Against Fate: A Prince Castle Novel

by Damian Bloom

  He snickers. “You know, when people thank me for a night, it usually means something entirely different.”

  I roll my eyes but can’t do anything against the smile that blooms on my face. “I’ve got a theory about you, Adam.”

  “A theory?” His eyebrows rise.

  “Yes. I think that on the outside, you’re this big, muscular, scary-looking guy-”

  Adam almost chokes on a gulp of his shake. “Scary-looking?”

  “But on the inside, you’re really just a big softie.”

  He shakes his head. “What gave you that idea?”

  “Well, everything. Don’t think I don’t notice how you go out of your way to help me—with my writing, with my love life, even with working out.” I don’t mention how he served as my teddy bear all through last night because he couldn’t bring himself to bother my sleep. Although I’m thinking of it. I believe I’ll think about it for a long time.

  “A big softie, huh?” He increases his size by flexing his muscles until they swell on his chest, shoulders, arms, and neck. “Don’t make this scary-looking softie kick your butt,” he growls, stalking in my direction like a ravenous predator. “Poor, poor, innocent Luis,” he murmurs, his voice a raspy growl buzzing at the base of his throat. “This is but a mere spell meant to draw in green, vulnerable prey like you. Trust me, you don’t want to see my real, ferocious face.” With every step he takes in my direction, I take one back. His eyes are so intense they threaten to pierce holes into mine. “You wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

  With this, he pounces, but I jump back, just out of reach. Our giggles scatter around the empty house as he chases me into the hallway. Gripping the door frame, I swiftly bend around the corner. Less nimble because of his much larger built, Adam crashes into a wall, his socks skidding on the hardwood floor. I laugh louder when I hear him grunt. “What’s the matter, scary guy?” I tease. “Am I too quick for you?”

  Hector, who until now must have been sleeping alone, shows up in the bedroom and meows at us to keep it down, a cute scowl on his face.

  Adam’s arms finally circle me like a lasso when we reach the front door. They tighten around me, and he pulls me close, presses me to his chest—so close that I can feel his heartbeat.

  “Okay, okay, I surrender.”

  His eyes crease at the corners with laughter.

  “I take it back. You’re no softie. You’re a big, mean brute.”

  Instead of letting go, it feels like Adam tightens his hold on me. “I’m glad you came back to your senses.” His breath is warm and sweet on my face, his voice a deep manly rumble in his chest. He’s so…intoxicating. Under his penetrating gaze, I’m a helpless speck of dust caught in the broad range of his magnetism. To my utter horror, I get hard.

  Oh, Lord. Can he feel it? Is he aware he’s pressing my erection into his leg?

  If he is, he doesn’t let it show. His eyes hesitate on my face like it would hurt to peel them away.

  Embarrassed by the reaction of my body to his, I lower my gaze. The embrace is now too long to go unaddressed, but I’ve got no clue what I could say.

  And then my mind turns into even more useless mush when I sense the twitching of his crotch against my lower abs. Is that—Is he having the same reaction? I get my answer when it hardens even further—a rock-hard rod trapped in the confines of his pants.

  He licks his lips.

  Damn those lips—dark pink and rough-looking. I just know that Adam must be a fantastic kisser. I bet he kisses hard and savagely until it hurts. My knees wobble under the weight of my yearning. Please just kiss me. Let me feel your tongue invade my mouth like I’ve read and dreamed it would, and let your beard graze my skin and put an overdue end to this game that we’ve been playing since day one.

  I want to stop pretending I don’t crave Adam so hard my bones ache.

  If Adam made a move now, I know I wouldn’t resist it. There’s nothing I want more than for him to flip me over, shove me against the wall, and fill me up with himself. To use me however he wants—hours on end, Hazelnut be damned.

  “Adam,” I mutter. “I…” My stomach buzzes like a beehive, and my mind turns off.

  When Adam comes back to his senses, he jostles like he’s pierced by electrical current. He blinks over my head, clearing his mind. “You should probably get going.” His hoarse voice makes my skin prickle. “I don’t want you to be late.”

  Hector meows. His massive green eyes dart from Adam to me as we let go of each other.

  I nod. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  In the awkwardness-burdened air, I grab the door handle and rush to leave.

  “Oh, Luis, one more thing.”

  I turn in the doorway. From behind, a chilly gust of wind brushes against me.

  Rubbing his browbone, Adam avoids looking in my direction. “We’re not meeting on Friday night.”

  “Why not?” I ask, a little too quickly.

  He serves me a labored smile and tugs at his earlobe. “You’ve got a date.”

  13

  Luis

  “Damn, you’re hotter than your pictures.” Freddie’s probing gaze verges on the disrespectful. He looks quite different from his online pictures, too. The resemblance to Adam is much less noticeable in real life.

  Despite my initial involuntary disappointment, this isn’t to say he’s not a good-looking man. With sharp and manly angles in his facial features and clear blue eyes that remind me of spring water, he makes for a handsome date. Instead of the beard I expected, he’s now got a cute mustache that not many people could pull off. Even though he’s got nothing on Adam’s six-foot-three figure, he’s quite tall.

  Keith and I have spent the past two hours combing through every closet in the house for an outfit.

  “You’ll never forget your first date,” he made sure to remind me every fifteen minutes. Now, his words ring in my head like a mantra.

  Eventually, we settled for a checked button-down, a gray sweater, and a crimson twill pant. Keith lent me his sleek leather jacket and new chukka boots, saying they’d make me look cool. I think they make me look like someone else.

  I was skeptical when he smeared my hair with mousse, but I kind of love the final product. He sure managed the impossible, coaxing my short unruly waves into some sort of order.

  Looking me over, the 30-year-old man rubs his hands together and licks his lips. “You’re a whole snack.”

  I grimace, but, luckily, he misses it.

  My stomach is still a bundle of nerves that I hope will ease up soon. Otherwise, I don’t believe I’ll be able to eat anything. Everything will be fine. Just breathe, smile, and try not to say anything stupid.

  When I asked Adam for advice, he told me to just be myself, and I’ll have the guy in the palm of my hand by the end of the night. While I doubt the truth of that statement, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

  From the corner of my eye, I subtly study my date. Something about him makes me feel uneasy. From the moment we met, his eyes have lingered on my body more than my face, and he’s got a tendency to sneer rather than smile.

  You’ll never forget your first date.

  I briefly wonder what Adam is doing and realize that I would much rather be writing with him than be here on this date.

  Come on, give the guy a fair chance.

  Freddie takes me to a cute little Mexican restaurant a few blocks away from Adam’s house. The place screams with color even from afar—red, orange, and yellow stripes stretch over the outside wall, and through the large windows, you can peek into the symphony of colors the inside’s been decorated with. I’ve been here once before, and all I remember is that the tacos are good, the salsa is great, and the place gives off a homely sort of coziness. The lively Mexican music pouring out from invisible speakers puts me in a good mood right away. It’s a good start to the date.

  The downside is the lack of space, which doesn’t really allow for private conversations. It doesn’t help my first-date nerves an
d my paralyzing fear that I’ll somehow make a fool of myself.

  As it soon turns out, I’m not the one who should worry about that.

  Freddie starts the conversation by hurling a set of rapid-fire questions at me—how old I am, where I work, where and with whom I live. While I appreciate the interest, he treats every one of my replies with an almost dismissively hasty nod before moving on to the next question. I barely manage to finish my sentences. It’s like he’s ticking items off a list, and ten minutes into our conversation, I wonder if he remembers anything I’ve said.

  The topic of writing comes up, and I’m excited to dive into it, but I drop it as soon as I realize his quesadillas fritas have more of his attention than me.

  Eventually, he exhausts the routine questions and deems it appropriate to begin talking about himself. And boy, does he have a lot to say. He seems to especially enjoy speaking about the men that have passed through his life. Although Freddie doesn’t make any distinctions, it sounds like some of them he hasn’t exactly dated as much as had a casual sexual arrangement with. For some strange reason, he also thinks it appropriate to share very detailed descriptions of his exes’ bodies with me.

  “Now, Julio had an amazing ass. I’m talking the roundest, juiciest, tastiest ass you can imagine,” he says, chewing loudly on his food. “Too bad he was crazy.”

  To my horror, two other guys are trying to enjoy their dinner an arm’s breadth away from our table. They’re subtle enough not to turn to us, but their conversation stutters and they meaningfully widen their eyes whenever Freddie says something particularly embarrassing.

  “Do you miss any of them?” I ask, trying to push the conversation into more sentimental and less sexual territory.

  I wonder if it’s customary for people to discuss their exes on the first date. Personally, I’m a little put off by it, but not as put off as by the constant talk of sex. It feels like this is where Freddie wanted to get from the very beginning, but he was well-mannered enough to understand he can’t dive into these topics from the get-go.

  He considers my question for a second, wiping some sour cream from the corner of his mouth. “Sometimes, I miss Klaus.” His voice grows serious. I sigh a breath of relief, thinking I might have struck a chord. He does have emotions, after all.

  Freddie chews on his food, and I lean forward, expecting more. “I mean,” he finally goes on, “I have to give it to the man. He had the most delicious cock a guy could wish for.”

  After this, I suppose I kind of zone out. As Freddie proceeds to give me a run-down of the best unusual places he’s had sex in, and our poor neighbors take their leave, I entertain myself with thoughts of Adam.

  Had today been a regular day, by now, I would have probably finished another scene. Maybe we’d be taking a tea break and chilling on the sofa while Adam tells me about more nightmares that have inspired storylines in his books.

  I’m excited to tell him about today. Less than an hour with my buddy here made me realize what a good listener Adam is. Maybe that’s why I’m so unusually talkative with Adam.

  When I feel like I might either throw up or scream, I excuse myself to the bathroom.

  “You want me to come with you?” Freddie smirks, but he’s completely serious.

  “Uhh, no, it’s fine. Thanks.”

  In there, I send Adam a quick text. The date’s almost over. Wanna still hang out tonight?

  I don’t have to wait long for his reply. Already? You’re not dropping by his place, I gather.

  Definitely not. Also, I think it’s safe to say there won’t be a second date.

  Oof. Okay, sure, just drop by when you’re finished.

  When I come back, I’m even more determined than before to bring the date to an end, so I make up a headache and care very little about whether Freddie realizes it’s a total lie. He’s happy to leave, however, which is a relief.

  “Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” I say, stepping away from him.

  “Wait, I’ll walk you home.” His eyes linger on me again. He seems to forget I have a face he can look into when he speaks.

  I hesitate, racking my brain for the most polite way to let him down. “You don’t have to. I live nearby,” I say. I don’t, actually. But Adam does.

  “Great, then we don’t have to walk too far.”

  I open my mouth to insist that he doesn’t follow me, but shut it right back up, not wanting to come across as crazy. If he wants to walk me to Adam’s, that’s fine. Who cares? Just one short final walk together, then we can part ways, and I’ll never have to see him again.

  “So, are you a top or a bottom?” Freddie asks as we turn the corner on Adam’s block.

  I roll my eyes. How would he react if I told him I’m a virgin? I’m not sure his mind could process that.

  I’m tired of the sex talk, my first date was a disappointment, and Keith’s new shoes have tortured my feet past pain and into numbness. When I speak next, any trace of patience is gone from my voice. “Dude, can we talk about something else?”

  I get the feeling Freddie isn’t one to give up easily, and he confirms my theory immediately. “What’s wrong, baby?” He lays a hand on my lower back. “Are you shy?” His tone feels sticky. Not wanting to hit against his sly smile, I avoid looking in his direction altogether. But his hand feels heavy on me, and it makes me shudder. How different it feels from Adam’s touch.

  With a step to the side, I shake him off.

  “It’s not that I’m shy. But you’ve been talking about nothing but sex for the last half hour. I think you’ve got the wrong idea about today. I’m not looking for a quickie.”

  I sneak a look at him, and he doesn’t look fazed at all. “It doesn’t have to be a quickie. I’m open to meeting again after tonight. You’re a hottie.”

  He winks and grins again, probably thinking he’s won me back with his compliment. It makes me wonder what he thinks the evening still holds for us. I’m sure he’s got the wrong idea about that as well.

  Fortunately, we reach Adam’s house. A more than mild irritation swells up inside of me when he follows me all the way to the front steps. But none of this matters anymore. Because Adam is here. His presence suddenly feels so strong, like he might literally be just on the other side of the door.

  “Okay,” I say. “Thanks for walking me home. And for tonight. I guess I’ll see you around.”

  I wait for him to catch my drift and leave, but I guess I could wait until the cows come home.

  He flashes me a toothy smile. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “Uhm, no.”

  With a playful pout on his face, Freddie presses a hand against the front door, trapping me between himself and the house. “Come on, shy bunny. Let me show you a good time.” His voice is disgustingly syrupy. “One night with me, and you won’t be able to stop talking about sex either.”

  “Uh, thanks, but no thanks.” I push against his chest, but he firmly stands his ground.

  “How about a little kiss? Maybe that will loosen you up.”

  With this, his face descends toward mine.

  Oh, no, you won’t. You’ve already ruined my first date. There’s no chance in hell I’m giving you my first kiss, too.

  My hands curl into fists, my chest puffs out. I try to remember everything I’ve ever read about fighting, but it’s not much: Don’t fold your thumb inside the fist, or you might break it. Drive your elbow into the punch. Was there anything else?

  Freddie’s face is now so close to mine I could probably count each individual hair in his mustache. My arms tingle with nerves, but I’m ready to lay some punches if they’re needed.

  And then the ground sneaks out from under my feet. Or so it feels. But after I stumble to the ground, pulling Freddie down on top of me in the process, I realize what happened.

  Adam opened the door. He’s now towering over us—a huffing, angry-looking hunk of a man. It’s hard to believe he’s the same guy I called a softie only three days ago, th
e playful man who chased me around the house in a din of snickers. Because there’s nothing soft about his body, attitude, or eyes as he glares down at Freddie now.

  “I believe Luis said no,” Adam growls.

  Freddie beholds Adam’s massive built. “This your man?” is all he manages to say before he’s sent flying off of me.

  14

  Adam

  One hour earlier

  I check my phone. No texts.

  Writing is brutally strenuous today, and I’m close to banging my head on the keyboard. It’s like I’m watching my characters through foggy glass.

  As if I haven’t just done it seconds ago, I recheck my phone. He’s busy, man, I mentally chide myself. He’s on a date.

  I stand up from my desk with a grunt and begin pacing the room like a caged animal. Outside, the sky begins to blush, white clouds torn apart by the wind, swirling like cotton candy. Quite a romantic view, and it sets my teeth on edge.

  Biting at my fingertips, I itch for something I can’t articulate. Obviously, I’m not in the mood to write. Twenty words in forty minutes…It’s been a while since I’ve been this unproductive.

  Pacing around the place like an agitated prisoner, I almost step on one of Luis’s funny bookmarks. Every way I turn it, the bulging eyes of a holographic frog follow me around. An involuntary smile creeps onto my face, and I shake my head. This guy’s into the weirdest things.

  I wonder how his date is going. Luis’s bubbly laughter echoes in my ears. Although it makes my stomach turn, I keep picturing him having the time of his life with Freddie.

  Emptying the laundry basket into the washing machine, I find his coffee-stained clothes. I look over my shoulder like there’s anyone that could catch me, then bury my nose in the soft fabric of the shirt and breathe in.

  What if Luis and this Freddie guy hit it off? How will things change between us? I sigh, already imagining the guy invading more and more of Luis’s time until he’s monopolized it.