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So close I could almost reach out and touch him.
My heart knocked against my chest, trying to create its own escape route. I set my beer on the floor next to the couch and pressed my hand over my heart so it wouldn’t do just that. I held it there while I clicked on the profile and quickly skimmed the bio to see if I was correct. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough information to confirm who I thought it was.
But… I knew.
Even without a face, I recognized that body. I knew every damn inch of it. I’d never forget it even though it had been twelve years and he’d matured over that time.
It also helped that I’d seen it again recently when he came out of the pool. Also when he was on his knees at my feet.
The first name given on the profile was Harris. Not surprising since on the hook-up app, I used Ron instead of Roe or Ronan, to keep my real identity secret.
I decided to message the man, but kept it brief and to the point. If I was wrong and it wasn’t him, the person would need to ask for an address. If it was… He would know exactly where I wanted to meet him.
My fingers trembled slightly as I typed. When I was done, I double-checked the message. Once. Twice. Then before I changed my mind, I sent it off out into the wild.
Roof. Door locks automatically at ten. Be up there before then. At ten, drop to your knees. Want you waiting and willing. Otherwise, don’t come at all.
My heart continued to pound while I waited for a response. It could come in minutes. It could come in hours. Days. Or not at all.
I didn’t even know if he was active on the app. I was actually surprised to see him on there. Did he sign up as soon as he split from Dahlia or had he been on it a lot longer than that?
I was pretty sure I already knew the answer. This was not Tate’s first rodeo on a gay hook-up app.
That made me angrier than it should.
Anger wasn’t even what it was.
The whole reason why I trembled wasn’t from nervousness, it was from rage.
He gave me up for Dahlia. Then he cheated on his wife with other men.
I hoped I was wrong.
I was damn sure I wasn’t.
I glanced at the time on my phone. It wasn’t even nine yet. Over an hour to go. Even if he didn’t respond via message, I’d go upstairs after ten to make sure he wasn’t waiting.
Or maybe I should let him wait and not show up at all.
Either way, if I went up and he didn’t show or if I didn’t go up at all and left him hanging, the app had thousands of other men in the Pittsburgh area to choose from.
I’d hit up dozens of them myself. I’d probably hit up dozens more.
With a growl, I threw my phone on the couch next to me and swiped my beer from the floor, downing half of it in one swallow as I waited for my phone to chirp.
It didn’t.
It remained quiet. Dark.
And I remained alone.
Ronan (Now)
Every step I took up the spiral metal staircase was taking a step back in time. All the way back to that first kiss in the dark in Carson. Then it fast-forwarded to the next morning in Tate’s bed.
I left him that morning while he was still super confused and I totally understood that. He was straight. Or so he thought. It could be he would chalk up what we did to experimenting.
Or he could chalk it up to being a complete mistake.
Either way, when I left his apartment I figured our friendship had been decimated. The actions of one night—and one morning—had effectively destroyed it.
At the time, I beat myself up for not having the strength to fight the urge to touch him. But I had done it in my sleep, unaware I was spooning the man I considered my best friend.
It didn’t help that he didn’t push me away, tell me to stop or, hell, even punch me. Instead, everything he did encouraged me to continue once I woke up and realized what was happening.
Even though he didn’t stop me, I should’ve stopped myself.
However, for a brief moment that morning, I had a sliver of hope. Hope that he might feel the same way about me.
No matter what, we needed to talk about it and, at the time, I wasn’t sure if that would happen since I didn’t see him for days afterward. That was unusual. Normally we saw each other every day or at least talked by text and occasionally by phone.
Reluctantly, but also understandably, I had given him some needed space. However, I was worried if he didn’t show up for our creative writing class the first Tuesday after the party, he’d land on Dr. Louden’s shit list again.
