Page 186 of Dance of Defiance
I grin. “Is that to protect their delicate sensitivities, or?—”
“Nope. Pure, undilutedjealousy,” he mutters, elbowing me. “Happy?”
“Immensely,” I grin, leaning in to kiss him.
He bites his lip as I pull away. “So,” he says slowly. “That's the deal for door number two? We spend time together, we’re dating, even if I…you know.”
“Are still in the closet, yes.”
He makes a face. I grin as I cup his cheek. “Don’t worry, wreckage, I get it. It’s cozy in there. I’ll come visit you and bring snacks.”
He smiles as he turns to kiss my hand. “Okay. I think I can work with that?—”
“There’s one more thing.”
And it’s a fuckin’ doozy…
He frowns, bringing the drink in his hand to his lips. I reach for it, closing my hand around his wrist and stopping him. When he frowns in confusion and glances at me, I nod my chin at the glass.
“That stops.”
His brow knits. “What stops?”
“Your less-than-ideal relationship with alcohol.”
He starts to smile, like I’m kidding.
I’m not.
Half a second later, he realizes it too.
“Hang on,” he frowns, still half-smiling. “You’re serious?”
My mouth twists. “I don’t remember my childhood. But I know what addiction did to my parents, and to me and my brother. So, you want the sugar-coated version or the brutally honest one?”
Roman scowls. “I’m a big boy, Val,” he grunts. “I don’t need to be coddled.”
I shrug. “Okay, brutal honesty it is. Remember, I gave you the choice.” I look him dead in the eye. “You’re an alcoholic, Roman. Full stop.”
His face darkens, his brow furrowing as his jaw grinds. But he doesn’t try to insist I’m wrong, and that might be the most telling sign of all.
“I…” He shrugs. “I’m Russian, Val.”
“Don’t.”
He looks away. “It’s not a big deal. I just like to?—”
“Drink,” I finish. “Daily. In large quantities.”
His mouth purses as his eyes stab into me. “Why are you making this into something?” he growls. “Why are you making this part of your fuckingconditionsfor you and me to?—”
“Because I like you, asshole,” I mutter, poking him in the chest. “I like you a lot more than I probably should. That means I careabout your well-being. And I'm saying…” I shake my head. “It has to stop, man.”
His mouth sours. “And if I refuse?”
“Door number one it is,” I say flatly as I go to stand.
Roman’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back down. He exhales slowly, looking at the rocks glass in his hand, twisting it in the low light.
