Page 35 of Unrecognizable Player

He turns back to the blender to pour his green goop out into a cup. “Crazy night huh?”

“Yeah.” I move over to the kitchen table, rubbing my eyes. “Do you think Mischa had a good time?”

“I think he’s so into your friend it’s pathetic, so yeah, I think he had a good time. Do you think she did?”

“Oh yeah, if she didn’t, you’d know about it.”

“So I guess they’ll be seeing each other again then?” Was that hope I heard? Or am I imagining things?

“I guess so.”

“Next time maybe tell them not to make us schlep our asses to Williamsburg for a date though yeah?”

Who says we’ll be going on their next date? And is this him telling me he’s willing to chaperone again? With me?

“Sure.”

After Alexei leaves,I login to Bookgeeks. There’s a message waiting from Kelsier38.

Kelsier38: Sorry your roommate’s an ass. Anyone who can be rude to you must have something seriously wrong with them, because you’re literally the nicest person on the planet.

My heart sinks a little. Yes, I want to be a nice person, but also, this is a guy I’ve exchanged sexy messages with, all be it, a very long time ago, so him thinking I’m ‘nice’ now is a bit of a downgrade.

Kelsier38: I haven’t really had time to read anything, have you?

I crack my knuckles and prepare myself for something bold. I’m single. I can say whatever I want to any guy I like now and I won’t be betraying Dorian. And actually, I can’t believe I ever worried about betraying Dorian when he was betraying me all along.

RedRum237: I noticed you haven’t been active in the MM romance group where we met? Don’t you read that stuff anymore?

Okay, so not the boldest of questions, but that forum was the place where we met. It was what told me beyond any shadow of a doubt what he was into. Those spicy scenes provided the backdrop for our own spicy conversations.

I don’t know what’s made me so intent on starting this side to our relationship up again. I guess living with a ridiculously hot hockey player who also happens to be straight is kind of frustrating.

And when I get in the shower before heading to the music department and find Alexei’s used bar of soap sitting out, next to his razor and his body wash, and a damp towel poking out of the hamper, I get a jolt of why it’s so frustrating.

When I was in a relationship with Dorian I got used to regular sex. Now it’s been weeks and I’ve barely even had the privacy to jerk off.

Now here I am, with the place to myself, and I’m surrounded by my hot, straight roommate’s things and the last thing I want to do is think about him when I do that.

I try to conjure Kelsier38’s body in those pictures he sent me, but the memory is a fickle thing. What I do remember is defined abs and powerful thighs. Two gold chains sitting on his sternum. A St. Christopher and a crucifix a lot like mine.

I remember a pronounced vein in his forearm, where it rested on his thigh in sweatpants. And the bulge in his groin area that told me Dorian was bullshitting when he said only porn stars have cocks over six inches.

I close my eyes and let my mind wander. My imagination filling in any of the blanks. Remembering how we’d talk about those scenes we read. How we said we wanted to do those things to each other.

I close my eyes as I wrap my hand around my cock.Abs, chest, shoulders, arms, thighs, bulge.Abs, chest, shoulders…

I come all over the tiles, mumbling something incoherent, and immediately panic that I’ve made a mess on Alexei’s things.

I rinse everything off, hoping he won’t notice I’ve probably put it all back in slightly different places, and get out. I can’t do that ever again.

I getto rehearsals a little late and Alice gives me daggers over the string and brass section. She probably wanted to dissect her date last night play-by-play and now she’ll have to wait at least an hour for Professor Lisette to be done with us.

Rehearsing is fine. I could rehearse every day of my life and I’d be happy. But if I think about what that rehearsing is leading up to, my palms start to sweat, and whatever I’m wearing starts to feel tight around my neck.

I focus on the feel of the instrument instead of my body. How familiar this particular violin is. The smell of the resin I use to polish the wood and the synthetic smell of the aluminum strings.

We rehearse Pachelbel’sCanon, and though it’s painfully overdone, I still like the piece. It reminds me of the hours I’d spend in mine and Ari’s bedroom at my childhood home in Astoria, practicing for exams and recitals. Mama listening in at the door. Baba bringing me food every five minutes when hegot home from the restaurant. Their pride every time I’d get something right.

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