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1
JONAH
It’s messed up how sexy Roman King is in a tux. I look like I’m pretending to be an adult while he looks like a damn model. It’s not fair. At. All. That perfect blond hair that only exists in TV shows, piercing blue eyes that devour me every time he looks at me, and a jawline that could cut glass. No one should be that good looking. Meanwhile, my lanky ass looks like I’m out here serving hors d’oeuvres.
If he doesn’t have sex with me while wearing that damn tux, I’m going to be pissed. Make me suck his dick, bend me over the bathroom sink, I don’t care.
The gym is decked out with streamers and balloons; the overhead lights are off, but a disco ball is spinning overhead, and music is pumping through the speakers. The middle of the room is clear for dancing, with round tables covered in blue tablecloths placed around the edges. It’s loud and crowded, and there are some girls on the dance floor.
Roman leads our little group, with Taylor behind me. Some football players that sit at the lunch table with Roman and Taylor are crowded around a few tables, but I’m surprised when Roman leads us away from them. In the darkest corner of the room, Roman sits with his back to the wall, I sit next to him, and Taylor takes his other side. They chat about football, and I zone out as I look around the space, my hands clasped between my thighs with one of my knees bouncing.
While it’s been months since I was the victim of bullying, this is a new situation with the same assholes present, and I never know who’s going to try something to win cool points or whatever. Kenton, Kentucky, is not known for its inclusive roots.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Roman. As much as he hates hiding our relationship, he’s in his element in public. He likes being around people, while I’m perfectly happy to be left the hell alone.
He turns his head to peek at me from the corner of his eye, then reaches for me blindly. I grab his hand, and he pulls me closer to him. My stomach tightens uncomfortably, being this close to him where anyone can see us.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-yell in his ear.
His hand lands high on my thigh, and I clench my legs together. “I’m feeling up my date. Isn’t that what happens at prom?” He drags his lip between his teeth and looks me up and down.
“What, you into guys who serve appetizers? I don’t have a stuffed mushroom in my pocket or anything.” I scoff, glancing quickly around to make sure no one is watching us.
“I’ll stuff your fucking mushroom . . .,” he mumbles at me with a smirk.
“Uck.” I roll my eyes at him.
His fingers dig into the muscle of my leg just inches from my dick. The pressure and promise of pain makes me suck in a gasp. His hot breath fans across my neck as he speaks into my ear.
“Are you saying you don’t want me to fuck you in this tux?” He bites the lobe of my ear hard for just a second, enough for the sting of pain to make my dick hard. Bastard.
“I hate you,” I grumble as he sits back.
He smirks that damn smile at me that sets my blood on fire and makes me want to punch him in the face. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
Anna pops up at our table in a crimson red dress, her dark hair twisted up on her head in some complicated curly do. Her smile is huge as she comes around the table and grabs my arm.
Roman’s hand slides off my leg as she pulls on me, yelling, “Come on!”
I lock my eyes on his as I’m led to the dance floor.
“I can’t dance!” I holler over the music.
“Just move your body!” she yells back over a Katy Perry song.
My cheeks heat as I look around at the people dancing. I can’t dance. It’s bad when I do.
Anna laughs at my lack of movement, grabs my arms, and starts moving them in the air like one of those inflatable tube men you see outside of car dealerships. Taking a deep breath, I follow her movements and let her lead my body around. Roman will never let me live this down. Ever.
I dance, horribly, with Anna for a few minutes through the upbeat songs, and more people crowd onto the dance floor. After four or five songs, I’m hot and sweaty.
“I need a drink!” I yell into her ear and push my way through the crowd. On my way to the drink table, I see Roman, sans jacket, leaning against a table closer to the crowd, talking to some jocks and their stupid cheerleader girlfriends. He winks at me and rises to his full height. I pull on the collar of my shirt and reach for a plastic cup on the table full of fruit punch and soda.
“Here,” Taylor says, handing me a cup of fruit punch. I notice he’s removed his jacket, too, as I chug the drink.
The burn of alcohol makes me cough. “What the hell, dude?”
Taylor tosses his head back and laughs. “Nothing like some Maker’s Mark to liven up a party.”
