Veils of Rivalry Chapter 60

Cole's POV

Samson whistles to a tune I’ve never heard as we walk down the sidewalk. Keith and a few other lads from the team are here too. We’ve gone to a few bars, only getting into two of them with our fake IDs.

Keith is drunk because he has no idea how to stop at two shots. I think he downed a full bottle of tequila before the dude behind the bar said he wasn’t serving him any more. Samson is of age, though – he’s the one who’s been going to the bar for us.

I check my phone, feeling uneasy that I haven’t heard a word from Blaise. On social media, he’s tagged in photos in Shingles, a bar just down the street that I may or may not have tricked my group into going to.

His friend has his arm over his shoulders as he smiles for a group photograph.

It’s tagged as “Dream Team,” and it annoys me enough that I change the settings to hide any further posts from his friends. Petty, but I don’t care. He can happily sit with his friends and talk to them, but he can’t spare a second to ask me what I’m doing, or if I’m missing him?

He doesn’t even know I’m out.

When we reach the bar, I stand outside and light a cigarette, pressing my foot into the wall. Keith hovers before he checks his surroundings and lights one too.

“Why are you acting sketchy?”

“I told my new girl I’d quit smoking.”

“I thought she was out of town?”

“She is,” he replies, checking around us again between each draw. “But her folks or friends might catch me.”

I chuckle and inhale, filling my lungs with the toxic smoke while I slide my phone out again and spot a new message that has my heart accelerating.

Blaise: Your friends are here.

Well, well, well. He remembers I exist. I put the smoke between my lips and type out a reply, but then I pause. It hasn’t even been a full minute since the message has been received. Will I look desperate if I reply right away?

Tucking my phone back in, I listen to Keith talking about his new girlfriend, and how his parents nearly kicked his ass for the broken window. I offered to pay a few days ago, but he refused and said it was his fault since he was the one who made up the game in the house and locked everyone in. He didn’t know Jackson had a gun, or that he was fucking Allie.

Not that I care. Allie has become nothing but a faint memory in my mind. The ex who cheated constantly, who never made me happy, and the more I think about her, I hated the bitch for the way she thought she could manipulate me on a daily basis.

Imagine I actually liked her?

Keith follows me inside, and I try not to hunt the place for Blaise. I know he’s sitting at a booth, right in front of the dancefloor, to the left of the bar. There’s an Elvis poster above his head, and he’s beside that moron.

I reach the bar, and Samson orders us all drinks while one of the guys finds us our own booth. The music isn’t too loud, so I can hear Tiago talking. I follow the voice, and my gaze clashes with a green one, staring at me from the other side of the bar.

Blaise and his friends must have fakes too as they order more booze, but he’s staring at me while his lips move, talking to the waitress.

For a long moment, I’m trapped here. It’s like I’m entering a subspace without the push. He’s watching me, hunger in his eyes, possessive, and I have the urge to grab him by the throat, pin him to the bar, and claim him in front of everyone.

To make sure everyone here knows he’s fucking mine.

Someone shoulders me. “Hey, man. Stop growling at your little bro and come sit down.”

My annoyance is short-lived when Keith is summoned by one of Blaise’s friends – they’re in the same study group, if I remember correctly. They invite us to sit with them, and as we close in, Blaise walks toward his booth from the opposite direction. The closer our proximity gets, my heart races powerfully. It’s stupid, getting all wound up because he’s close to me. Closer. Closer. Fucking closer.

He slips into the booth when I reach it, and his friend drops in beside him, but I place my beer on the table and jut my chin to the side. “Move.”

Blaise goes ramrod beside him. His friend narrows his eyes. “Me?”

I tilt my head. “I’m looking at you. Move.”

Finding his words through a chortle and a disdained look, he looks flabbergasted. “Excuse me?”

“Just fucking move.”

My friends are silent, probably wondering what the fuck is going on.

Hesitantly, he takes his cocktail and slides out, giving me a strange look while I take his place. My thigh presses to Blaise’s, and my blood thrums hot in my veins. There’s adrenaline fucking pumping so fast that I can hear it roaring in my ears. My eye twitches, and I pause when I feel Blaise’s lips against my ear. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head and take a drink, gulping down half the bottle. I have no idea what’s wrong with me. Everyone’s just sitting around, chatting shit, bobbing their heads to music or flirting, and I’m hitting a rager.

“Cole,” he whispers, secretly grabbing my thigh under the table – no one can see, because I’m his little secret. He doesn’t want anyone to know about us, or he would have smiled when he saw me, kissed me, or some other romantic shit.

I hold my breath at the pain in my chest. It burns. Everything burns, especially when I down another five gulps of my beer and finish the bottle.

“Jackson called any of you?” Samson asks, and it catches my attention enough that I can fill my lungs. “The asshole has been extra quiet lately. Ever since that mess at your place.”

Keith shrugs. “I told him to pay for damages. The dickhead smashed the house up and left cum on my dining table, not to mention all the shit he did to Blaise.” He looks at him. “I’m sorry, man. That wasn’t the plan. We just wanted us all to hang out. We thought you’d bring your friends too.”

“He didn’t even ask us!” one says. “He’s been too busy with Mia to know we exist the last few weeks.”

My eyes snap to him. “They don’t know you broke up with her?”

“You what?” all of his friends retort at the same time.

Blaise shrugs and takes a drink of beer. “It’s not a huge thing.”

“Mia and Blaise, set to be the epic lovers. You seriously want us to believe that’s it?”

My eye twitches again, and I grit my teeth and look down at Blaise’s hand still on my thigh. He’s squeezing it so hard, trying to get my attention, but I fist my hands instead and pretend I’m not losing it while they talk about how good they were together.

“What about you and Allie?” Samson asks me. “You two done?”

“Yeah,” I reply sternly, trying to stay calm.

“What happened there? You finally accepted she was a cheat and saw you deserved better?”

I shake my head, and the words slip out without needing to think. “I broke up with her because I’m not into girls.”

They all stop and stare at me.

Why are they acting like it’s a big thing?

“Is there an issue with me being gay?”

They all shake their heads, and Samson grins like the Cheshire Cat before toasting. “To Cole leaving the closet!”

For some reason, I smile, chuckling at how happy he is. Something settles within me, and instead of taking Blaise’s hand under the table, I throw it over the back of him, resting it on the booth. The position presses me up against him, and I watch them all connect the dots.

Blaise is still as a statue, except his breathing has become heavy and forced through his nostrils. His fingers press into my thigh more, and I can feel myself growing excited at his anxiety.

“You two?” Blaise’s friend says. “You two are…together?”

Blaise grabs his beer and downs it. “Is that a problem?”

“Wow,” Keith blurts. “I didn’t see that coming. Not gonna lie. Wow. Aren’t you, like, underage?” he says to Blaise.

I frown. “He’s just about to turn nineteen, you asshole. I’m twenty.”

Samson is grinning. “Your parents are gonna lose their shit.”

Blaise stiffens beside me, but I drop my arm over his shoulder and squeeze it, pressing my thigh up against his. I’m claiming him, officially. Everyone here now knows that I own him, and he owns me. Why does that make me feel so giddy?

I order another beer, and two hours later, we’re all laughing at Tiago dancing on the table as others around us cheer him on. Keith is on the phone, the other guys are either flirting with someone or drunk and dancing, and Blaise and I are still sitting in the booth.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers in my ear. “I want to be alone with you.”

Fuck. His words make my balls tingle, and I turn to him and grin. “Getting all desperate?”

“If I say yes, can we leave?”

“One more drink,” I say, my nose bumping off his, in public, where everyone can see. His eyes flicker down to my mouth, and I close the distance, kissing him softly, briefly enough to drive him insane, before I yank myself away and hop over the back of the booth to get us more drinks.