TWO
Amy had talked Roman into going out to dinner with her. They went to one of their favorite restaurants in Hollywood, but Roman was still distracted most of the evening. His eyes stung from lack of sleep, but he didn’t want to go home either. She’d be more likely to bug him to find out what was wrong.
He needed to work himself out of this funk. He hated it when he got like this. After so many years, it shouldn’t be a problem. He’d been reborn…only his past life still tried to creep in sometimes.
“Let’s go get a drink,” Amy said when they finished eating. “There’s a club in town I’ve wanted to go to.”
He shrugged. He wasn’t really a club guy, but hell, he was already out with her. He might as well go.
They climbed into Roman’s black Lexus, and he followed her directions. They pulled up to a club called Full Throttle that was obviously the place to be if you wanted to meet up with people. Even the sidewalk was packed, so he could only imagine what it was like inside. People swarmed out front and also filled the outdoor patio, and security waited at each entrance. He decided he really didn’t want to be here. But then the valet was there, asking for his keys.
“No turning back now.” Amy winked at him. Roman groaned and got out of the car. He handed his keys over, got his ticket, and the second he stepped onto the sidewalk something about the crowd hit him.
“Why are ninety percent of the people male?” Was it a strip club or something?
Amy pushed a lock of her red hair behind her ear and bit her lip. She grabbed his hand, and damned if Roman didn’t realize it was shaking. “It’s…it’s a gay club, baby,” she told him.
Everything inside him froze, crystalized. Sound became muffled, like he was wearing earplugs. Absently, he reached up, touched the small scar on his right eyebrow as his vision blurred slightly. No. No, no, no, no.
In reflex, Roman pulled his hand away. His ears started to clear again, and his vision evened out. She’d taken him to a gay club. Why the fuck would his ex-girlfriend take him to a gay club? “I don’t know what kind of joke you’re trying to pull on me, Amy, but I’m not in the mood.”
“It’s not a joke, and I think you know it.”
Roman’s gut churned. He felt like he was going to be sick. What the fuck? Why would she bring him here? “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not”—he looked around, lowered his voice, and said—“gay.” But really…did he have to be gay to go to a gay bar? He didn’t. There was nothing wrong with it, yet his past twisted up his gut.
All he could think was that he wasn’t gay, yet she’d taken him here. He’d been in a relationship with her. He cared about her. It wasn’t as though Amy was the only woman he’d been with.
Roman’s stomach cramped. He felt like he’d been hit in it. His father’s and Anthony’s fists raining down on him again.
“It’s okay if you are. You know that, right?”
She tried to grab his hand again, but he held it up, warning her off. “I don’t know what I did to make you think I’m gay, but I’m not. And I don’t appreciate being called out like this. God, Amy! Springing a fucking gay club on me? Even if I were gay, couldn’t you think of a better way to ask me?”
Without meaning to, he’d raised his voice. People turned his way, gave him dirty looks. Guilt kicked around inside him. This wasn’t a big deal. He could be here and be straight. He didn’t want to offend anyone.
And he had no right to treat Amy like this. No matter what, he knew she cared about him, and she only did what she thought was best for Roman.
“Okay, okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No…I’m sorry. I just…” He just what?
What he wanted to know was why. What had he done to make her believe this? The hairs on the back of his neck rose. His pulse sped up. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. That wasn’t Roman Cipriani.
His hands still shook. Suddenly, he really fucking needed a drink.
Roman turned, pushed his way through the crowd. Without looking, he knew Amy was on his heels. He’d almost passed the club, almost cleared it to head for another bar, when his eyes veered to the side. Roamed over the patio. Men danced, kissed, drank. They held hands; some sat at tables. Servers walked around with drinks.
And that’s when he saw him.
Roman’s feet rooted to the ground, held still as though it was impossible for him to move. And it was. He couldn’t fucking breathe, much less take a step as he watched the man set a drink on a table. He winked his right eye. They weren’t close enough for Roman to see the color, but he knew they were hazel.
His skin was the same shade of light brown as Roman’s. He had the same dark hair, slightly curly on top. He was muscular in ways he didn’t use to be, broader than Roman himself, but still slightly shorter. He had earrings in his ears that hadn’t been there before either.
He touched an African-American man’s shoulder, clearly flirting with him. He said something to the guy before he locked their fingers together, even though the guy wasn’t alone at the table.
There was another wink, and then he pulled his hand away.
And in that moment, every fucking thing in Roman flipped, twisted, and tied into knots.
“Roman? Are you okay?” Amy asked, her voice distant like she was a mile away.
No, he wasn’t. He really fucking wasn’t.
He felt Amy grab hold of his arm. He felt her tension and confusion, but he couldn’t make himself turn to look at her. Couldn’t make himself speak at all.
Just then, the man looked up. They were standing less than ten feet apart. Their gazes met and he saw the recognition there, but then the man’s eyes went hard. It wasn’t the way he used to look at Roman. Not at all. Hate blazed a fierce fire in the other man’s stare as Roman let himself speak the name he hadn’t let himself think, let alone say, in years: “Leo.”
♦
God, he’d never been inside a house this fuckin’ big in his life. It was like a mansion or somethin’. A place he saw on TV shows, a place where celebrities lived. “Are you sure I should be here? Won’t your parents care?” He knew the answer to that. Leo’s parents would lose their minds if they knew Roman was here, and he wouldn’t blame them.
“No one’s home. They won’t be here until late tonight. They’re at a benefit for the children’s hospital.”
Roman had never even heard of such a thing. Not in real life at least. Maybe on TV. Dude, he watched too much fuckin’ television.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
He should tell Leo no. Should get the fuck outta there before something went wrong. It was more than the fact that he shouldn’t be in this house. He shouldn’t be friends with Leo at all. The kid was fucking loaded, and his parents wouldn’t want him hangin’ out with someone like Roman.
Hell, Roman’s dad wouldn’t want him hangin’ out with someone like Leo either. He hated people like them. Said people like Leo’s dad tried to pretend they didn’t come from the same streets his father came from. He called people like Leo and his family soft, and to his father, that was one of the worst things you could be. Roman had seen him hurt people he thought were weak. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the pain his father had inflicted…which was why Roman couldn’t let himself be anything but strong.
Leo’s dad and his had grown up in the same neighborhood. Both their grandfathers had been poor fishermen. Leo’s dad had wanted something better for his life. Roman’s dad didn’t give a shit. He always said people like Leo’s dad thought they were too fuckin’ good. He hated rich people, but he hated rich Italian people from his neighborhood even more.
And he didn’t hate anyone as much as he hated Leo’s dad, not just because they came from the same streets, but because now Leo’s dad was a fuckin’ judge. Not just any judge either. He’d once put Roman’s dad in jail. Roman knew because his brother dragged him to the courthouse with him. They hoped when their dad said he was raising two kids alone, it would help.
It hadn’t.
And that had been the first time he’d seen Leo. They’d been thirteen. They’d talked outside for a few minutes before Anthony came out and told him to get away from Leo. Pretty boy, piece of shit, Anthony had called Leo, and that time, Roman had listened, walking away from him.
But now, two years later? Now he didn’t. He followed Leo up the stairs. They curved. He’d never seen something like that. Why the fuck did the stairs need to curve?
“My room’s this way.” Leo walked down the long hallway. The carpet was perfect. There were nice paintings on the walls, and Roman hated himself for wondering how much they were worth. He could maybe sell somethin’ like that and make a shit-ton of money for his dad. He’d make him proud. He wanted nothing more than to make his dad proud the way his brother did.
Leo’s room was the last one on the left. It had double doors. Why did a bedroom need two fuckin’ doors?
They went inside, and Leo closed the doors behind them. Roman’s eyes wandered around the space. The bed was huge. He had a big-ass TV, video-game systems, and all sorts of other shit Roman didn’t have.
“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ spoiled.” He really needed to watch how often he took the Lord’s name in vain. His dad sold drugs, did drugs, stole shit, but they were Catholic and you didn’t say shit like that if you were Catholic.
“What?” Leo looked hurt, and Roman immediately felt guilty. Still, he didn’t take it back.
“If you think I care about all this stuff, you’re wrong. I’d trade it all for parents who gave a shit or friendships that really mattered.”
“Only a fuckin’ rich person would say stupid shit like that.” People got shot on the daily where Roman lived. Roman had seen it with his own eyes…had seen his father be a part of it. Leo was safe and sound in his perfect corner of the city.
“Screw you,” Leo replied. “Leave if you want to. I don’t care.”
But Roman didn’t want to leave. He liked Leo. Liked spending time with him. Liked… “I wanna kiss you again.” He wanted to show Leo he was good for something. Roman knew Leo didn’t like kissing his girlfriend nearly as much as he’d liked it the one time Roman kissed him.
“Okay.” He shrugged like he didn’t care. Did he really not care? Roman didn’t know if he wanted him to or not.
“Should we stand up or sit on the bed?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?” Leo asked.
Roman looked over at the bed with its crisp, clean blankets. It was at least a queen, maybe bigger. The pillows were fluffy and looked fuckin’ comfortable. “Let’s go to the bed.”
He walked over, ignoring the shake in his legs. He sat down, and Leo sat beside him.
“This doesn’t mean we’re queers,” Roman told him. He’d heard his father use that word too many times to count, each time with hate in his voice.
“Okay,” Leo replied.
He reached out and cupped Leo’s face, brushed his thumb over his bottom lip. Jesus, he liked touchin’ Leo. He was soft, like something new and perfect.
And now he’d not only have to worry about taking the Lord’s name in vain, next time he confessed, but kissing a boy too.
Roman leaned in, gently touching his lips to Leo’s. They just pressed their mouths together over and over for a few minutes, until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He slid his tongue past Leo’s lips. He tasted sweet, like the strawberry Starburst he’d had earlier.
There was a voice in his head, telling him he was kissing a boy for the second time. His father would kill him for it. He’d seen his father’s violence against others. And he’d go to hell.
But then Leo moaned into his mouth, and all Roman could think about was earning more of those sounds. Of making Leo—this guy who was rich, and wore nice clothes, and had parents who went to fuckin’ benefits at hospitals—feel good.
He wanted to keep feelin’ good himself because most of the time he didn’t.
In this moment it didn’t matter if this made him a fag, a queer, a sinner. Later, when he was back in his neighborhood, it would matter, but not right now. Right now, nothin’ mattered except kissing Leo Mancini.