Up In FLames (Eternal Flame Book 2)

by Peter Styles

  I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As much as Remy had pretended that bringing me along was for my own good, I had no illusions about his actual intentions, which were to get as drunk as he could manage and let me take care of him. So when we got to the party and he detached from my side immediately, I wasn’t exactly hurt. I was just nervous.

  Because I’ve always been a pretty big guy, people seem to think that I’m confident. In some ways, I’ve always been sure of myself. I’ve always known that I was tough and that I was smart. Somehow, though, that never translated to personal interactions. That was the department I was easily the worst in. I got nervous talking to Remy sometimes, and he was—in spite of my objections—my closest friend. With strangers, I was always completely useless.

  I settled into a corner and kept my back to the wall, trying to use my hulking size to my advantage and keep people at a distance. It worked pretty well for a while, and I was starting to think that I could go the entire night without having to talk to anyone. People regarded me the same way they’d look at a statue: they seemed faintly interested in my size and the fact that I was one of maybe ten Asians at the entire university, but their eyes slid away from me pretty quickly.

  After an hour and a half of being ignored, I was starting to contemplate whether my wallflower status would give me a reason to leave early when, for the first time at any party I’d been to, someone made eye contact with me.

  Hopefully, I don’t need to justify my bravery to anyone at this point. After all, a bad ass firefighter dating a drug dealer doesn’t exactly scream cowardice. But at that moment, all I could do was freeze in pure Jurassic Park-like fear of being noticed. It wasn’t just anyone looking at me; it was a guy. A very, very, very cute guy.

  And that cute guy decided to make a beeline straight for me.

  I panicked for a second. I considered running and possibly throwing the still-full bottle of warm beer I’d been holding as a distraction, but I held my ground. It would be much less embarrassing, I reminded myself, to just talk to someone for a few minutes than to look like an asshole in front of the entire party. I was so surprised that he was coming up to me in the first place that I quickly convinced myself that he was just going to ask me for the time or something.

  Instead, he gave me a brilliant grin full of perfect teeth and swept his chestnut locks out of his silvery eyes. “Hey!” he chirped. He didn’t seem to be putting any effort into being heard, but his voice still rang out clearly over the chatter and music of the party. “You look a little lonely over here!”

  “Uh.” I cleared my throat, completely unsure of how to respond to that. I wasn’t lonely, exactly, but I definitely wasn’t having the amazing time everyone else seemed to be having, and I knew it showed on my face. “I guess so,” I finally admitted. “I don’t really know many people here.”

  “Me neither.” His smile was reassuring, and for the first time in my life, I felt comforted by a stranger. “This isn’t really my kind of place.”

  “So why are you here?” It came out more accusatory than I meant it to, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s a business opportunity,” he explained with a shrug. He slipped a baggie out of his jacket pocket, and I recognized the bright green bundles inside as weed. He tucked it back into his pocket.

  “I don’t smoke,” I said. I didn’t know if I was more embarrassed or relieved at the idea that he was just talking to me to try to sell me something.

  He laughed a bright, ringing laugh. “Neither do I, dude,” he said. “And besides, you don’t really seem like the type.”

  “I don’t?” I asked. I was surprised that he put enough thought into me to determine whether or not I was a certain type.

  “Not at all. You have a crew cut. And you’ve been holding that beer all night.”

  I frowned. “Have you been watching me?”

  His smile grew sheepish. “Uh… yeah. Sorry. Is that weird?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Were you doing it for a weird reason?”

  That elicited a laugh from him. “I don’t think so. Unless it’s weird that I think you’re cute?”

  I nearly dropped my beer. I could feel my neck getting hot, and I was glad that the dim lights of the party would hide the pink crawling its way up to my ears. “I don’t think it’s weird. I mean, I’m not saying that you should think I’m cute or anything, I’m not a narcissist, but it’s not weird because we’re both guys or whatever.” His smile faltered, and I realized how that sounded after a moment. Mortified, I added, “I mean, it’s not like it’s weird if you’re gay. I’m gay. Like, super gay. Very into guys. And you’re cute too.” I closed my eyes, horrified. My mouth had officially taken on a life of its own, and it was intent on sabotaging me. “I’m sorry. That was weird. I can just leave, if that would be best for you. I kind of think it would be.” I looked over his head. “I’m going to leave. I’m sorry.”

  It was then that I noticed that he was just barely stifling his laughter. “Please don’t,” he said, and he just barely ran his fingers over my wrist. It sent a shudder running through my entire body. “I’d like to talk to you more. You seem cool.”

  “I think cool is a pretty generous word to use, considering what just happened,” I said, but I was grateful. “But alright. I guess I can stay for a little bit.”

  The way he looked up at me through his lashes and grinned made my heart flutter.

  I don’t remember what we talked about that night. I didn’t really know what we were talking about while we were doing it, actually; I was so struck by everything about him that other stuff just flew out of my mind. Instead, I stood and watched the way his eyes sparkled and listened to the babbling brook of his words and his laugh, the one that sounded like spring and felt like warm sunshine. I had absolutely dreaded having to stay at that party for more than five minutes, but once I started talking to him, everything else faded. We were so wrapped up that I forgot to ask him his name for a full hour, and when I finally did, he smacked himself in the forehead. “Right! Names! Most people care about those!” He stuck out a hand, goofily formal after the long conversation that we’d already had, and said, “I’m Nicky.”

  I laughed and shook his hand. “Tim.”

  “Tim.” He tilted his head to the side and squinted at me. He seemed to be committing it to memory and really struggling to make sure that he didn’t forget. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was exactly what he was doing.

  A wave of screams rose up from the center of the living room, and we turned to see Remy doing a keg stand, looking helpless and absolutely out of his depth, but still gamely playing along while his pseudo frat brothers screamed, “CHUG, CHUG, CHUG!” at him. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and I couldn’t help but feel a little glad when I caught a glance of Nicky looking beyond bored with the behavior.

  He turned back to me. “Hey, Tim, what would you say to getting out of here and taking a walk around campus?”

  I let out a sigh of relief, exhaling tension that I hadn’t even realized had been building up in my body. “Yes, please.”

  We got out of there as quickly as we could. I more or less bulldozed my way through the crowd, but Nicky simply darted around, deftly avoiding arcs of vomit and wisps of bong smoke. I was impressed. When we were finally out on the sidewalk in front of the frat house, I said, “You must come to a lot of these, huh?”

  “I do,” he admitted. “It kind of comes with the territory. A bunch of rich kids with trust funds who get to spend a few months away from their parents are pretty much the target demographic for weed.”

  I had somehow forgotten about the drugs stashed in his pocket. The mention of them made me nervous. “I’m kind of surprised you sell that stuff. You don’t really seem like the type.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No.”

  “Hm.” He thought for a second, then smiled. “That’s good, then. It means I won’t get caught.” He shot me a wink, bu
t I couldn’t bring myself to return it.

  “I just mean it seems kind of weird for someone to sell drugs without doing them themselves.”

  He shook his head. “Common misconception. Have you heard the phrase never get high on your own supply? Because it’s true. It’s a terrible idea.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I did a few things a few times. Not weed, but, like, hard drugs.” A shadow flickered almost imperceptibly over his features. “I wasn’t a fan.”

  “Really?” I asked stupidly. “Then why’d you do it?”

  He rolled his shoulders in a half-shrug that seemed less like an answer and more like a way to shake off tension. “Peer pressure,” he said with a wan smile. “I had an… ex. He liked getting me high.”

  I frowned. Something about the way he said ex struck me as wrong. “I’m sorry. That sounds shitty.”

  “It was shitty,” he confirmed. “That’s why I left. Now I sell pot and couch surf wherever I can, which is usually at college parties. Circle of life, right?”

  College parties. As in, multiple. A question that should have been more obvious finally came to me. “Wait, do you, like, go here?”

  “What do you mean?” The question sounded so innocent. If I’d known him better at the time, I would have realized that he was playing dumb to try to deflect. He just happened to be extremely good at playing dumb.

  “You said college parties. You didn’t say you stay here, at this university. Do you not go here?”

  A sly smile spread over his features. He looked equally impressed and embarrassed. “You’re smart. No wonder you got into this place.” His smile faded, and he shook his head. “No. I don’t go here. Or anywhere else.”

  “Why not?” It seemed like a stupid question to ask when I thought back on it, but at the time, it felt perfectly reasonable. Every single person I knew that was in my age group went to college, or at least some kind of trade school. I just assumed in a lot of ways that it was something my entire generation did. With loans and scholarships, it had never occurred to me that someone couldn’t afford to go to a university.

  “School was never my thing,” he said. His tone was airy, but something behind his eyes had shuttered closed. I had said something wrong, I knew that much, but I didn’t know why.

  I decided not to press it. After all, we had just met; it wasn’t my place to start digging into his personal business. “Well,” I said awkwardly, figuring there wasn’t much I could say that would lead to something worse than the energy I’d just created, “I’m glad you’re here now, at any rate.”

  His expression brightened back up, and the moonlight glinted off his canines. He reminded me of a wild, seductive vampire, but he was too sweet for the image to really stick. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

  We wandered around the university courtyard for three hours, just rambling about anything we could think of. He was usually the one doing the rambling, even from the beginning, but I was perfectly content to sit by and listen. He mostly talked about music, and I was surprised at the sheer number of instruments he was familiar with, which seemed to encompass everything from piano to electric guitar to the tambourine. “So, what kind of music do you like?” I asked after a while.

  He paused and frowned. It seemed like he’d never considered the question before. “I don’t know,” he finally said, mystified.

  I laughed, mostly out of confused discomfort. “You don’t know? You know how to play like twenty things. You must have some preferences.”

  He shrugged. “Not really. Or, well, not that I know of.” His frown deepened. “Honestly, I don’t really know what I like and what I don’t. I’m still sort of figuring that out.”

  “Ah, so you’re finding yourself?” I asked. I was half-teasing, but I was still concerned. Something about the way he was speaking was off.

  “I guess.” He nibbled at his lower lip. “I haven’t really been in a place where I was, like, allowed to have opinions.”

  “Controlling parents?”

  A sad, bitter smile flitted over his face. “You could say that.”

  We wound up back at the frat house. The lawn was littered with red solo cups and discarded bottles and the occasional pair of underwear. I could see Remy lolling out of a first floor window, apparently having passed out on his way through. I bit back a snort of laughter. “It looks like we missed the worst of it.”

  “Good.” Nicky looked around in benign interest. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s still awake, though. I was hoping I could crash here.”

  Fuck. I’d forgotten the couch-surfing part. Not only had I pulled him away from a party where he probably could have made a lot of money, I’d also kept him from having a place to sleep. “I’m sorry,” I said, the words coming out almost on reflex. “I didn’t mean to keep you out for so long.”

  He shrugged off my concern. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

  “I mean,” I said, my mouth moving before my brain could remind me that what I was about to say was insane, “you could always come stay with me.”

  He turned to look at me and blinked. His eyes scanned over me, and I could tell that he wasn’t offended, just intrigued.

  I fought the urge to rub my rapidly-sweating hands on my jeans. I wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin, but I’d never had a one-night stand before, always sticking to the three-date rule at the absolute least, and here I was inviting a stranger—a drug-dealing, confusing, immensely attractive stranger—to stay in my room. It wasn’t an inherently sexual suggestion, but as I watched him lick his lips in thought, I knew that there was no way I would be able to keep sex off my mind for long with him in my room.

  After a minute of quiet contemplation, his lips quirked into a little smile. “Thanks, but no,” he said gently.

  The rejection stung. I tried to back pedal. “I didn’t mean—”

  I was cut off by the feeling of his lips against mine.

  They were slightly chapped, but still soft, and he tasted sweet. The kiss ended almost before I could register it, and I was left staring at him in wonder. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “It’s okay if you meant it the way it sounded. I like you.”

  I blinked. “Then, uh, what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is with what I just said.” He brushed his fingertips over my cheek. “I like you.”

  And just like that, he turned away from me. His presence seemed to dim as he walked away, and it felt like a cloud had rolled over the sun. “I’ll see you around sometime, Tim,” he called over his shoulder, and he disappeared into the dark.

  At the time, I was convinced I’d never see him again.

  Seven years later, I would wonder—however briefly—if it would have been better if I hadn’t.

  Chapter Three

  Remy showed up at my place the morning after Nicky’s night terrors. I must have looked as annoyed and tired as I felt when I opened the door, because Remy took a step back. “You look like shit,” he said baldly.

  “Makes sense,” I grunted, waving him inside. “I got like two hours of sleep.”

  He gave me an understanding glance. “He having nightmares again?”

  “Yeah.” I tossed myself down on the couch. “It wasn’t just that, though. I couldn’t sleep before that, and even after I’d gotten him calmed down, I couldn’t sleep. I spent three hours going over the bill stack.”

  Remy looked over at the pile of papers I kept on the coffee table. “Yeah, that seems like relaxing bedtime reading,” he deadpanned.

  “I know. It was a terrible idea, but we’re behind on a bunch of them as it is.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Power and water are on auto-pay, but we’re behind on rent, and the internet’s due to be shut off any day now. I’ve made it a habit not to use it much just in case, but still.”

  “You shouldn’t have to train yourself not to use the internet, man,” Remy said. His face twitched in a rare show of sympathy. It wasn’t much, but for him, it was practically falling to
his knees and singing “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina.” “It’s practically a necessity at this point. You have a partner. You’re both adults. You should be able to live normally.”

  “Should has very little effect on reality,” I reminded him.

  “Can’t you call your parents?”

  I sniffed derisively. “No. The last time I talked to my mom, she basically told me that if I ever wanted to talk to her again, I would have to break up with Nicky first.”

  “So he’s ruining your finances and your relationship with your family,” Remy said. He finally sat down across from me, surveying me haughtily in the same way he looked at everything and everyone. “I never took him to be much of a multitasker, but I guess I was wrong.”

  “Rem,” I said, a hint of warning in my voice.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I get it. You love him. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever.”

  “It’s not ‘whatever.’ It’s my relationship. And yeah, I do love him, and he does the best he can.”

  Remy shook his head. “Even you don’t sound convinced of that,” he told me.

  I sighed. “How am I supposed to say it, man? I’m just tired. And I’m frustrated. But that doesn’t mean I want to pack it in and end my relationship.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “No matter how happy that would make you.”

  “It’s no skin off my ass if you decide you want to wreck your life by staying with this guy,” he said with a shrug. “But you promised to go on a run with me today, and we can’t run if you’re busy being all exhausted and melancholy.”

  “I’m not melancholy.”

  “Are you kidding me? Man, you’ve been sounding like Eeyore for the past three months.”

  I tried to shrug it off, but I knew he was right. I’d been getting more and more stressed out about money every day, and it was starting to come to a head, which was made even worse by the fact that Nicky was having too hard of a time for me to approach him with my concerns. I had started finding gray hairs, which was really unnerving considering my parents were in their late fifties and still had pitch black hair. I was starting to feel like I was going to somehow age eighty years by the end of the summer.