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“Just the cue ball and chalk,” I say placidly, tugging at my jeans. This filthy bar is the last place I want to get a full-blown hard-on. Especially because it doesn’t just happen from merely exchanging a few words.
Laughter splits the room, pulling nearly everyone’s attention towards Lucas and his dream team.
“Guess the party’s still going strong.” Dante chimes in, meeting my side.
“Unfortunately,” I scoff.
He dips his head slightly, tone dropping. “You sure you don’t want that rescue?”
I look at him. Actually look at him. Any flicker of hesitation evaporates as our eyes meet, and I fucking hate how in control he is all the time. He holds the type of power in conversation I usually have—the way I read people, the way I steer conversation—but what bothers me the most is the fact that I am utterly un-fucking-able to read this man.
Yet all I can register is the movements of his lips and the thought of how mine will look around his dic—
“I can whisk you away,” he states, interrupting my thoughts.
“If I leave Lucas like that, he’ll end up picking a fight with a chair or drive home drunk,” I counter defectively, trying to grab onto a sliver of authority and control over my urges.
“Give Lucas’s keys to the bartender. She won’t let him drive in that state. He can Uber home,” he says it like a command, clipped and certain. My fingers drum against the side of my leg immediately, and I force myself to glance over my shoulder.
Ryan and Lucas are practically howling, like unhinged hyenas drunk on cheap beer and worse judgment, while Leo stands close, looking like he’s barely surviving a young-life crisis but drunk beyond comparison. The whole scene scrapes across my nerves like sandpaper.
“Fuck it,” I say, surprising even myself with the finality in it. “Let’s get out of here.
Chapter 13
Dante
The drive was so silent you could hear a pin drop if it wasn’t for the low hum of the radio.
Adrian settled into the seat like he was part of the fabric, like the silence between us was carved from years of closeness.
I didn’t tell him where I was taking him, and he certainly didn’t utter a word as I stopped in front of The Nine Round and led him up to my apartment. He clocks the doorway, the narrow stairwell, the light spilling down from above, and moves without hesitation, but not without taking inventory.
Ender greets us at the top of the stairs, nails clicking against concrete, tail sweeping the air before pressing her head into Adrian’s thigh. He glances down, one hand dropping automatically to scratch behind her ear, shoulders loosening by a fraction.
“She’s persistent,” I chime, and the slightest of a smile breaks out on his face.
“So are you,” he replies, and lets it sit there as I push past, hanging my keys on the hook by the door. The atmosphere of my New York-style apartment shifts as Adrian waltzes inside, green orbs sweeping the place, before stopping next to the kitchen island.
Ender circles once and settles near his feet, effectively pinning him in place. He doesn’t step back and instead lets his arms drop onto the granite slab.
I lean against the counter and fold my arms, studying him in this quiet amazement I find myself often in when around him.
“Your bike’s in the garage,” I say, eyes now on the large rustic ceiling-to-floor windows that carve the city into a Monet painting. “Don’t feel rushed, though,” I add as casualness washes over my tone, “I like having you around.”
I throw him a wink, noticing how his ears turn red. Adrian remains quiet but not without scoffing with a grin.
His irritation from the bar has burned down to something usable, and you’re probably wondering what my plan is for him now.
Yes, I am still killing him. That hasn’t changed.
What has changed is the fact that this little game I’ve been playing with him has encountered a fork in the road. I’m way more fucking infatuated by him than I should be, but I’ll deal with that issue later.
With a press of a button, the balcony doors slide open with a soft drag of metal on metal. Cold air spills in, but the wind has died down to a gentle breeze, just enough to move the edge of the curtains and carry the distant hum of traffic from the streets below.
I grab two beers from the fridge, crack them open, and step outside.
Adrian is already there, leaning against the brick barrier that edges the balcony, forearms resting on top. I wonder if he’s still on the lookout for the masked killer.
