Page 56 of Back Outside Edge

"Circuit America is hardly the World Championships,” I answer, sulking. Knowing I’m sulking. Evan just brings it out of me, no matter how many times I claim that I don't do it. Maybe because he’s always right.

He stops my sulking with another kiss.

"So we’re in the same city, same hotel, even, but now what?" He sounds almost as peevish about it as I feel, which is heartening.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I've been trying to figure out. Who's your roommate?" Maybe it will be somebody who is accepting of us. Somebody that we can trust with our secret, or who won't raise their eyebrows at him not showing up at night.

But Evan winces. "Alexandre."

Well, fuck. That's about the worst case scenario possible. Alexandre and I haven't talked since the incident, and I’m sure both of us are happy to keep it that way. "Shit."

"I know. For all the reasons. He's a terrible roommate."

"I bet." But it sparks the beginning of an idea. "What if you complained about him, asked if you could move to another room?"

A sudden bump on the wall to the other side of us makes me jump and Evan’s eyes go big. I let him go, peeking around the corner to see who caused it. Nobody. There is a heating unit, though. My furnace makes weird bumps, so why wouldn't this thing? We're both being paranoid, with all this sneaking around.

So I go back into Evan’s arms, where he continues the conversation seamlessly, trusting my lookout skills.

"And oh so conveniently end up in yours?" He shakes his head. "That would be amazing, but there's no way."

I stick my tongue out at him, because maturity is not on my list of qualities when I'm with Evan. "Fine, I'll think about it. There's got to be a way to get you to my room."

"And here I thought you always needed a solo room." He leans in to kiss me again, softly, sweetly. How is it that Evan always knows the best way to kiss me? The precise mood I'm in, even when I can't figure it out. Even when it drives me crazy.

He's known what I needed since day one, and he's always made it happen. We've both done research into BDSM, spent some time talking about limits. We haven't done anything hardcore, and I don't think we will, but within our boundaries, Evan can play me like a fiddle.

Who knew I'd find such constant satisfaction from someone who can? That I'd want to be played? Me, the absolute control freak, loves nothing better than letting him take all the reins.

His mouth is back on mine, a whisper of pressure. "Stefan." My name is a murmur, directly onto my lips.

I blink back into the moment. "What?"

"There you are."

I'm sure I'm flushing violently. Even after months, when Evan catches me fantasizing about him, it's embarrassing. I might as well be a teenage girl with a crush, every time I think of him. "Oh, shut up."

A smile, and his mouth brushes mine. "I think both of us need to go to bed, baby. We can work on figuring this out in the morning."

"Meet for breakfast at eight?"

"Right here, eight a.m. sharp," he agrees. "But Stefan, you've got to be more circumspect. If we decide to come out, that's fine, but I don't want it to be by accident. Both of us already have enough skeletons in our closet."

I still haven't learned what his skeletons are. He refers to them, others mention them, but he's never talked to me about it. I could look it up, maybe he even expects that I have, but I'm not going to. Not unless he tells me to. He's entitled to his history and privacy, even if the world doesn't think so.

"I know, I'm sorry." I wrap him up in another hug because I can, because this is our one stolen moment of privacy for the night. "But everyone knows we're friends. So hanging out won't be weird." Dozens of pictures of the two of us together are on the internet, and we’ve played along with it, #bff-ing our way through social media.

He runs a light hand over my cheek and into my hair. Where it suddenly tightens. I can't stop the groan when he pulls my head back sharply. Instantly falling into submission mode, instantly wanting him desperately. "Fuck, Evan," I whisper, sounding ragged even to my own ears.

His mouth meets the curve where my neck and my shoulder join. a place that he unerringly hones in on, once he realized how much it affects me. He nips it softly, then harder. And I'm a puddle. Nothing but a pool of need.

Another soft bang from the heater on the other side of the wall, but I barely notice through the blood rushing south.

Then Evan lets go as abruptly as he grabbed me. "See you in the morning, baby." And asshole that he is, he leaves me standing, wide-eyed, unable to muster a response.

At around midnight, my phone alerts me to a text from Evan. Of course. Just when I was starting to recover from the way he left me. He couldn't let me sleep without thinking about him constantly, now could he?

Evan