6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Beck

R oman seemed a little off when I asked about his wrist. I noticed him favoring it through dinner, but I didn’t think much of it until he gasped when I took his hand. What he said made sense, sure, but at the same time something didn’t add up. I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him, but he couldn’t even meet my eyes when he told me he fell. And not in the same way that he can’t meet my eyes when he’s flushed and stammering over his words. It felt different—like he was hiding something. He seems okay, though, so maybe I’m overthinking things.

I try to shake myself from my thoughts and focus on enjoying our ride home. Our second date was as amazing as the first—possibly even better. Two dates in two days, and the happy tingles in my stomach haven’t let up once.

Roman is sitting in my passenger seat, practically vibrating, and I’m hoping it’s in excitement and not terror. I gave him a little shit about finally being able to talk to me, but the truth is, I love that he’s starting to feel more comfortable around me. Ugh, I like him so much. I can’t believe that Roman Miller—my high school crush—the boy who grabbed my attention and never let it go, is sitting in my car on his way to my house with me after not one, but two dates. It’s a miracle I’ve been able to keep my cool and not shout it out to the world.

When we pull into the driveway, Roman lets out a little gasp and I glance over at him, concerned. His eyes are wide and a little awed.

“Your uh, house is…” His voice trails off, and he clears his throat. “It’s um, nice.”

I turn my gaze back toward the house in question. I mean, yeah, it’s not bad. I guess most people would consider it nice. To me, it’s home. It’s not like it’s a mansion or anything. I turn back to him, quirking an eyebrow in confusion when I notice he’s still staring at the house, slack-jawed.

“Wanna go in? Or if you’d rather, I can take you home,” I force myself to say. The thought of ending the night makes my stomach sink, though.

He shakes his head. “No, let’s go in.” He turns to me with a smile and opens the car door before stepping out. I follow suit and we meet at the front of the car, the moment reminding me of our shared kiss last night. I reach out and take his hand in mine, avoiding the wrist he said was hurt, and lead him up the driveway and through the front door.

“My parents aren’t here,” I say, and then cringe at how that sounds. He must notice because he giggles beside me. “I just meant that um… well, it’s… I’d introduce you if they were,” I say, stumbling over my words.

He shakes his head at me, a little smile gracing his lips. “I’d love to meet them. If you think they’d be okay with that.”

I cock my head at him, not quite following. “Why wouldn’t they be okay with it?”

“I don’t want to cause you any problems with them. You can introduce me as a friend if you want,” he says, glancing away.

I blink at him for a couple of seconds, and then it clicks. “Oh, no. They know I’m gay.” I pause, and then add, “What about you?”

“What about me? Am I out to my dad? Um, no.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant, are you gay? I mean, obviously, with the dates and the kissing, you probably at least like guys a little, but I didn’t want to presume it was only guys.”

His cheeks flush and he nods, almost shyly. “No, just guys. I’m for sure gay. The only people I’ve told are Mia and Emily, though. My dad is—” He stops, as if he’s trying to figure out how he wants to continue. “I wouldn’t say not accepting. I’ve never heard him speak out against gay people, but he’s really…” His voice trails off and I wait to see if he’s going to continue. He doesn’t.

“That sucks.” I get the feeling that he shared something personal with me. “It’s nice that you have Mia and Emily, though.”

He smiles. It’s a soft, happy smile, but then it fades. “Yeah, they’re like moms to me. Well, Mia more than Emily, but still. It’s nice since my mom left when I was young.”

“My mom mentioned something about that,” I say before my brain-to-mouth filter can catch up, regretting it instantly when he seems to shut down right before my eyes. “Sorry,” I whisper, wishing I could take the words back.

“No need to be sorry. It was a long time ago.” He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories or anything.”

He flashes me a smile that seems a little more convincing. “Nah, you’re good. Are we going to stand in the living room all night?” I shake my head, taking his hand so I can lead him down the hallway toward my room.

Once he’s in my room, nervous anticipation washes over me, making my skin tingle. Anticipation turns to dread when I see my sketchbook on my bed, the picture I drew last night of our eyes mixed, face up for Roman to see. I dart forward to hide it, panic surging through me, but I’m not quick enough.

“Holy shit, Beck,” he breathes, wide-eyed, as he stares at the drawing. I brace myself for him to question what kind of weirdo I am. “This is so good. Did you draw this?”

“Yeah,” I manage to get out, torn between pride at the awe in his voice and terror that he’s found out more than I really wanted him to so early on.

He leans forward and picks it up off the bed, and I watch in horror as he flips back a page and finds a drawing of himself. It’s something I drew last week after seeing him at the bakery. I drew him like I remembered him looking that day—his eyes downcast, a pink blush on his cheeks, the bakery filling the background behind him, and the coffee I ordered in his hand. He stares at the picture for a few seconds, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting to see his response, preparing for the worst.

He takes a deep breath, and his eyes shoot up to mine. I’m frozen in his stare, and then a smile breaks out on his face, followed by a giggle, and then another. Within seconds, he’s belly laughing. I can’t smile or laugh, though, because I’m absolutely freaking the hell out. I stare at him in shock. I wasn’t sure what reaction I was going to get, but it definitely wasn’t this.

After he calms himself down, he graces me with a blinding smile. “Mia was right. You are obsessed with me. But after seeing this? There’s no way she’s right about you being cooler about it than me.”

My jaw drops, an incredulous laugh bubbling in my chest. “You and Mia discuss me frequently?” I ask, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

He shrugs, but his cheeks darken, and I grin triumphantly. “No, not frequently,” he mumbles, dropping his eyes back to the drawing. He scans it for a few seconds. “All jokes aside, though, this is so good.” The reverence in his voice makes me preen a little.

“It’s easy to do when my muse is so stunning,” I say with a wink.

He sets the sketchbook on my nightstand and looks at me, questions rising in his eyes. “You, uh, you really mean that?”

I close the distance between us in an instant. “Of course I do, Roman. God, you’re… you’re so stunning. Gorgeous, honestly. It’s kind of a detriment to my health if I’m being honest.” He’s looking at me like he doesn’t quite believe me. “The locker room in school was somehow the best and worst thing to ever happen to me,” I add with an embarrassed chuckle.

His eyes are intense on mine, and the air around us feels thick with anticipation. “I’ve kind of been crushing on you since freshman year,” I say. “This—being here with you—honestly feels like a dream.”

His eyes drop to my lips and, without thinking, I dart my tongue out to wet them. I watch as his eyes track the motion, his pupils expanding. “I’d um, I’d really like to kiss you again,” he murmurs, the longing in his voice palpable.

“I would really like that too,” I whisper, unable to stop the slight tremor in my voice. He closes the remaining few inches between us, his mouth capturing mine. I sigh against his lips and sag into his body. The kiss starts slow and tentative, but that doesn’t last long. He wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me against him tighter, deepening the kiss.

I pull back gently. “We can lie down, if you’d like,” I say, a rush of nerves taking over. His eyes are dazed and glazed over, but I’m sure I’m not any better off.

After a few moments, he seems to shake himself out of his stupor, and sits down on the edge of the bed. I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I reach out and place a hand against his chest, push him backward, and climb up his body, straddling his hips. He gasps as he reaches up to grab my waist, his hands gripping me tightly. Holy shit, this is everything . I lean forward and seal our mouths back together, gently moving my lips against his, tingles shooting through my body, and my cock hardening rapidly. After what feels like hours of soft, tentative kissing, I slip my tongue out and brush it against the seam of his lips, his gasp giving me the opportunity to slide it into his mouth. He lets out a little whimper and his hips shoot up; the motion making my stomach swoop and my cock ache.

I pull away from the kiss before I do something stupid, like embarrass myself in two point five seconds and come in my pants from the sound of his breathy whimper against my mouth. I look down at him and it doesn’t help at all. He looks absolutely debauched—pupils wide, lips spit-slick and red, a flush along his cheeks and spreading down his throat. I groan against my will and he squeezes his eyes closed. “I really can’t look at you,” he says, voice raspy in a way that sends shivers down my spine. “God, Beck, you look so hot sitting on me like that. I’ve, um, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Same. Me too. I mean, me neither.” My body is buzzing, and I want nothing more than to lean in and kiss him some more, but the position is awkward, his legs dangling off the bed, feet planted on the ground. “Wanna get more comfortable?” I ask, and he nods, opening his eyes again. I climb off him, and he kicks his shoes off before climbing all the way into the bed and making himself at home, his hair splayed across my pillows and his long body stretched out on top of my blankets. This is a dream, right? No way it’s real. I reach down to pinch my arm, yelping at the slight pain. His eyes fly open and he stares at me, concern dripping from his expression.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I pinched myself because no way is Roman Miller stretched out in my bed right now, looking like that. Needed to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

He laughs, and his flush intensifies. My god, I love that so much.

I lean over him and press my lips back to his, loving the way he feels beneath me. He grabs me and pulls me on top of him fully, spreading his legs to make room for me between them. I shudder as his hard cock rubs against mine through our jeans. Holy shit. Part of me feels like I was missing out, having never done this before, but I can say with certainty that I’m glad it’s him I get to experience this with.

This time, it’s his tongue exploring my mouth, a groan rumbling in his chest as they rub together. Within seconds, our kisses turn frantic, more tongue and teeth than actual skill, which is not a surprise in the slightest since neither of us has much skill to begin with. My cock is throbbing, and my hips start to rock against his without permission, the harsh friction of my jeans doing nothing to stem the pleasure flowing through my body. I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, and he arches against me and grips my hips tightly, holding me still.

“Stop,” he chokes out. I pull back quickly, alarmed that I did something wrong.

“Are you okay?”

He nods. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

His lips slam back onto mine. I moan, unable to help myself, and try to rotate my hips against his. Kissing him feels so good, and I want more.

Roman releases his hold on my hips and slides his hands up my back. He lets out a little sound against my lips, and within seconds, we’re writhing against each other, his fingers digging into my back and my body shaking. God, I’ve never felt anything this good in my life.