer.
Instead, he got me.
A son who still has a conscience… even when I do bad things.
Tate gives me a sympathetic look. “Sorry to hear that, Roman.”
I nod at him. “Are you close with your family?”
“My brother is awesome, even if he’s overprotective and I kind of hate him right now.
My mom is a sweetheart and I love her with every fiber of my being, and…
my dad is a legend. He’s good to me. But he probably deeply wishes I didn’t fuck up my chance to go pro. I feel like a burden to all of them.”
I shake my head. “Doubt it. It sounds like your family isn’t so bad.”
He smiles softly. “I do love them, and they love me.”
All you could ever ask for.
And you will never have any idea how complicated family is, for me.
“Nice to get to know you, Tate. Is that it for your interrogation?”
“Hey, you wanted to break the ice, too.” He drums his fingertips on the table. “By the way, next time you follow me into the gym, you should come and work out with me instead of lurking in the fucking yoga room.”
I furrow my brow. “No chance you saw me in there.”
“Saw you from my peripheral vision, trying to walk inside right after I started my reps on the rower. You were wearing a hoodie. Not a lot of people are as tall as you, Roman.”
Truthfully, I wasn’t trying all that hard to stay unnoticed while following Tate this week. I remained in the background, yes, but when I really don’t want to be seen, I never am.
I don’t even know how many times I’ve had to wait in the dark with a gun in my hands, staying steady, just in case a trade went south.
Reliable, my father calls me.
But watching Tate is nothing like my real life.
When I see him interact with others on campus, he’s kind and friendly and very sweet.
He strikes up conversations with people who no one else does, like the card-swiper lady at the entrance of the dining hall, the janitor in the English building, or a timid, acne-covered girl sitting at the back of his history class.
The only place I see his rage emerge is when he’s in the gym. I lift heavy, but Tate pushes his body’s limits like he’s trying to break himself.
“I’m glad you spotted me following you,” I tell him. “It means you’re paying enough attention to your surroundings.”
“I’m not oblivious.”
“Good. Next time I’ll come correct your shitty form on the bench press.”
He gives me a hard stare. “My form is perfect.”
“It’s almost perfect, but it is not.”
“Did you like it when I punched you in the fucking head? Because I kind of want to do that again right now.”
I can’t help but smile a little bit again as my cock perks up again under the table. “Try it, Tate. See what happens.”
The idea of it is delicious.
I want him to try to fight me so badly it’s confusing my entire goddamn body, and if I don’t fuck someone soon, I’m bound to get hard every time Tate challenges me like that.
My cock has always had a thing for bratty attitude and people who provoke me ‘til I fucking blow. But until now, that’s only been that way with women.
Tate leans forward, putting his arms on the table.
I catch another glimpse of his torso through the deep armholes of his shirt.
I want to grip him there again.
Yank him toward me.
Pin him down on this tabletop and watch him try to land a single punch on me.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, cutting through my thoughts.
“You.”
“Same.”
His eyes are so beautiful. My pulse quickens and my cock strains against my denim uncomfortably.
I bite my inner cheek.
“You bother me.”
“I know,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “You’re cute when you feed the birds on the bench outside my dorm, by the way.”
Something flips in my stomach, like a bright spotlight exposing my fucking soul.
“You saw that?” I ask.
Chyort voz-mi.
Damn him.
Sometimes I bring a packet of cheese crackers so I can break off some to give to the sparrows as I wait in the mornings. It’s something Mom and I did, when I was a kid, and she smiled at the way I made sure each bird got its own piece….
“I need to leave,” I tell him, getting up so fast I knock my knees into the edge of the table. “Are you done eating my food?”