9. Roman #2
Remember Star Cafe? That one day when I was twelve, maybe thirteen? You took me there, when I was feeling down. I’d just started drinking coffee, and I felt very mature to be sipping it, creamy and sugary, from a white paper cup just like yours.
A raincloud opened up past the windows outside and drenched the whole block.
You saw the grim look on my face.
You knew I was still thinking of what happened the night before.
It wasn’t the first time I saw Father kill someone, but it was the first time he didn’t try to hide it at all. He walked past me, back into the house, with blood still on his hands.
But growing up too fast wasn’t all bad, here with you, was it? I was old enough to have coffee, and old enough to know about Dad. And the cousins. All of us, and who we are.
You looked out at the downpour and smiled, turning back to me.
“The rain keeps the boys out of trouble, Romashka,” you said softly, winking at me and reaching over to squeeze my hand, balled into a fist.
I was so surprised that you said it in English.
Were you trying to assure me that at least for that day, perhaps there wouldn’t be more bloodshed… or retaliation? Maybe everyone stays home when it rains, yes?
It wasn’t the truth. But you still comforted me.
You were the only one who ever tried.
Still with me, every day, Mama
—Romashka
I shove the journal back into my desk and head downstairs.
I see Tate in the kitchen with Rayne.
Both of them are wearing black aprons covered in flour.
Tate is shirtless beneath it, and his pecs and nipples are out on display beside the apron’s long straps. He’s also in his black backwards hat, and I can’t even look at him without thinking of coming.
“What is this?” I ask, gesturing at four different bags of powder on the kitchen counter as the two of them mix up some kind of batter.
“Protein powder.”
I stare at him. “Four bags of protein powder?”
He shakes his head, licking the back of a spoon. “Flour, tapioca, and two different kinds of protein powder.”
I scrunch up my face. “You know what has good protein?”
“Cum!” I hear Oliver’s voice shout from beyond the open window, in the backyard.
“Steak,” I say. “You don’t need flour and powder and all of this bullshit.”
“But we’re making a high-protein cake,” Rayne tells me. “You can’t put steak in a cake.”
“Do you kind of want to blow your brains out right now, Roman?” Hunter asks from where he’s sitting at the dining table. “Because I do. I love you so fucking much, Rayne, but I’m on Roman’s side for this one.”
Rayne blows his boyfriend a kiss.
I watch Tate as he adds some sort of strawberry pudding thing into the big bowl of batter. As he adds it, a bit of it splashes up onto him, flecks of pink landing on his skin.
I reach out my finger and drag it slowly over a streak of pudding that landed on his nipple, watching it harden from the touch. I stare down at Tate, licking my finger.
“That tastes good,” I mutter. “Just leave it at that. No cake necessary.”
“You’re going to love this cake,” Tate tells me. “I promise. Now can you fuck off so Rayne and I can bake in peace?”
Tate’s giving me a devilish grin.
I pinch the side of his abs hard, and he smacks my hand away.
“Hunter,” I call out, nodding at him over at the table. “You have a moment?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
I motion at him to come join me, and he follows me into the front room, out of earshot from the other guys. We sit down on the sofa.
I slide the rock out from my pocket.
“Ever seen anything like it before?” I ask Hunter, turning the dark stone over in my hand.
“Looks like a river rock. A big one,” Hunter tells me, and I hand it to him.
“Turn it over.”
He flips it and looks at the symbol, or symbols, on the other side.
“How about that?”
“Never,” Hunter says, looking it over. “It’s not a rune, or a druidic mark. Certainly not something from Double Daggers. Did you try reverse image searching it?”
I nod.
Hunter’s good at research too. Better than me, probably. He’s had a rough life, and last year he had to protect Rayne from people who wanted him dead for very different reasons.
I trust Hunter, even if he isn’t my family.
He glances up at me, calculating something behind his eyes. “I assume you wouldn’t give me details about where you found this even if I asked, right?”
“Probably not.”
He nods. “That’s okay. If you want, I can try to work on it tonight.”
“I would appreciate that.”
His eyes scan my face again. “Can I ask if it has to do with Tate?”
“It does.”
“I see. I can try to figure this out, but it could be someone trying to send a message when there really isn’t a message.”
“Yes. I’m afraid of that.”
I stand up from the sofa and pace a few steps around the living room, then into the hall. From here I can glimpse a sliver of the kitchen, and I watch Tate, laughing as he carries a giant baking pan toward the oven.
How could anyone want you dead?
In what world…
“Maybe check the comments of some of the hate articles written about Tate,” I say, thinking out loud to Hunter. “See if there are any consistent people. Consistent ways of writing, even if the usernames are different.”
“Got it.”
I head back upstairs and try to do some studying.
But ten minutes later, I slide out my phone.
Roman
You look very good today.
Blondin
I’ll look even better when I’m serving you a slice of my cake. Should I put on a French maid outfit?
Quit it.
You made me hard when you touched me. I might still be hard.
Poor Tate, with his pretty, hard dick. Going to come for me?
A couple of minutes later, I get a clear picture of his dick in his fist, dripping with cum.
Just did in the downstairs bathroom. Your fault.
He sends me a kiss print emoji, and I set my phone down, stroking my cock until I come so hard it hits one of the posts of my bed.
It’s the first time I’ve seen Tate’s cock since the night in the garden… and the first time I’ve told him to come for me since then, too.
It wasn’t a fluke.
I still want it… even worse now.
Much later that night, I almost get up and sleep in my bed with him, instead of on the floor.
But that’s not just sex.
It’s relationship stuff… and that’s not what this is.
My life is not one that’s compatible with his. Or any normal person’s. Even if he’s making my mind crazy, I have to remember that.