4. Sullivan

Chapter 4

Sullivan

I'm still trying to process what just happened as I lean against the cool metal shelves in the back stockroom of Trick or Treat, panting slightly in the aftermath of the kiss that rocked my world off its axis.

"What the fuck?" I mutter to myself, staring at the ceiling. A string of skeleton decorations dangles precariously, seeming to taunt me with their permanent grins. Yeah, I didn't see that coming either.

My brain feels like it's trying to run a hundred different calculations at once, each one more confusing than the last. I'm trying to button my shirt with shaky fingers that don't want to cooperate. Romi is long gone. One second, she was kissing me like there's no tomorrow, and the next, she pulled away and ran out the door like the hounds of hell were on her heels.

By the time I manage to get my clothes somewhat back in order and stumble out into the main part of the bar, it's buzzing with costumed patrons. It feels like every witch, goblin, and what appears to be a disturbingly realistic headless horsewoman is between me and the exit. But there's no sign of Romi.

I'm tempted to tear the bar apart to find her, but the fear of scaring her even more holds me back. I know it's time to take a step back and plan my next move before I really fuck this up and lose my soulmate forever.

I weave through the crowd, peering around every corner, giving my best smile to confused partygoers and slightly annoyed bartenders, but she seems to have vanished into thin air. Frustration grows with every passing minute until I'm left at the bar with nothing but a dwindling sense of hope and a pint of red beer I don't even really want. I mean, not even a real fucking vampire would want to drink this shit.

I linger, trying to convince myself she might reappear, but as I nurse my drink and play through possible scenarios of our second meeting, I'm faced with an unfortunate fact—she's not going to reappear tonight.

When the final call is announced and the bar begins to clear out, I reluctantly head home. I've been bested, chased off like a rookie, my heart still thumping faster than I'd like to admit. But even as I drive back to my home on the family compound, I can't stop replaying the events in the stockroom, wondering when I lost my goddamn heart to the adorable little bar manager.

Once home, I feed my "guard" dog, and I use that term loosely since Angus is scared of his own goddamn shadow. When I bought the house, I decided to go all in and get a dog for company. Everyone said Rottweilers are natural-born protectors, so I decided to get one. Somehow, the little shit I picked out was absent the day the universe handed out protector genes.

I give Angus a little pat on the head and go up to my bedroom for a quick shower. Something tells me I won't be getting any sleep tonight while memories of Romi chase each other through my brain.

My large new home feels too big and too empty tonight. As I wander through the dimly lit halls, muffled echoes of my footsteps underline my solitary state. It's annoying, the way she's lodged herself in my thoughts and my goddamn heart.

When my older brothers found their soulmates, I figured they'd just been stupidly lucky. But now the shoe is on the other foot, and I'm the one with unsolved riddles keeping me awake. Romi's far more enchanting than I'd ever imagined anything, or anyone, could be.

In the morning, or rather, a few hours later, I shuffle into my office at the mansion to attempt to get shit done.

Two hours later, I sit back and rub the base of my neck in frustration. A long stare at my computer's lock screen is the closest to productive work I manage. My mind's still a mess, replaying every single second from last night.

The memories cause my heart to pound while my cock has been hard since the moment I laid eyes on her. Not even coming hard enough for my soul to leave my body made a difference. I'm starting to fucking worry this perpetual erection is damaging something.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, my office is not too far from the house I built after my brothers' respective domestic bliss situations pushed me to stake a claim for myself and escape the love-saturated atmosphere in the mansion. Ironically, I'm now the one knee-deep in restless longing over the little goddess who stole my heart.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, trying to get comfortable. Around me, framed blueprints of past projects look back at me with quiet judgment. Usually, they motivate the hell out of me, but today, all my spooky creations and haunted ride designs are just glorified paperweights beneath the weight of my brooding.

I almost don't catch the knock at my door. With reluctance, I drag my eyes toward the sound and call out, "Come in," trying my best not to sound like a complete dick.

The door opens, and it's my oldest brother, Sterling, whose entry alongside his goofy grin feels like both a blessing and a curse. He's the last person I want advice from, but sometimes his insightful naivety is what the world needs.

"What's eating you, asshole?" he asks, plopping himself down in a chair across from me, looking like the cat who found out where the cream is kept.

"Who says something's eating me?" I grumble, realizing Romi's tendency to argue has already rubbed off on me.

The dickhead smirks while rubbing his bottom lip. "Now, we're avoiding and deflecting." His armchair psychology is fucking annoying as hell. "Come on, spill. They say confession is good for the soul."

Sighing heavily, I admit defeat. "I met someone." I attempt to keep it nonchalant, but my mental circus makes it nearly impossible to pull off.

His eyebrows perk, his grin turning from goofy to slightly shocked. "As in, the one?" He looks as shellshocked as I feel. "The one," he mutters one more time under his breath.

"Her name is Romi." I trail off, realizing how difficult it is to pin her down with mere adjectives. "She's… incredible. But I somehow managed to fuck everything up and she's run out on me."

"Ah," Sterling remarks, wincing sympathetically. "I think we need to get Adam and Sinclair in here to hear the story."

I shoot him a glare that lacks proper frustration. Adam, his personal assistant, and our middle brother, Sinclair, will chomp at the bit for every little detail they can wrangle from Sterling. "Why? You'll just tell them every goddamn thing later anyway."

"But it's so much better if they hear it from the source."

I huff and raise my middle finger to him. "Fuck you." It's a weak gesture, but it's all I can manage right now.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and I'm betting he's messaging my pain and unhappiness to the family group chat before looking back up at me. "You're off your game. Meeting your soulmate does it to the best of us, but don't worry. We've got your back." That's exactly what I'm fucking worried about. "I'd start with calling the bar. See if anyone knows where she might be." I hate it when the fucker comes up with perfectly reasonable solutions I should've thought of myself.