AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If Bron had processed Darcy’s beaming face correctly, then he thought he was doing a pretty good job of it all. Of getting closer to him. Of flirting. Because that’s what was happening here, right? Darcy was flirting with him, and he was flirting back. Perhaps Bron was a little out of his depth, but he seemed to be doing okay. “I’m glad I could provide you with the answer you were hoping for.”
Darcy poked him in the arm. Bron wanted to poke back, but didn’t. It was all childish, really, but it seemed to be working.
“Hey!—but now it is my turn to ask you a question.”
“It is? Well, I suppose that’s only fair.” They were standing face to face now. Darcy brushed at a strand of hair that had come loose from Bron’s bun, twirled it between his fingers. Bron deftly weaved it back in. When he brought down his arms, Darcy placed a hand on his shoulder. “But on one condition.”
“And what might that be?”
“You must kiss me first.”
Bron’s breath caught. Had he heard him right? Bron was frozen and a little unsure. He could not understand if Darcy’s bobbing shoulders and silent chuckle were a symptom of nerves or an indication of mockery. “You’re toying with me.”
Darcy’s expression turned serious. “No, no, no toying going on here. I just really, really want to kiss you. Like, right now.”
“Oh … oh, okay. Well—”
But before he could say anything. Darcy had his hands on his face and brought his lips to his. Bron fell back on his heels and gripped onto Darcy’s shoulders to keep himself from falling. He laughed awkwardly into his open mouth in a way that was anything but sexy. Darcy pulled away and shook his head in disbelief, but moved in again. And this time, Bron waited for Darcy’s lips to push up into his before he opened his mouth, just a little bit. After a moment, he allowed himself to lean in more.
Bron was kissing Darcy. In a chapel, of all places.
When they broke apart, Darcy swiped at his mouth, and Bron was suddenly fearful that his kissing was altogether too wet, too sloppy. That he had drooled on him and that Darcy would never want to kiss him again.
But Darcy was smiling. “Well, that was … that was something.” Bron felt the heat rise in his neck. “A good something I mean—a very good something.” He sounded almost in awe. “You’ve certainly earned your question.”
“My question? Oh—right.” It didn’t feel right to ask it now. But what if this was his only opportunity? He considered his words carefully. “I wanted to ask about you—and Giovanni.”
Darcy’s face instantly dropped “Vani? I wasn’t expecting that. Well, what about him?” His voice was altogether changed, deeper.
“What happened between the two of you? Something must have.”
“You wish to squander your question on this? You only get one.”
Something like a stone rose in Bron’s throat. Darcy’s shoulders tensed, and the air was suddenly sucked from the room, into the breaths they both held.
Bron accepted his question to be prying, perhaps even callous, coming after a moment of such tenderness. But he nodded, and Darcy sighed, indignant. Cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot put it more simply than this: Some things just don’t go the way one wants them to.”
“But you were friends,” he pushed. “More than friends?”
“You have brought this up before. What makes you so sure?”
“I just want to understand what’s going on,” he said, almost pleading. “I want to understand where all this is coming from. I’ve seen the way you two act when you’re around each other, like sworn enemies … and the way you were—”
“And what did you read in our discomfort, hmm? That we wish to be friends again? To patch things up?”
“No, no, I just—”
Darcy paced back and forth in frustration. “Why can’t anyone understand that we don’t wish to have anything more to do with one another? That the past is the past, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Darcy’s irritation was apparent and quickly spreading—his cheeks strained upward, and his brows furrowed his forehead into lines. His lips tipped into a scowl.
Bron was frustrated too; he felt that Darcy’s affection and interest in him was something to be turned on and off whenever he fancied it. Why couldn’t they just talk openly about things—about serious things—without the need for their constant rebuttal, their sparring of words, or Darcy’s temperament that was quick to change?
He knew what he had seen. Giovanni had all but said they had been together. Why couldn’t he just admit it? What was there to hide? Was it really such a manly thing, to keep everything bottled in?
“But I saw the two of you—in the photographs, and I—”
“Wait.” When Darcy finally looked at him again, his countenance said something different. A different language altogether. For a moment Darcy didn’t say anything, just stared blankly, nostrils flaring, as though his head had taken him somewhere else entirely. But then he took a step toward him. Bron felt himself take one back. Thought Darcy might grab him. He pressed into himself.
