I roll my eyes at his question, my attention diverted as he traces my hand with his fingers. Curled up on the couch, we haven’t moved in the hours since we crashed.

  We found the pizza half-cold outside, realizing too late that the delivery guy probably got an earful of indecency, but I can’t bring myself to care. We ate and then tangled up here, turning off the TV in the background. No distractions to take us away from each other.

  It’s getting late now, but neither of us has mentioned it. I’m clinging to this moment, not wanting it to end. Treasuring every reply to every unimportant, mediocre question asked.

  “Too easy. What’s everyone’s favorite holiday?”

  “Right, right, Americans and their Christmas traditions.”

  I snort a quiet laugh and roll my eyes again, harder this time, hoping he’ll notice the extra effort I put into the sass. “Oh, give me a break... you were born in Atlanta. Just because your parents are Russian means nothing. You, my dear, are full-blooded American, so stop living in your Euro denial. Buy a pair of cowboy boots and gain a few pounds like the rest of us.”

  He looks appalled as he stares at me with wide eyes. “Under no circumstances will I ever be caught wearing cowboy boots.”

  “Hmm…” I hum, giving him a sideways glance. “What if I asked you really nicely?” For what has to be the twentieth time tonight, I twist until my chest pushes against his, finding his lips in a greedy, drawn-out kiss. “What if I wanted you to wear some cowboy boots for me… and nothing else?”

  “Fuck,” he grunts, shifting his hips as the telltale pressure of his cock pushes against me, filling as I tease him. “You aren’t playing fair.”

  “Is that a yes on the boots?” He laughs and shakes his head, pulling me in for a kiss that’s probably meant to shut me up more than anything. A quick peck on the lips turns into a full-blown make out session, but instead of hot and heavy, it’s sweet and patient.

  I can’t decide which is better.

  When we finally break apart, he guides me back to lie on his chest. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  He hesitates, which causes me to glance up at him in question. “You were engaged?”

  “I was,” I say in a measured tone, waiting for him to lead the conversation.

  “What happened?”

  This time it’s me who stays quiet for a moment, deciding how to answer that very complicated question. “It was a couple of years after we graduated from UNC. Back then, I was working at a larger tech company doing support, and she was a programmer. She was a few years older than me, and we hit it off quickly.”

  “She was…” I grapple with my words, picturing the smiling face of the girl that was once my future. “She was what you’d expect out of a guy like me. Southern Belle mixed with a dash of emo. Sweet and smart, with a hell of a mean streak if you pushed her buttons.”

  “Hmm, sounds familiar,” he murmurs, and I swat him as he grins.

  “We were together for almost a year, and I proposed because I thought it was the socially expected thing to do. The next logical step, you know?”

  “Did you love her?” He’s doing a shit job of hiding the jealousy in his voice, but I’m not about to start lying to him now.

  “Yeah, I did. It may not have been with the intensity that you’re supposed to love your forever, but I loved her.”

  “Obviously something changed.”

  I nod, my stomach giving an uncomfortable dip like it always does when this part of the story comes to mind. “Her family was strict Southern Baptist, very conservative ways of thinking. Her baby brother was still in high school and chose Thanksgiving Day to come out to his family. They…” Memories flash through my mind of the look on her parents’ faces—the horror and shame that they didn’t even attempt to hide. “They didn’t take it well.”

  I take a deep breath, tamping down the lingering guilt. “I didn’t… I didn’t even defend him. Afterwards, the regret was eating me alive. They ganged up on him, made him feel so small, and I just fucking sat there. Didn’t do a goddamned thing to help him, to show him that someone was in his corner—that he wasn’t alone. He was only sixteen. It gutted me, knowing that I showed that kind of cowardice. Chelsea and I went back to her apartment later that evening, and when I brought it up, she seemed… surprised.”

  “Surprised?”

  I nod against his chest. “That I would be okay with his ‘sinful lifestyle.’ Which was fucking unbelievably hypocritical. Apparently, she was cherry picking what she viewed as sin, because premarital sex certainly didn’t raise any objections—”

  A startled gasp leaves me as his hand grips my hair, guiding me to look at him. “Eric, I don’t need to hear about your sex life with someone else. Jealousy is not normally something I struggle with, but it makes me twitchy to think about you with anyone other than me.”

  “Noted,” I whisper, a little too smugly, as I drop a gentle kiss on his lips and curl back in. “We got into a huge argument, and I was so worked up that it all just slipped out. My past, the way I felt about you, what happened between us…”

  His chin digs into my scalp as he snuggles me closer. “How’d she take it?”

  Echoes of old pain ring through my chest at the memory. My voice is barely more than a whisper as I say, “She said that she’d have to reconsider my proposal. That she didn’t want to have to spend the rest of her life hiding my ‘queerness’ from her family. The fucking shame almost put me through the floor.”

  His hand makes a comforting pass through my hair, patient and steadfast. He doesn’t push me, only lets me know that he’s here as I gather my thoughts. “Two days of silence later, she asked me to come over. We sat down, and she told me…” A choked, sarcastic laugh leaves me as I picture the scene. “She told me she forgave me for what I’d done.”

  “Forgave you?” He almost shouts it in his indignation.

  My laugh is deeper, more genuine this time. “Right? Because my soul was headed for eternal damnation, apparently.”

  “So, what’d you do?”

  “Told her the truth… that I couldn’t be with someone who had that level of prejudice in their heart. What I felt for you was intense and confusing, but it wasn’t wrong. Nothing about us could’ve ever been wrong.”

  “Bet she took that well.”

  “About like you can imagine,” I mutter. My lungs fill with a long breath before I finish the story. “She took her ring off and threw it at me, told me that my secret was safe with her because she would never admit to being engaged to a faggot. Asked me to leave and told me she never wanted to see me again.”

  Dmitri’s inhale is sharp in my ear. “Baby…”

  Ignoring the phantom ache that still stings from her words, I shake my head against him. “It’s over and done. I never saw her after that day. But honestly, I should thank her for showing her true colors before we got married. If she hadn’t, who knows where we’d be right now?”

  “I know where I’d be,” he mumbles against my skin as he kisses my temple.

  “Where’s that?”

  His kisses travel down my jaw and over my cheek until I can’t help my smile. “Somewhere missing you.”

  “Fuck, when did you get so sweet?” I murmur as he drops a kiss on my smiling lips.

  His jaw hinges in mock astonishment. “Baby, I have always been sweet.”

  “Right.” I stretch the word out, not hiding my sarcasm as his outrage grows. He opens his mouth to argue, but instead, his jaw stretches wide into a loud, exaggerated yawn. The way he rubs his eyes in such a child-like manner makes it impossible to suppress my grin.

  Sleepy Dmitri is fucking adorable.

  “You’re exhausted,” I finally say with a forced smile. “I should let you get some sleep.”

  Why does it feel so impossible to detach myself from him, even though I had been managing without him for so long? And why does it sting so deeply to think about all those missed opportunities?

  So much time we can never get back.

  And where does that leave us now? This is foreign territory to me, all these memories adding to the stress of embracing my identity... coming out.

  It’s always been there, trapped in the recesses of my mind, especially after Chelsea and I broke up. But when I refused to give it the light of day, the questions withered into manageable weeds. After this, they’re suddenly flourishing, alive and climbing my thoughts like vines.

  Am I gay?

  Bi?

  Does it even fucking matter?

  Dmitri drags my hand to his mouth, planting a kiss on my palm as I give him a quiet smile. “Hey,” he whispers. “Where’d you go?”

  “Just in my head.”

  “Care to share?”

  I hesitate as I nestle into his neck, letting my lips trail across his skin. “It’s a scary place sometimes.”

  Dmitri pulls back, looking down at me with serious eyes. “I can handle it.”

  Vulnerability like I’ve never known threatens to choke me as I consider how to voice the growing concerns that swim in my mind. “I don’t know what to do now,” I admit after a pause.

  He shifts until he’s sitting, my head draped across his thigh as I stare up at his strong profile. “Explain.”

  “I’ve never had to think about what to tell people. It’s never been something that required a second thought. No big deal to introduce someone as my date or my girlfriend. But…”

  “But now you’re with a guy and it’s different. Especially after how your ex reacted to your past.”

  “That makes me such an asshole, doesn’t it?” I roll onto my side, burying my face in his stomach as his fingers rake through my hair.

  He’s quiet for a few breaths, and my nerves fire as I worry that I’ve offended him. “No, it doesn’t make you an asshole, Eric,” he finally says in his deep, soothing voice. “It makes you human. You’re experiencing something for the first time, something major, and it’s natural to be scared about it.”

  “You don’t think I’m a terrible person?” Buried in his shirt, my words are drowned out by the fabric.

  His fingers tighten in my hair, drawing me back so I’m forced to look at him. “I know you aren’t. We’ll do this on your schedule. It’s okay if you’re not ready for anything public yet. You don’t have to put a label on me… on us. Control is yours, and we’ll go as fast or as slow as you are comfortable with. One hundred percent, alright?” He leans over and drops a sweet, chaste kiss on my temple. “I just have one rule.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, trying and failing to stifle a long yawn.

  “If we’re together, you belong to me and only me. On this, I will not compromise. I won’t share—not with anyone.”

  Did I say Sleepy Dmitri was the best? Because Possessive Dmitri is definitely fighting for a top spot in the ranks.

  As his hands glide up and down my back, I sit up and rest my head on his shoulder. “There’s no one else I want, Dmitri. Just please be patient with me while I work through this.”

  “Done,” he murmurs, placing a tender kiss on my neck that trails to my jaw, and before I know it, time becomes irrelevant as we become completely consumed by each other all over again.

  17

  My palms slide over my jeans as I walk towards Eric’s apartment door. Sweat already clings to me like a mist, and I kick myself for wearing thick denim in the middle of summer. I’d wanted to look good for him, and these pants hug my ass just the right way.

  Sue me for exploiting an asset.

  Thankful that my black shirt will hide the inevitable dampness that’ll build up at my armpits, I use the window to check my hair out once more.

  Before I can even knock, the door creaks open, and my eyes widen at the sight of Eric leaning nonchalantly on the doorframe, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. He looks like a fucking snack in khaki shorts and a sage green polo that erases any trace of brown from his irises. “Did I just catch you checking yourself out?”

  I grin and roll my eyes before they slide down his body, looking every bit the All-American football wet dream. Sandy hair swoops across his forehead, sides cut shorter since I saw him two nights ago. His shorts end a few inches above his knees, putting his tree trunk legs on full display, and they’re tight enough to hint at the bulge of his cock tucked against his thigh.

  Actually, forget what I said before; he’s not a snack, he’s a four-course meal. An entire culinary experience.

  My fingers twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to throw him against the wall and just stay in tonight. We’ve enjoyed a couple of quiet nights hanging out, content with getting takeout and watching movies. We haven’t gone beyond making out on the couch since that first night, and I’m dying to get my hands on him.

  Hands, mouth…

  Dick.

  You know.

  Though I will admit, the slower pace has given us time to relearn each other. It’s letting Eric adjust to being with me in private, allowing him to wrap his head around the new realities of our relationship.

  That tour bus leaves tomorrow, and for the next six weeks, our privacy will be limited to the point of nonexistence. Between the jam-packed show schedule and sharing the close quarters of a cramped bus, it will be the ultimate test of self-control.

  A test I’ll likely fail. Restraint is not one of my strong suits.

  It’s crystal clear to everyone that there’s something happening between us, glaringly obvious that the guys have figured it out. I mean, he punched Dante for fuck’s sake, after admitting I woke up in his bed. But it’s not my place to out Eric, even if keeping my hands off him will prove to be nearly impossible.

  Six weeks of good behavior is going to be nearly impossible.

  And so, tonight, he’s mine.

  “Are you ready?” I ask, crossing my arms to keep from reaching for him.

  Undisguised amusement crosses his face in a flirty smile, suggesting that he’s onto my little game of self-restraint. “Almost.” He gestures at his bare feet. “Come in while I grab my shoes.” I close the door behind me, keeping the wicked summer heat where it belongs and sighing as the cool air hits my dewy skin.

  Eric gracefully balances on one foot as he slides on his socks and sneakers, then stands tall and rakes his hair off his forehead. “One more thing,” he says, walking towards me with unmistakable intention. A sweet little noise leaves his throat as his lips collide with mine, arms wrapping around my middle.

  Instantly, my arms uncross and circle around him, palms landing on the round globes of his ass and squeezing. His lips are soft on mine, painstakingly deliberate as he kisses me, and his hands drift over my skin as they wander from my face to my hair. Nerve endings prickle across my scalp as I shiver against his touch.

  Once his tongue glides over mine, my flimsy self-restraint flies out the window. My moan is borderline obscene as his hips roll against me, and just as I lose myself in the moment, he breaks away, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

  “Now I’m ready,” he says, pretending like he didn’t just maul my mouth.

  “Ready for what, exactly?” My voice is airy and breath too rapid to hide the sizzling heat under my skin.

  “Ready to go, silly.” He plants another kiss on my lips, then steps back and assumes an air of perfect innocence, while I take a few deep breaths to cool my overheated body. “You telling me what you’ve got planned yet, Rico Suave?”

  I shake my head and nudge his shoulder. “Well, I was, but if you’re going to tease me, my sweet…” His eyes flare with heat as I tug on his bottom lip with my thumb. “…you’ll just have to be patient.”

  Eric pouts… or he tries to.

  It. Is. Adorable.

  That plump bottom lip protrudes as he makes a valiant attempt at a puppy dog face, widening his eyes and tilting his head to look at me through his lashes. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but it brings such a wide grin to my face that my cheeks ache.

  I grab him around his middle so hard that he grunts. “Save that face for later,” I murmur as I lean forward and scrape my teeth over his prominent lip.

  “Fuck, Dmitri,” he rasps, the flex of his cock twitching against my thigh.

  Groaning, I release him, making sure he’s steady on his feet. “We’ll never leave if we keep doing this.”

  He grins, tugging his lip between his teeth. “Maybe I’m okay with that?”

  “You little minx,” I mutter, full of affection as I shake my head. “No, goddamn it, I made plans and we’re going.”

  “Yes, sir,” he whispers as he walks past me, and I bite back my groan as I turn and follow him out the door.

  A half hour later, we pull into a parking lot, and I glance at Eric leaning forward, a wide grin plastered on his face as he gazes through the windshield. “Oh, hell yeah!” Before the truck is even in park, he opens his door and jumps out.

  Trying not to appear too pleased with myself, I walk around to where he leans against the front fender. “I figured before we’re crammed on a tiny bus for the next month and a half—”

  “We could ride sketchy fair rides and eat too much sugar?” he finishes for me, and my smile spreads at his enthusiasm.

  “Something like that.”

  He grabs me and tugs me behind him. “Let’s go, then!” As our fingers lace together, he tightens his grip on my hand, guiding me through the maze of cars as we make our way towards the ticket booth.

  The moment is a dream—the sun is shining, Eric’s excitement is infectious, and his hand in mine makes me feel like the only person in his world.

  It’s perfect.

  Until it isn’t.

  A man with a graying beard and beer gut stares at our entwined hands with an obvious sneer. “Buncha queers,” he drawls as he passes.

  Eric’s inner warfare freezes him in his tracks, his hand growing slack, and my heart breaks for the visible signs of his indecision. Even without looking at his face, I can tell he’s split right in two, torn between wanting to be with me and the fear of public judgment.

  With one last squeeze, I make the decision easier for him. Even though it goes against my every instinct, I let my fingers slide from his.