Page 14 of Phantom Faceoff
Michael Donovan—The North Haven Ravens’ co-captain—is a secret smut writer. I came across his fanfiction pen-name when he forgot to log out of his AO3 account while letting me borrow his laptop last year.
Not that I’d ever out him, but teasing? That’s fair game.
“Ooh, do we read dirty fiction in this circle?” Julian turns to face me, lacing his fingers through mine where they rest on his shoulder.
“Can’t say I have of my own free will,” I say, and Julian’s face falls a little. “Nothing wrong with it, though.”
The smile returns. “Mal has a couple fandoms he dabbles in—reading and consuming, not so much writing.”
Ah. It isn’t very often we go long in conversation without the roommate being mentioned. It’s what happens when you’rethat close to someone, I suppose. A lot like how Micky brings up Parker.
“So, you and Blanchard,” I hedge, stroking Julian’s arm in slow, even circles. “The two of you ever been … ya know … intimate?”
Julian looks up at me and blinks slow, resting his cheek on my shoulder. “When we were teens we’d kiss and touch here and there, but it was never sexual. It was more like wrapping up in your security blanket. A safe place away from all the hurt.”
“Were things that bad for you?”
He shakes his head. “Not as bad as it was for Mal. We basically grew up together in the group home, and Mal sort of took on a parental role to the rest of us.”
A brief hint of discomfort clouds his expression, and he pulls his knees to his chest, tucking himself into my side. “He took the brunt of every beating, every punishment. I honest to god thought they’d left him for dead once. I dragged him to the bathroom on my own and nearly drowned him trying to clean him up.”
He chuckles, but it’s humorless.
“I know he comes across abrasive,” he says, squeezing our joined fingers. “But that’s who he always had to be. To survive. He’s secretly a puppy dog. I promise.”
Now I feel a little bad for feeding into the rumors that go around about him.
Malachi Blanchard is bad news.
Blanchard is a hot-head.
Dangerous delinquent.
“But no,” he goes on. “We’ve never dated. Or been romantic. Or slept together. Or even hooked up in a traditional sense. He takes care of me, and I make sure he doesn’t self-destruct.”
I catch Micky’s smile out of the corner of my eye. He must be thinking about Parker, who was his best friend long before they were boyfriends.
“Sorry to bring up bad thoughts,” I say and place a kiss on Julian’s temple.
He shakes his head. “They aren’t. Mal needs more people in his corner. He has trouble letting anyone in, and if sharing our story makes you a little more inclined not to hate his guts … I’ll take it.”
I bury my nose in the mess of hair at the top of his head. “I don’t hate him.” If anything, I’ve always found him intriguing, but a little out of reach.
Micky taps his pencil on my shoe. “Hate-boner.”
Julian giggles into the crook of my neck. “That’s exactly how I would describe their pissing matches.”
“Let me clarify.” I playfully pinch his side, and he pouts up at me with his bottom lip puffed out dramatically. “Blanchard hatesmyguts, but I don’t have anything against the guy. Other than he’s fun to rile up.”
“I’m fun, too, right?” Julian smiles and places an open-mouthed kiss to my collarbone. His fingers feel around for the hem of my shirt and slip beneath.
What were we talking about again?
The bark of the tree we’re sitting against digs into the exposed skin of my back as Julian tugs my shirt up. Not off to make me indecent—we are in public after all—but room for his hands to splay across my shoulder blades.
There’s the sound of rustling grass and a muttered, “that’s my cue” followed by retreating footsteps.
But I’m laser focused.
