Page 137 of Dance of Devils
“No! The commoner girl.”
He rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, there is no commoner girl.”
I wink at him. “Commonerboy, then?”
His eyes snap to mine. “I’m fuckingstraight, Brooklyn. I don’t know why you keep pushing that.”
I roll my eyes. “Finefinefine. Be all touchy about it.” I smirk, feeling the effects of my second martini. “I’m going to go get us some truth serum.”
I come back to the table a few minutes later with two more tequila shots.
“Bottoms up,” I giggle as we tap glasses and bring them to our lips.
“Who’s the boy, Roman.”
He almost does a spit-take with his shot before he muscles the tequila down.
“Why thefuckare you so stuck on this? Like why exactly is it so hard to believe that I am utterly and completely straight?”
The gay hookup app open on your phone that night,I resist saying out loud.
“I’m just teasing you. Jeeeez.”
“Well, stop it. I like girls.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that,” I grin. “Say it again, and maybe it’ll sound?—”
In half a second, before I can even finish my sentence, he’s leaning across the table, grabbing the back of my head, and kissing me on the mouth.
What the FUCK.
It’s only for a split second, because instantly, I’m jumping out of my chair and shoving him away from me.
“Dude,” I blurt, wiping my mouth on the back of my arm. “What thehell?”
Roman is staring at me in pure horror, all the color drained from his face.
“Fuck, Brooklyn,” he mumbles, shaking his head quickly. “I’msosorry. That was... I don’t know where the fuck that came from.”
“Roman—”
“Brooklyn, Iswear, I have no idea why I did that. There’s no lingering subtext here. I’mnotthat guy pretending to be your friend to so that when you’re lonely and single he can swoop in.” He looks downright angry as he shoves his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, I amsofucking sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s…fine.”
“No it fuckingisn’t,” he growls. “B, I’m…” He exhales and looks away. “I just…sometimes, I wonder if I—” He scowls. “I’m not even sure I’m…”
He exhales loudly and looks up at the city sky above us.
“I’m going to regret what just happened the rest of my life,” he says quietly. He smiles wryly at me. “I mean, no offense.”
I reach across the table to squeeze his hand. “None taken. Apology truly accepted.” I smile at him. “It’sfine, Roman. Seriously, we’re good. It was just a little?—”
Roman’s hand is suddenly ripped away from mine as he’s yanked from his chair andthrowninto an empty table, crashing him and it to the floor.
I gasp as I lurch to my feet. My gaze drags from Roman, groaning and grimacing, pushing himself to his feet, to the man standing behind where Roman was just sitting.
Kir, looking fuckinglivid.
