Page 50 of Pretty When He Bleeds

Cute.

I let him stew for a few minutes, just to see what he’ll do. When it becomes clear he’s not going to make the first move, I close my sketchpad, pull my earbuds out, toss my shit into my backpack, and brush the dust off my hands as I stand.

Time to give my boy some help.

He doesn’t notice me at first, too busy looking anywhere else but at me, and it only makes the smirk on my face widen. By the time he notices, it’s too late. I’m already crossing the quad, weaving through the crowd like a man on a mission.

Roman’s eyes widen slightly when he sees me heading toward him, and I swear I can see the wheels turning in his head, like he’s trying to figure out whether to bolt or stay put.

He stays, though.Good choice, baby.

When I reach him, I don’t bother with any of the usual pleasantries. Instead, I grab the front of his hoodie, tug him closer, and press my mouth to his in a kiss that’s probably a little too aggressive for being in public.

The crowd around us goes quiet for a second before the murmurs start—gasps, whispers, and a few scattered laughs. But I don’t care, and judging by the way Roman’s hand curls into my shirt, neither does he.

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, noting his wide eyes and his flushed cheeks. “Good morning,” I say with a smirk.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Damon,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and his cheeks reddening. “What the hell was that?”

“You’re welcome,” I reply, releasing his hoodie and stepping back.

He looks around, his blush deepening when he realizes how many people are staring. “You couldn’t have done that somewhere less… public?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask, crossing my arms and tilting my head. “Besides, you’re mine. Let ’em stare.”

His cheeks darken, and I raise an eyebrow. “Are you blushing?”

“No,” he snaps, glaring at me.

I lean in, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You totally are.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it.

I laugh, leaning in just enough to keep him on edge. “Don’t worry, Hotshot. It’s cute.”

Roman groans, his head falling back as he glares at the sky like he’s asking some higher power why they’ve cursed him with me. “You done making me look like an idiot?” he asks, his tone exasperated.

“For now,” I say, slinging an arm around his shoulders and steering him toward the coffee cart near the edge of the quad. “Come on. You look like you need caffeine, and I’m feeling generous.”

He mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t pull away, which I take as a win. As we walk, I can feel the stares following us, the whispers growing louder, but I don’t give a fuck. Roman’s mine, and if people want to talk, let them.

We get to the coffee cart and Roman shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the next. He keeps his head down, his hoodie pulled up like it’ll somehow shield him from the attention.

“You’re acting like you’ve never been the center of attention before,” I say, nudging him with my elbow.

“Not like this,” he mutters, his jaw tight.

I glance at him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, and the way his hands are shoved so deep in his pockets that it looks like he’s trying to merge with his hoodie. “Relax,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “People’ll forget about it in an hour.”

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles, but his shoulders relax just a fraction.

I don’t press it, stepping up to the cart and ordering for both of us. Roman’s still too busy trying to disappear into his hoodie to argue, so I take the opportunity to order the strongest coffee they’ve got for him. He’s going to need it.

When I hand him the cup, he mutters a quiet, “Thanks,” before taking a long sip.

We find an empty bench a little farther away from the crowd, and Roman sinks into it. He’s quiet for a minute, his hands wrapped around the coffee cup as he stares at the ground.

“Alright, out with it,” I say, leaning back and stretching my legs out in front of me.

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