Wicked Boy (47) (Patreon)

CHAPTER 46 WAS RELEASED SATURDAY 

—

My brows gather, head lifting as my gaze follows, and my heart flutters beneath my palms.

Ezra.

He stares right back with the same, familiarly vivid irises.  His head tilts in explicit interest as I lose the rhythm that the man behind me leads with. I feel myself inhale, suddenly timid and unsure of my movements.

The man from before drags his nose over my neck, his lips just shy from following, and I suck in another breath.

Just ignore him.

But.  Ezra watches this too, his tongue moving in his cheek, his brows lifting. I stare back at him, and my stomach twirls with this — with the way it melts into mislaid attraction. This web of a person that I'm not undoes itself.

Ezra only looks, and my heart beats faster underneath his thorough scrutiny than it ever has for a touch. My apathy turns to shyness, and my cheeks feel warm. Each time I try to drag my attention away from Ezra and give my focus back to the man actively begging for it, I understand it was never his to take.

Ezra leans back, his lidded regard sweeping from my neck to the hands that are paired over my torso — and down to my thighs that are splayed and swaying over a stranger. I'm jumbling the touches with the Goule because, in his eyes, there's a swallowing pit of interest.

My breath quickens, and I hesitate.  All at once, I stop, snatching myself and my touch away from a stranger like it burns.

The man who smells like kiwi drinks stares down at me in concern when I turn to him. We're the only ones on the dance floor who aren't pursuing the noise from the speakers. I blink, dizzy from the alcohol, the sudden movement, and everything that's caught inside my mind.

What was that look?

"You alright?"

"No.  I mean," Everything is abruptly confusing, "— I'm Milan." I say. I find that I almost have to shout it, with this distance. He leans in to hear me better and nods with recognition, a slow and confused smile spreading with the admission. "...That's my name."

"Benjamin."  He begins to extend his hand towards me.  I hesitate to meet his touch, and so he withdraws his introduction bashfully.  I frown.

Sometimes, it isn't very pleasant to feel again.  Other times, it's stifling — humiliating.

"I only wanted to dance."

Benjamin's nod slows, but he soundlessly laughs once he collects the words through the commotion that surrounds us.

"That's okay." He says. He takes a respectful step back and nods, a little uncomfortable but still decent. "... Thanks for the dance, Milan."

I realize the desire to hurt someone just isn't there.  It's not a thought I can commit to.

"Thank you for the drinks."  I call this to him earnestly. It's unlike me.  But I feel, abruptly, a little guilt—a little more human.  Benjamin feels a little more human. His eyes widen with a blip of humor, and he laughs, his attention averting to the dark floor. I swallow. My bitterness melts into despair. "... I'm sorry."

Benjamin's eyes shift back up, and he smiles, again, more genuine. He waves it off with another laugh,

"It happens. Nothing to be sorry about."

And we part like that. My guilt doesn't ebb.  Instead, it thrives in that vacancy, and I cling to the only feeling present there.

I glance back towards Ezra.  I can't read him. I can see the groove near his jaw and the way it flexes under the bar lights.  The way his gaze lazes, unhurried and calculating all at once. 

He's who he always is.

I curl my fingers into my palms until I can feel the indents, the dull pain of my nails.

He's ruined this.

Will he say that Isaac was right?

The two thoughts twist together and sag from expectation.  My legs move before I think to move them, and I hope my steps are more deliberate than unsteady.

"Are you kidding me?  Umbrella hand stamps?" My pulse is still beating wildly, and I still feel dizzy and off-center, trying to glare up at someone that my heart has begged to see again.

Ez's head tilts, and my stomach is swarmed by that feeling of taking a turn or a hill too suddenly.

Why am I happy he's here? Why am I so glad to see him?  It's hard. It's so dangerous when he looks the same as he did.

I want the same things I did before.

What did I want?

"That's all you needed? Hand stamps.  Are you — a detective or something?"

"Alright," he considers me with a calm sort of look, just severe enough that I have a hard time returning it. My eyes shift to the dark freckle near the tip of his cheekbone instead, "The drinkin' police, and now I'm a fuckin' detective?"

"Okay. Well," I feel my pride sting, surging at the heat of his inflection, and I catch Tamela staring from the corner of my eye, her dance slowing, distracted by the two of us, "how long — how long have you been standing there?"

Ezra's grin splits his face, but there's no humor to it, just that uncanny composure, that scratch of something more, just below it. I bite the inner softness of my cheek.

It hurts.  This isn't a dream.

"Just long enough," he chuckles between his teeth, shrugging. "... to get a show."

I falter then. I feel my molars grit in silence. I can't find the words I want to say — so I just scowl at where his dimple would be if he were genuinely smiling, if he were truly humored.

And If this bar was light enough to see it.

"...Didn't seem too into it at first." Ezra's brows jump, gaze skimming the dance floor, pursuing Benjamin's retreat.   "Didn't get all shy 'cause of me, did ya'?"

There's nervous energy bouncing in my stomach, and my leg follows; before I inhale,

"It doesn't make sense — that you're here."  No, not that.  "I mean.  How are you here?"

He's chewing gum. It slides between his molars as he scoffs. My eyes drag from his lips back to his eyes because I want to find comfort in them. He tips down into my space, and he smells like spearmint.

"There's one bar, anywhere near Jameson, babe.  Doesn't take a fuckin' scientist."

I inhale.  I keep thinking of him, the plainness of his accent, this insignificant space between us — where he smells like gum, gasoline, and night air, and the alcohol inside my inhibitions admires his mouth once more.

"We should..." I flinch, aware that Tamela is yards away.  "Let's talk outside," I say.

—

(Next chapter is written and will be available Wednesday.)

Previous chapter  |  Next chapter  | First Chapter