Page 48 of The Cinderella Prince

“And I don’t intend to,” the stranger said, his frustration heating up his face. “I’m not like you.”

“Everyone’s a little bit like me,” I said.

That got him. “Not me,” he said with surprising firmness. “You should back off, buddy.”

“You do realize this is a gay bar run by a drag queen, right?” I frowned. No straight boy in a gay bar was this defensive without hiding something. I liked a good fuckup. They could be a lot of fun.

“It’s not your fucking business what I’m doing here,” he said.

“Alright, alright. I’m not judging. I’ve seen you around and got the wrong impression.” I shook my head. He turned me on with devastating precision. “Ever tried it with a guy to make sure?” I teased. The words felt wrong even tomy ears. I was always rash and forward, but not this rash and forward.

He set his drink on the table and brought his face to mine. Minty breath mixed with the citrus from his not-so-straight cocktail. He gripped my white T-shirt and pulled me in. Now that his back was straight, I realized that he was taller by a good four or five inches. I stared up into his eyes, bristling and ready to fight him.

If only it didn’t make me horny.

“You’re sick,” he spat, then shoved me away.

Before I could catch my breath, heat erupting into my face, the hot fuckup stormed out of Neon Nights. I smoothed my T-shirt and took a sip of my vodka. It was vile, and it only added to the burning sensation in my head.

I guess I’m not getting a piece of that, I figured quietly. A sliver of shame passed through me, if for no other reason than because I’d gone all-in and gotthatin return. I had already pictured us coiling in the bed. I had already felt the sweet, ruthless pain he could inflict.Pull yourself together, I snapped at myself, but it felt like I was grasping for shadows whenever I tried to take control of my thoughts.

I glanced around. Bradley stared at me with disbelief painted on his face. Luke cringed. Rafael, on the other hand, seemed upset. He got up and shook Luke’s shoulder, showing him something on his phone, then hurried from the table to me.

I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, but Rafael was completely determined to round on me now. His eyebrows were arched and high, his eyes wide, and his breath shallow. “Rome, you’ve gotta see this,” he said. “I knew he looked familiar.”

Rafael wasn’t going to lecture me at all. Instead, he turned his phone around, and the ground slipped from under my feet.

Tristan

Mom and Dad forced me to join them for dinner. It was Mom’s special casserole with the fluffiest mashed potatoes and savory gravy. It was such a simple recipe, yet I had never been able to recreate it. No matter how many times I’d tried to make it, following the exact steps I’d seen Mom take throughout my childhood, it never smelled as good or tasted as delicious.

The lights in the house were all on. It was bright, and extra so with all the furniture being white and cream and light gray. The dining table was covered with a white tablecloth, and Mom’s dishes were all pastel.

We ate in silence, although Mom and Dad exchanged glances every now and then. They looked at me expectantly, as if they waited for me to deliver some great news of my successes and make it clear that I was putting my time to good use. I wasn’t. I was wasting it left and right like I had done my whole life, and when I was gone someday, there wouldn’t be a hair of difference in the world.

The last time we had spoken at any significant length, I had informed my parents that I had left college.

Since then, my parents tried to get in touch, but I knewwhat was best for everyone. It was better if they didn’t know how I failed them every day.

“Darling,” Mom said softly as I tensed my muscles to get up and carry my plate to the sink. I stayed where I was. “We’re happy you’re home.”

I nodded and muttered my agreement.

“We really are, Tris,” Dad said, his voice a little gruff.

“Yeah. Me too,” I said in a low voice. I wished they would let me go to bed. I was an adult, but they acted like I was more fragile than an egg.

“I wish you’d come more often,” Mom said.

Great. More guilt, I thought. “I was busy.”

“I know, baby. That’s not why I’m saying this,” Mom explained.

“We don’t want to bother you callin’ all the time, Tris,” Dad chimed in.

I shrugged. “It’s no bother.”

They exchanged that look again, and it made me hold my breath. Mom folded her hands on the table. “Tristan, you are not a child anymore, and it’s not fair to treat you that way. But we’re your parents. It’s our job to be worried.”

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