Before I can respond, he disappears back through the door, pulling it closed behind him with a decisive click.
After what feels like an eternity, Vincent turns back to face me. His lips are swollen, a flush spreading across his cheekbones.
The words tumble out before I can think better of them. “Stay here tonight.”
Vincent’s eyes widen, those amber irises catching the city lights. He hesitates, his chest still rising and falling rapidly from our interrupted kiss.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I step forward, eliminating the space between us. I can’t lethim retreat behind his walls again.
“Please,” I murmur, lowering my head to press my lips against the curve of his neck. His skin is warm, slightly salty, intoxicating. He shivers as I trail kisses up toward his ear. “Stay with me,solnyshko.”
My hands find his waist, thumbs slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to stroke the bare skin there. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat—half protest, half surrender—that shoots straight through me.
Vincent pulls back, his hands pressing gently against my chest. “Alex, we’restepbrothers.”
“I don’t give a shit about that,” I growl, my hands tightening on his waist. “We share no blood.”
Vincent’s eyes search mine, looking for hesitation or doubt he won’t find. “Your father—”
“Can go fuck himself.” I press my forehead against his. “I’ve spent five years without you. I’m not spending another night.”
His resistance crumbles slowly, like a wall being dismantled brick by brick. I can see it in the softening of his eyes, feel it in the way his body relaxes against mine.
“Okay,” he whispers finally. “I’ll stay.”
Relief floods through me, so intense it’s dizzying. I capture his mouth again, pouring everything I can’t say into the kiss. His hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, holding on like I’m the only solid thing in the world.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, I run my thumb over his lower lip. “I should probably get back to my guests. Though I can’t wait for them to leave.”
The corner of Vincent’s mouth quirks up. “You’re a terrible host.”
16
Alex
THE REMAINING GUESTS SPRAWL across my living room, too drunk to notice they’ve overstayed their welcome. Ronan’s spread across my favorite armchair, one leg dangling over the side, while Ed and Mark debate something on the floor by the coffee table. Kayla and Rina have claimed opposite ends of the sofa, their voices rising and falling with whatever story they’re sharing. And Vincent sits apart from them all in the window seat, our eyes meeting now and then across the room.
The clock on my phone reads 1:37 AM. Most of the other guests gave up around midnight, filing out in groups of twos and threes, leaving behind empty glasses and half-eaten plates of food. Now it’s just the seven of us, and five of them show no signs of leaving.
I switched to water an hour ago. I want a clear head. I take another sip, letting the ice clink against my teeth. Vincent doesthe same with his soda, his throat working as he swallows. I track the movement, remembering the taste of his skin.
“Yo, Alex,” Ronan says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You there, man?”
I blink, forcing my attention back to the conversation. “Sorry. What?”
“I said,” Ronan repeats, exaggerating each word like he’s talking to a child, “should we order pizza? I’m fucking starving.”
“At two in the morning?” I glance back at Vincent. He’s watching me over the rim of his glass, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The kind of smile that says he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Pizza places deliver all night in this neighborhood,” Rina chimes in. “Benefits of city living.”
“There’s still food in the kitchen,” I point out. “Like, a lot of food.”
Mark groans from his spot on the floor. “But that requires getting up.” To emphasize his point, he flops backward dramatically, staring at the ceiling. “I’m too drunk to walk that far.”
“The kitchen is twenty feet away.”
