Page 80 of Twisted Little Game

“Tate, it’s okay,” I say quickly. “You are allowed to live your life.”

He swallows. “Well, before he went to start swimming laps, he asked if I wanted to fuck in the bathroom.”

I grip my keys in my hand so hard the metal bites into my palm. “During the hour I was in my Advanced Physio class?”

“Yeah.”

“So?”

“So it’s pretty goddamn obvious he’s gay, and I already told you he’s into me⁠—”

“Did he fuck you, Tate?”

He puffs out a quick laugh. “God. No. Jesus, Roman, you think I was getting dicked down in the gym bathroom while you were in class?”

My body relaxes, but I still feel like I’m ready to leap on prey.

“I see.”

“I told him I didn’t want to, and he cooled his jets a little. But he still wants to go to the fair with me. So, what do you think?”

“I don’t think this person is a threat. Probably. Now that we know the true origin of the threats as Lucian Farina…”

“Right.”

I nod. “So tomorrow, going to the fair is a date. For you and him.”

Tate shrugs. “I really didn’t expect it to be, but I think he clearly sees it that way now.”

I shift on the driver’s side seat, looking away from him. “You will be safe. You can go on your date, and I will make sure he is not going to hurt you.”

“And you don’t have a problem with that?”

I set my jaw and shove the keys into the ignition. “Let’s head home.”

The next evening, we’re walking through the center of campus toward the Fall Lantern Fair, and I feel like I’m about to blow.

My skin is warm, even though it’s slightly chilly out.

And I feel like there’s a threat even though I damn well know there isn’t one.

The lantern fair is normally one of my favorite campus events. It’s when the quad looks best, with the whole place lit by tons of hanging paper lanterns strung through the trees. The whole area is glowing, and up ahead is the fair, where there are rows of games, food stalls, and some people selling little arts and crafts for charity.

But I’m barely looking at any of it.

I keep my eyes trained on Tate like I’m watching over a prince.

He’s wearing a white long-sleeve shirt under a brown bomber jacket, with jeans that hug his ass like a glove. Tate already turns heads wherever he goes, but tonight, something about him is even more eye-catching. His hair is extra fluffy from a recent shower, and even his face just looks…

He looks perfect.

I walk closer to Tate than I normally do as we approach the crowded festival at the center of the quad. Live music fills the air from a student band playing acoustic instruments up on a little stage.

“Fuck yes,” Tate says. “This is exactly what I need. It smells like cinnamon.”

I put my hand on his back to move him as another group of students walks by, and after they pass, I leave it there. My fingers feel for the back hem of his shirt and I push under it, sliding over his skin.

“Fall is your favorite season?”