“Thanks. I know.”
He grins. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
“Foster care.”
He nods. “Right, Evie’s mentioned that.” His brow furrows, and I watch as he rests his tattooed hands on the edge of my bed. “That must have been tough.”
I shrug. “When you’re a queer kid who dances ballet, you learn to fight pretty fucking fast. But also…I think… I kinda like it. Fighting, I mean. Weird, right?”
Roman shakes his head. “Not so weird. I’ve boxed for years as…I dunno…self-help or therapy or whatever.” He shrugs. “I’ve always liked street fighting, too.”
“I’ll take that love tap of yours as a compliment, then.”
He chuckles quietly.
“So…” He clears his throat. “What now?”
“I’m sure you've got time to give me a sponge bath before Tracy gets back.”
He blushes deeply. “I meant…”
“I know what you meant,” I murmur. I take a deep breath. “You meant now what withus.”
Roman’s face turns red and he looks down at his hands, which start twisting the bedsheets.
“Well…I… I don’t know. Yeah, I guess.”
“Youguess, or that’s what you meant.”
Slowly, he drags his gaze up to my eyes. “That’s what I mean,” he whispers.
“Ask the question, Roman,” I growl.
He exhales quickly as his eyes dart all around the room. “I—fuck, I don’t know. What is this?”
“Definethis.”
His eyes finally come to rest on me. “This,” he murmurs, pointing first at me, then at himself.
I shrug. “I genuinely have no fucking idea. But…”
He tenses but doesn’t pull back when I put my hand on his.
“But I like whatever it is,” I growl, tightening my grip. He twists his hand, and slowly, our inked fingers intertwine.
“Me too,” he murmurs. His brows knit. “But I’m really not gay, Val.”
Jesus fuck.
“You moaning and groaning and grabbing my hair while I suck your cock says otherwise, friend.”
Roman’s face turnspurple, his jaw dropping wide as he stares at me like I’ve just brought down tablets from the Mount.
“I…I just…” He pauses. “It’s just an external stimulus…”
I snort a genuine laugh. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“It feels good, that’s all,” he blurts.