Page 14 of Romeo vs Romeo

I shook my head, fears tightening around me like a noose. “I don’t think I’d fit in.”

“Trust me,” Roman said. “We’re a friendly group. If nothing else, at least you’ll be around people who understand you.”

I swallowed, unaware that there was a thick knot in my throat. “Roman…” I blinked twice, looking at him, searching for words. How would I tell someone that their kindness and understanding were easily the most life-changing things I’d been given? How would I do that without making it weird? And, moreimportantly, how did I get those words over my lips without every instinct that had been built into my clamping down on my words? When I found nothing, I decided to keep it simple. “Thank you.” I hope I managed to fill these two words with all the gratitude I felt, although I doubted it was possible.

“Call me Rome,” he said.

“Rome,” I repeated. I liked it.

As he poured us another drink, I wondered if we had played our parts in this conversation only for the sake of avoiding some awkwardness after a terrible attempt at having sex. I wondered if there was any chance for us to be friends or if I would wake up tomorrow, as I had done countless times, and reaffirm my solitude and independence from everyone who offered me a guiding hand.

Often, it felt as though the moment some college acquaintance or an online friend from their—our!—population offered any help at all, it only entrenched me deeper in my lonely pit of self-loathing. I feared this would be no different.

CHAPTER 4

The Fighters

Roman

To a point,it felt like hazing. Not that I would know what preppy brats in college fraternities did, but I’d seenFrat Boysplenty of times. And even if I reminded myself that every frat eventdidn’tculminate in a ten-hour orgy, I could imagine what hazing was all about.

In a more sincere way, opening the door of Neon Nights and letting Everett enter the bar to the sound of Freddy Mercury’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” blasting from the speakers felt like I was aiding a rebirth.This you must do to grow and be happy, I intoned silently.And so you become a brother in full right. Now, wear your rainbow cape and a pocketful of glitter.

I made myself snort a chuckle.

Everett passed through, and I followed, catching a strong scent of his woody, earthy cologne. It extended its seductive finger and pressed the raw space in my chest where low, simmering arousal never fully went away. A mind-shattering orgasm to leave me brain-dead for half an hour would have done it, but it wasn’t meant to be.

This handsome mess I voluntarily asked to friendzone me had enough baggage to fill up an airbus all by himself. And it was fucking hot.

Other people had cute kinks, like secretly wearing butt plugs in public or giving their partners remote controls over their vibrators. Not me. I went straight for the fuckups that didn’t know if they wanted to fight me or fuck me. Why couldn’t I simply be into feet or whatever?

“Why don’t we have a couple of Sunset Boulevards and hit the dance floor?” I asked Everett in a half shout against the blast of Freddy Mercury’s promise to make you supersonic.

Everett made a pained expression, his nose actually wrinkling with distaste. “I don’t dance.”

“Neither do I,” I yelled, threw my head back, and laughed. My hand found his hand, and I skipped Sunset Boulevards altogether, pulling Everett to the dance floor.

For all the things I could rightfully call him—a brute, a very hot mess, a closet case wise men steered clear from—Everett wasn’t a liar. He was a terrible dancer. His hips wouldn’t budge, and his fists were closed like he was a gladiator in an ancient arena about to face a bear. The discomfort on his face was borderline hilarious.

Although I imagined I had a better chance to teach Tristan’s panda how to do great stand-up comedy, I resolved to make a dancer out of Everett. I put my hands on Everett’s hips and rose on my toes, telling him to follow my lead. With my feet back on the floor, I caught the beat after a couple of false starts. To my surprise, Everett managed to do the same.

“Is that vodka working yet?” I shouted.

“Must be,” he replied as he danced miserably. But two songs later, Everett no longer needed my hands on his hips. It seemed he was less of a disaster than I’d imagined, and his moves, although simple and safe, matched the tunes well.

We couldn’t compete against the two Tasmanian devils in the form of my best friend and his prince boyfriend, but I kept Everett busy dancing until he completely surrendered to the melody.

He didn’t pull away when my hand touched his shoulder. He stumbled once when my thumb brushed the bare flesh of his upper chest where the shirt he wore parted, held together heroically by a small, black button that gave it its all. He didn’t move my hand away, and I didn’t think he wanted to.

If I knew anything about him, I knew Everett wasn’t the kind of person who could withstand discomfort of any sort without raising hell in return.

He touched me, too. He put his hand on the side of my rib cage, safely feeling me when a crop top separated his skin from mine. Even so, as moments went on, his hand moved lower to the wide space where the top ended, and my waist was bare. He touched me, licking his lips and looking into my eyes. At that moment, artificial fog hid everyone else, and darkness settled around us.

I told myself to chill and dance. I told myself to pretend this wasn’t the most torturous sort of erotic daydreaming I’d found myself living out. I told myself that he was too messed up for anything more than dancing. He was not the kind of guy you’d ever want to date. He was barely capable of expressing his desire, let alone going through with the act.

And yet his dark eyes were so full of pain, starved for something that had always existed outside of his reach. He was needy for contact, for a touch, for intimacy, yet too proud to let himself show it. It leaked out of his eyes when all his muscles tensed, and he controlled himself. It spilled from him in small, explosive bursts when his hand wrapped around my arm before jerking back, when his body bumped against mine before his dancing slowed down with artificial calmness.

What he wanted was clear as day. We both knew it. But what was possible was a whole different story.

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