6. Marcus

6

Marcus

I’m with Saskia, getting ready to party.

She sits at her vanity, applying her makeup with the same precision she tackles her law assignments, while I lounge on her bed, scrolling through my phone.

She puts down her mascara and stands, giving me a pointed look that means I’ve got to pay her attention.

“How do I look?”

I take in the sight of her as Princess Jasmine, the teal crop top and harem pants that hug her curves in all the right places.

“Fabulous,” I tell her.

She breaks into a self-satisfied smile as she leans forward to apply lipstick, turning her lips a violent shade of red.

Once she finishes, she turns to face me again. “You know, you’re the only one I can trust.”

I smirk. “Well, I do have an incredibly trustworthy face.”

“No. I mean it. All my other guy friends are just trying to get in my pants. And you know what girls can be like. I think most of them are secretly hoping for me to fail. You’re the only one I can trust to be completely honest.”

She meets my eyes in the mirror, her smile softening into something real rather than her usual dazzling grin.

Guilt squiggles in my gut at her words. Because I haven’t been completely honest with Saskia. For the past month, there has been a secret between us.

It’s a secret that has occupied far too many of my thoughts.

I mean, I’ve never directly lied to her, but a lie by omission is still a lie, right?

“Well, I can confirm that as a gay guy, I’m definitely not interested in what’s in your pants,” I say lightly.

She laughs. “You want me to do your eyes for you?”

Saskia occasionally puts eyeliner on me, but I’m not in the mood to sit still and be fussed over tonight.

“Nah, I don’t need it.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right, you bastard,” she says.

“Hey, don’t hate on the pretty people. You’re one of them too.”

Saskia preens at my words, and I suddenly wonder at the insecurity of those of us classified as good-looking. The need to be constantly reassured we’re attractive because it is so important to our identity, yet we all know deep down that beauty is fleeting.

“Come stand next to me so we can get a photo,” she says.

I obediently get up from the bed and stand beside her. The Aladdin costume Saskia picked out for me, with its skimpy vest, bare midriff, and fitted pants, doesn’t leave much to the imagination. But my eyes slide away from my reflection.

“I can’t believe you have a body like that when you barely hit the gym.” Saskia pokes at my abs. “Life is so not fair sometimes.”

“Oh yes, life treats you so harshly, girl who is about to celebrate her twenty-first birthday in a castle,” I reply.

Saskia laughs.

She snaps photos of us, and then her blonde hair forms a veil as she examines the screen. Knowing her, the photo is about to be plastered on her Instagram, yet another moment of Saskia’s perfect life.

“Tonight is going to be epic,” she says.

For some reason, my thoughts fly to Seb, to the last time I saw him, lying in his bed with messy hair as I left him after our night together.

“Yeah, epic,” I echo.

Saskia’s arranged for the limousine to take us and some other friends to Larnach Castle. The limo is filled with the pulsing beat of the latest club hits, but the lyrics are barely audible over everyone’s laughter. Saskia pops open a bottle of champagne, sending a geyser of bubbles shooting toward the roof. Golden liquid sloshes over the sides as she pours the champagne into flutes.

A twenty-minute drive later, Larnach Castle looms out of the darkness like something from a gothic novel. The dark stone and turrets reach up to pierce the night sky.

“Do you know that this is supposed to be one of the most haunted buildings in New Zealand?” Saskia asks as we pull up outside. She seems enthused at the idea of paranormal activity, but I shiver.

I have enough ghosts haunting me. I don’t need more.

There’s already a crowd of people inside. Trust Saskia to be late to her own party.

But it doesn’t seem to matter. She’s instantly engulfed in a crowd of well-wishers, sparkly people and sparkly words swirling around her. Saskia’s smile is dazzling as she air- kisses cheeks and accepts birthday wishes with the grace of the princess she’s dressed as.

I’m saying hi to people, shaking hands and exchanging hugs. I’m still clutching the champagne bottle from the limo, my hand sticky from the remnants of the froth.

“Marcus, my man!” A voice booms from behind me, and I turn to see Liam, one of our law student buddies, dressed as a knight. He claps me on the back, his grin infectious as his eyes scan me up and down, lingering on my chest. “Looking good, bro. You’ll have everyone lining up to rub your magic lamp tonight.”

I give him a flirty wink. “Actually, my lamp’s got a mind of its own. It doesn’t grant wishes to just anyone who rubs it.”

Liam leans in so close that I catch a hint of his citrus aftershave. “Well, maybe I’ll have the magic touch,” he murmurs.

I raise my eyebrows.

Straight-presenting guys flirting is a common hazard of being me.

Personally, I don’t have a problem with guys who want to hook up with me on the down-low. Guys who want to satisfy their curiosity before settling down with a girl pose the least risk of catching feelings. And having anyone catch feelings for me is the thing I want to avoid at all costs.

I give him a smoldering smirk. “Maybe you will have the magic touch. I guess it depends on how hard you wish.”

A quick one-and-done with Liam, blowing his mind, might be exactly what I need right now.

I haven’t hooked up with anyone since that night with Seb, which is a particularly long dry spell for me. I’ve occasionally thumbed through profiles on the apps, but every time I’ve gone to message someone, the memory of Seb kissing me with such intensity has slid back into my mind. I’ve been worried that messing around with another guy will be like eating a hamburger after steak, which will only leave me craving more steak.

And another helping of steak is definitely not good for me.

But Liam’s hot, and the allure of being the first guy he’s ever been with might be exactly what I need to get past this little roadblock in my sex life caused by memories of my best friend’s younger brother.

Liam’s about to reply when I feel a tug on my arm. It’s Saskia, her eyes sparkling.

“Stop hogging the birthday girl’s date,” she says to Liam as she tugs me toward the dancefloor. “Come on, Aladdin. Let’s show these people how it’s done.”

As we move through the crowd, I glance back at Liam, giving him a heated look loaded with meaning. If he’s up for it later, he knows where to find me.

And where to find me is at the center of the dancefloor. Saskia spins beneath my arm, her Jasmine costume shimmering under the flashing lights. Her hands slide down my bare chest, her fingers toying with the waistband of my pants. It’s a sexy tease, one we’ve perfected over countless nights out together. People around us whoop and holler, egging us on.

I’m drinking the dregs of the champagne straight from the bottle, letting the last few drops trickle onto my tongue. I don’t recognize the group of girls nearby with their eyes fixed on me, but I shoot them a wink, and they dissolve into fits of blushing.

Most people have used the fairy-tale theme as an excuse to dress as skimpily as possible. Little Red Riding Hood seems to have forgotten her skirt, her red cape barely skimming the tops of her thighs. Someone dressed as Cinderella seems to think the glass slippers are the most important part of the outfit. She’s traded in her ballgown for a tight sexy dress, while Rochelle is wearing only a seashell bra and a fish skirt as the Little Mermaid.

My skin is slick with sweat when I finally pull away from Saskia to head to the bar to get a drink.

I’m leaning against the bar, waiting for my drink, when I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck.

I turn slowly, my gaze sweeping the room, and that’s when I see someone standing at the edge of the dancefloor staring straight at me. He’s dressed in gray robes, a pointed hat perched atop his head.

I’m being watched by Gandalf the Grey.

It’s Seb.

Of course it’s Seb. Who else would go the opposite direction of everyone else’s skimpy costumes and swathe themselves in robes?

And it’s kind of cute that he heard the fairy-tale theme and thought Lord of the Rings .

But I don’t like the pulse of affection that shoots through me. It’s not what I need right now.

Seb hesitantly walks toward me. But he only makes it a few feet before he stumbles on his long robes. He manages to catch himself before he falls, but his hat slips from his head, landing on the dancefloor.

He snatches it back up and staggers the remaining few steps to the bar, stopping next to me.

Underneath the beard, he’s got a full-on blush happening.

And fuck. The memory of his blush spreading down his chest, the feel of his lips under mine, is now back in my head.

I try to push the memory away, but it lingers stubbornly. Despite how much I’ve tried to forget, details of that night keep resurfacing.

Maybe it’s because everything about it was different from my usual hookups. There had been no game playing, no hidden agendas, no calculated moves or practiced lines. Instead, it had felt raw and real, just pure…connection.

And that’s exactly what made it so dangerous.

I don’t do real connections.

I can’t.

The heady pulse of the music now seems to be keeping time to the thumping of my heart.

“Hey,” he says, his voice sounding choked off.

“Hey Little Kleggs.” I deliberately keep my voice casual. “Nice costume.”

He shifts from foot to foot, his fingers plucking at the fabric. “Thanks.” Then he raises his gaze to give me a once-over, his eyes lingering on my bare chest. “I like yours too.”

I grab the beer the bartender has served me and take a long swig of my drink, using the moment to steady myself. I’ve spent the evening playing my usual role—flirting, charming, being exactly who everyone expects me to be. But it’s not easy to pretend to be composed and in control when Seb’s staring at my throat like that.

Shit. He really doesn’t understand the idea of subtle.

Although if Saskia is watching, she’d just interpret his behavior as a continuation of his crush on me. She wouldn’t see any other reason behind it.

I drain the rest of my drink, my eyes scanning the room for an escape. I spot Saskia on the dancefloor, her arms raised above her head as she sways to the beat.

“I should get back to the birthday girl,” I say, setting my empty glass on the bar. “Catch you later, yeah?”

I don’t wait for Seb’s response before I push my way back through the crowd.

Saskia grins when she sees me.

“There you are!” she shouts over the music. “I thought you’d abandoned me.” I force a smile, my hands finding her hips as I pull her close.

“Never.” Even as I say the words, my gaze is drawn back to the bar, to the spot where Seb is still standing, eyes fixed on me.

Saskia and I dance, our bodies moving in sync, but I can’t seem to lose myself in the music like before. Every time I spin Saskia, my eyes find Seb watching us from the sidelines. He looks lost, out of place among the glittering costumes and pulsing lights, and something twists in my gut, a feeling I can’t quite name.

I’m so focused on Seb that I don’t notice Liam until he’s behind me, his hands sliding over my shoulders.

“Mind if I cut in?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. I turn to face him, a smirk playing on my lips.

“Be my guest,” I say, stepping aside to let him dance with Saskia.

Liam starts a slow and sultry dance with Saskia, but his gaze is on me.

And when Saskia is dragged away to dance with another group of friends, he edges closer to me.

A slower-tempo song comes on, and Liam uses the chance to grind against me, his body flush against mine.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” he says, his voice low and rough in my ear. “And I think I might want to try making a wish.”

Fuck. This is what I wanted at the start of the evening, but my eyes flick back to the bar, searching for a glimpse of gray robes and a pointed hat before I can help myself.

Luckily, I’m saved from having to respond by a sudden commotion on the dancefloor. Taylor and Ana have appeared, carrying a tray of shot glasses filled with a vivid green liquid.

“Birthday shots!” Taylor announces.

Saskia’s immediately looking around for me.

“Marcus! If I’m drinking radioactive stuff, you’re doing it too.”

I seize the opportunity to extract myself from Liam’s embrace, clapping him on the shoulder with a forced grin.

“Looks like I’ve got to do the best friend thing.”

He nods.

When I reach Saskia’s side, the first shot is already in her hand. She throws her head back and downs it in one gulp, her face scrunching at the taste.

I take the shot glass Saskia thrusts at me, the green liquid sloshing over the sides and dripping down my fingers. It smells like lime and regret, but I toss it back anyway, wincing as it burns down my throat.

“What the hell was that?” I ask.

“I think they call it the Sinful Siren,” she says.

“If I turn into a pumpkin at midnight, I’m blaming you,” I say.

She laughs. “I think you’re mixing your fairy tales there,” she says.

Ana’s tugging Saskia’s arm, pressing another shot into her hand, then offering one to me.

I grin, taking the shot from Ana.

“Well, if we’re going down, we might as well go down together.” I clink my glass against Saskia’s. “Bottoms up, beautiful.”

Saskia laughs, and we toss the shots back in unison.

She hooks one arm around me, pulling me close.

“Love you, Marcus,” she says, plastering a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

Love you, Marcus.

Suddenly, the faces and garish laughter around me swirl and the press of bodies on the dancefloor makes me claustrophobic. I blink, trying to focus, but everything blurs into a dizzying kaleidoscope.

My skin feels too tight, too hot, my chest constricting with panic.

I need air.

“Just going to the restroom,” I mutter to Saskia, who has luckily turned away from me to throw her arms around Taylor, pulling her into a hug that nearly sends them both tumbling to the floor, their balance precarious in their high heels.

I stumble through the crowd, heading for the door.

The cool night air hits me like a slap in the face as I stagger outside, gulping in deep breaths. The music is now a dull throbbing in the background, the chatter of the partygoers replaced by the stillness of the night.

I stagger onto the lawn, my feet unsteady on the damp grass, the blades tickling my ankles as I weave into the garden.

I slump against the stone wall in the garden, tilting my head back to stare at the star-strewn sky.

Memories swamp my mind.

A small hand in mine, the scent of sunscreen and lake water, the gritty texture of sand beneath my feet.

Love you, Marcus.

But I fight off the memories. I don’t want to remember.

The sound of the door opening makes me turn my head, my hair scraping against the stone.

It’s Seb.

Fuck.

He comes into the garden, doing a double-take when he sees me.

“Hey, Gandalf.” My voice comes out slightly raspy. I clear my throat and try again. “What brings you out here? Shouldn’t you be inside casting spells or something?”

He takes a step closer, his robes swishing around his ankles. He stops and looks down at me hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m absolutely fine. Well, besides the fact that I’m dressed for an Arabian night when I’m currently situated in the South Island of New Zealand.” My laugh sounds slightly brittle.

Seb’s eyes graze over my body, his gaze lingering on my nipples, which pebble under my Aladdin waistcoat.

“Yeah, there are a lot of outfits tonight that appear to be tempting hypothermia,” he says.

“We’re not all sensible enough to swaddle ourselves in robes like you,” I say. “I’m jealous of your costume right now.”

Seb ducks his head, and even in the dim light, I can see the blush coloring his cheeks. “The beard is a bit itchy.”

Looking at his blush, I can’t help trying to make it spread.

“Do you think Gandalf ever used his magic staff for…you know, nonmagical purposes?”

When Seb gets my meaning, he gives a choking sound, and sure enough, his blush deepens.

I hold up my hands, my expression innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying, it’s a long journey to Mordor. And even wizards have needs.”

Seb’s furious blush makes me feel more like myself. This is who I am. Marcus the joker. The charmer. The person who can fluster guys like Seb so easily.

I expect Seb to retreat in his embarrassment, but instead, he takes a hesitant step toward me.

“I don’t think I’ll ever look at Gandalf’s staff in the same way,” he says.

He sits next to me, the top of his arm not quite brushing against mine.

“Besides, Gandalf wasn’t really the one who journeyed to Mordor. That was Frodo and Sam. Gandalf turned up at the end to save Frodo and Sam from the erupting volcano, but he flew on an eagle, so I guess that wouldn’t have taken very long.”

I can’t help huffing out a laugh. “I guess I need to rewatch the movies.”

“They are classics for a reason,” Seb says sincerely.

The silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. There’s a strange peace sitting here with Seb, away from the noise and chaos of the party.

I tilt my head back again. “You’re studying science, aren’t you? Tell me about the stars.”

Seb bites his lip. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t care. Just tell me anything.”

“Do you know that stars are different colors based on their temperatures?”

“Really?”

“Yep. And it’s the reverse of what you’d expect. Blue is the hottest kind of star, and red is the coolest. Our sun is a yellow star, but the majority of the stars in the Milky Way are red dwarfs.”

I slide a look over at him. “For some reason, that just brings to my mind an image of one of Snow White’s dwarfs dipped in red paint.”

Seb laughs. I like the sound of his laugh. It’s deeper than you’d expect, like it’s a laugh he will grow into.

“Do you realize the light we’re seeing right now actually comes from the past?” he asks.

“How does it belong to the past?”

“Light is the fastest thing in the universe, but the distances in space are so vast that it takes years for light to reach us, even from the closest star. Like, look at the Southern Cross.” He points to the familiar constellation of stars that make up New Zealand’s flag. “The closest star in the Southern Cross is eighty-eight light years away. So the light we’re seeing tonight left that star eighty-eight years ago.”

Seb’s voice is full of enthusiasm. When was the last time I felt that kind of genuine passion for anything? My life is such a carefully choreographed dance of appearances and expectations. But here’s Seb, earnestly sharing his knowledge, not trying to impress or seduce, just…being.

I stare at the night sky, and a knot forms in my throat.

“So, we’re looking at the past,” I say.

“Yes. A star could have exploded hundreds of years ago, but if it’s far enough away from us, we wouldn’t know about it yet because we’re still only seeing light from the past.”

The innocent twinkling suddenly takes on a different meaning.

They’re a reminder that the past is always present. That you can’t leave it behind.

Only for me, it’s not the light from the past I’m concerned about.

It’s the darkness.

I rip my gaze away from the stars and turn to stare at Seb instead.

“I really should have paid more attention back in science class,” I say lightly.

“You probably wouldn’t have actually learned this in class. It’s a flaw in our science curriculum that astronomy is not really taught,” Seb says seriously.

Seeing that serious expression on his face, I suddenly have a throb of…something toward him. What is it? It feels almost as straightforward and as basic as like .

I like the fact Seb has no artifice, no pretenses. He doesn’t seem to strap armor on himself like everyone else does.

He’s so different from anyone else I know.

But while I’ve been sitting here thinking that, Seb’s thoughts have obviously gone in a different direction. Because his gaze has dropped to my lips, and he’s flushing again.

And fuck it, yet again I’m reminded of how the color spread down his chest, how it felt to follow the path of his blush with my lips.

He raises his eyes to meet mine, and the heat there would melt tar.

“Seb,” I say. I mean it as a warning, but my voice betrays me, coming out husky and hoarse.

And apparently, that’s all the encouragement Seb needs to close the gap between us.

My head spins at the sensation of his lips on mine.

Somehow, I managed to forget exactly how good kissing Seb is. To forget the exact feel of his tongue sliding against mine, to forget how he kisses like he’s trying to pour his entire soul into the act.

I could lose myself completely in him.

And right now, I want to get lost.

That thought has me pulling back.

“We really shouldn’t do this,” I say against his lips.

Seb withdraws instantly, and it reinforces again just how good he is. He accepts the first rebuttal and pulls away.

And the contrast between that goodness and the way he kisses me so wild and unrestrained is intoxicating.

I want to corrupt him and protect him in equal measure.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, but he meets my gaze dead on.

“I was just thinking I never repaid the favor. I mean, you sucked me, and it was amazing, and I didn’t even do the same back to you. It’s like…bad etiquette or something.”

Oh, holy fuck.

I can’t be cruel to him. I can’t be cruel to Seb when he looks at me with such wide-eyed hope.

Unlike Liam’s calculated flirting, there’s no artifice in his desire. And that somehow makes it so much more potent than the skilled advances I usually field.

There are lots of guys in the castle tonight who would suck me off.

But I don’t want anyone else.

The knowledge sweeps over me like a revelation.

So I lean forward and kiss Seb again.