Level Hands: Bend or Break, Book 4

by Amy Jo Cousins

  That afternoon, he tried to study, but spent most of his time surfing the Internet on his laptop in the lounge, where he’d gone to get away from the stink of Austin’s latest project and the Call of Duty marathon he and Bob were having in their common room while some stage of the painting dried. A guy from their floor was halfway to napping on the couch across from Rafi, an ordinary-looking white dude with a sharp nose and a small mouth. Rafi was pretty sure he’d seen both men and women coming out of the guy’s room at all hours and had halfway decided he was either bi or dealing drugs. He was caught off guard when the guy sat up, stretched and asked him what he was studying so intensely.

  “I was talking to someone about this Truvada drug, but I still have all these questions about it. I can’t figure out whether or not it’s really safe.” He’d made a list of questions he still had in preparation for the next chance he could come up with to ask Denny about them. The whole idea of this experimental-sounding treatment was bothering Rafi still.

  “Who do you know who’s on PrEP?” the guy asked casually, uncapping his soda and draining it in seconds.

  Talk about bone density loss. Those phosphates will suck the calcium out of your bones way faster than this drug.

  Civilians, and the crap they put in their bodies.

  He answered without thinking. “Denny.” And knew immediately that he should have kept his mouth shut. Denny had shared his story with Rafi when it had been just the two of them in a dark, deserted backyard. The fact that he was taking this drug had never come up in any other situation.

  “You mean he’s a Truvada whore?” His floormate’s laugh was brutal. Rafi didn’t know what the guy meant by Truvada whore, but it didn’t take a genius to make a guess. A surge of anger fired through him. “Who’d have thunk it? I’m intrigued.”

  “Don’t be,” he growled, surprising himself with the sudden, plunging depths of his possessiveness. Although it probably shouldn’t have been a surprise after last night. He wanted to end the conversation, end this guy, right now, with a ferocity that made him hide his balled-up fists in his lap. But first he had to know. “What does that even mean?”

  “Truvada whore? You know, guys who are on the drug so they can P-and-P. There was a whole article about it in the Banner last week.” The campus paper was pretty cutting edge for journalism students.

  Shit. That one he knew. Party-and-play. Slang for taking drugs and fucking your brains out. “He doesn’t do that.”

  “Sure he doesn’t.” The guy smirked. “He doesn’t have a poz boyfriend, right? So what other reason is there to take it?”

  And Rafi wanted to say it. Wanted to spit it in his stupid face—I’m his boyfriend, asshole—preferably with an intimidating surge to his feet, because what good was being the big, scary black guy if you couldn’t use it when someone was crapping on your boyfriend?

  But it wasn’t true.

  God, I’m such a fucking moron.

  He’d made this big deal about not wanting anything with Denny. About it being wrong for all of the dumbest reasons in the world—that he needed to find his own way, that he didn’t want to tie himself down to the only person he really knew on campus just because he was lonely, that he was older and Denny was the young guy still figuring out what he wanted out of a boyfriend, out of life.

  That last one was such a fucking joke it almost made him laugh out loud. Jesus. If anyone was the grown-up between the two of them, it was Denny.

  But if he couldn’t claim to be Denny’s boyfriend, that didn’t mean he couldn’t scare the shit out of this dude.

  “I’m telling you,” he said, voice rumbling low in his chest as he stood up and loomed over the guy on the couch. The backward arch to his brand-new frenemy’s spine was gratifying, as the guy tried not to go face-to-face with him. “He. Doesn’t. Do. That. And if I hear a rumor that he does, I’m gonna know you started it. And you know what I’m gonna do, right, playboy?”

  Rafi didn’t even know what he meant himself. But the possibilities were scary enough to have the guy dropping his pop bottle, and then scuttling to the side to retrieve it from the floor.

  “Hey, I didn’t say anything, man. I mean, I won’t.”

  “Better not.” And with that stellar parting shot, he stomped out of the room, pissed as hell, mostly at himself.

  Shit. Talk about a dumbass move.

  Except he knew it was more than that. Knew, too, exactly what he had to do next.

  “I think I did something stupid.” Denny didn’t look up from his textbook when Rafi found him in his room, door open, after texting to ask where he was studying. “I mean, I know it was stupid. And I owe you an apology.”

  When Denny did lift his head, he looked startled. Rafi wondered what kind of expression was on his face. He’d damn near chewed his lip off on the way over here, nerves churning in his stomach.

  “What’s up?” Denny closed his book and sat up straight on his bed.

  He had Denny’s attention now. Shit. But Rafi lost his train of thought at the sight of Denny, shirtless and wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, scratching at the dark gold hair on his stomach. Now that he’d seen Denny naked—really seen him, like, stared at his body until he’d memorized it—a partially clothed Denny just inspired his brain to fill in the blanks. Shit twice. He closed the door.

  “I was researching Truvada.” He looked down at the floor, embarrassed to admit how hung up he was on the subject. Rafi didn’t know why it bothered him so much, but it did. It was as if he needed constant reassurance Denny wasn’t sick, wasn’t going to get sick, wasn’t doing anything, with anyone, that might lead to him getting sick.

  Thank God Denny was generally a healthy guy. If he caught a cold or even started sneezing a lot, Rafi would probably end up hounding his ass until he went to the campus health center.

  Rafi tried to explain, feeling defensive because he knew Denny was probably regretting ever having told him. “I’m just trying to get my head around it. And I was in the lounge—because Bob and Austin are having this Call of Duty marathon to the death—and this other guy from my floor asked me what I was reading. I just answered. I didn’t think. I…I said I knew someone on it.” This part was the worst. “You.”

  Denny closed his eyes for a moment. “What guy?” Definitely the most important detail for Denny.

  Rafi didn’t know his name, so he described the rat-faced look of him, and did a good enough job that Denny recognized the description.

  Denny scrunched up his face. Not his favorite person apparently. “Ugh. Kind of an asshole. I was hoping it was someone who wouldn’t be a dick about it.”

  “Um, yeah.” Rafi knew he’d fucked up. He hung his head, having a hard time meeting Denny’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean, you didn’t say, but I know I should have kept that to myself.”

  Denny sighed. “Yeah, talking about someone’s private medical information is generally not a good idea.”

  “I know. I feel like shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything about it.”

  Denny pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets. “Fuck.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I heard you the first three times,” Denny snapped and scrubbed at his eyes, then sighed. “I’m just trying to figure out how bad this is likely to get.”

  Rafi was a bug. A worm. A cockroach. Something that ought to be squashed on sight. “Bad, do you think?”

  Slumping against the wall, Denny shrugged. “A month or two of crappy gossip. Some shit from a couple guys who act like they’re your friend but mostly like bitching about each other. Nothing too awful.”

  “Thank God.” Relief oozed from Rafi’s voice. Denny glared at him. “I mean, that sucks, but it doesn’t sound too terrible.”

  “Unless it gets around to the team,” Denny said flatly.

  Fuck.

 
That could be an actual problem. Rafi had already seen the casual homophobia of some of their teammates. Boomer still gave him shit on the regular, although he was smart enough to try and make it about Rafi’s 2ks. But since Rafi’s times had been dropping far enough to make him a real threat at taking one of the varsity boat seats sometime this year, and Boomer was clinging on to the bottom rungs of the varsity ladder with two fingers and a prayer, Boomer had been getting a little more direct with his insults lately.

  Rafi was honestly surprised there hadn’t been more blowback from the team about his place on it. Between the gay and the black and the scholarship… Not everybody at Carlisle was rich. Some of the guys on the team could use scholarship money. And even at a bastion of East Coast liberal education, he was going to run into assholes, although less so here than at most other schools.

  Still, there was only so much a team of mostly straight jocks was going to handle with grace. Maybe he was underestimating them, but he didn’t think the word whore was going to go over well, and that was before someone explained to them where the slang term came from… Fuck. He struggled to push down the anger.

  “Okay.” Denny took a deep breath. “There’s nothing that can be done about it now. I’ll just…deal.”

  “I told him to keep his fucking mouth shut,” Rafi muttered, pressing his lips tightly together. “I’ll fuck him up if he starts talking shit about you.”

  “Don’t,” Denny snapped, voice tightening like a sudden freeze had crystallized it in his throat. “I don’t need you protecting me.”

  “You do. But I’m not. I mean, it wasn’t like that.” Rafi cracked his knuckles and Denny flinched. “I’m the one who fucked up. I’ll fix it.”

  He knew he was crossing lines again, acting like an outraged boyfriend. Rafi rubbed his forehead. Something had shifted in his bones, like a weight that left him off balance and limping. He opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t know what it was, so he stayed quiet. Denny was still arguing with him.

  “I don’t need you running around campus like an outraged daddy.”

  Rafi barked a laugh. A phrase from one of the orientation-week sessions floated through his brain. “So not my kink.”

  “Wha— Jesus.” Denny blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant like, my dad.” Now Rafi was blushing too, and hard enough it might even be visible. His face felt like it was on fire. God, this was getting worse. “Not that I think you’re like my dad.”

  “Less money, more melanin?” He’d surprised a grin out of Denny at least.

  “Shut up. You know what I mean.” Denny’s ears were pink now.

  Rafi cleared his throat. Time to fix this. “And you know I don’t think you need me to be, um, parental, right?” Because that wasn’t at all the way he felt about Denny either.

  “I’m not even sure what you just said, but no. I don’t need you to be parental. Or think that you think I need you to be…oh, fuck it.” Denny stood up and stripped off his shorts. Rafi ignored the way his own gaze plunged to Denny’s groin. His stomach tightened, muscles flexing until it felt like his skin might crack. “I’m gonna go for a run. My head isn’t gonna be in the game for this shit now.” Denny snapped a wave at his textbook and laptop. “You coming?”

  “I’m not really dressed…” But the look on Denny’s face said I want you to and there wasn’t much Rafi wouldn’t do to make up for his own dick move.

  “You can borrow my stuff if you want. It should fit. Bottom drawer.” Denny pulled on a pair of shorts and headed to his closet, rummaging through his jumble of shoes.

  Pulling open Denny’s dresser drawer and picking through his clothes felt weirdly intimate. Especially when Rafi realized he was avoiding certain shirts and shorts because he knew they were Denny’s favorites, looking for items he wouldn’t miss. It was strange to realize how well he knew him.

  Borrowed clothes on the dresser top in front of him, Rafi started to change. The sound of his jeans coming off was way too audible in the quiet room, Rafi’s pulse thumping so loudly it felt as if Denny must be able to hear it. Denny was facing into his closet as he shoved his feet into his shoes, obviously taking as long as possible before he turned around.

  He pulled off his shirt, hyperconscious of standing in Denny’s room mostly naked. As in Rafi’s room, there was a mirror over the dresser. He stared at himself. This was what Denny would see if he turned around right now. His chest was smooth, almost hairless. He wondered if Denny liked that. His muscles were well-defined, his nipples dark.

  A thunk startled him into motion. He grabbed the T-shirt and tugged it on. Denny stood with his head tipped against the closet door.

  “Ow.”

  “You okay?” He pulled the shorts up in a hurry.

  “You dressed?”

  “What?”

  “The whole point of me hiding in the closet was to avoid having to run with a hard-on, so just let me know when it’s safe to, you know, turn around.”

  Ouch.

  “Oh. Um, it’s safe.”

  Denny turned around. And sighed like a sad little balloon with a leak in it when he looked at Rafi, who was feeling self-conscious with Denny’s slightly smaller T-shirt tight across his chest.

  “Goddamn it.” Denny frowned at him.

  Shit. Had he picked Denny’s favorite or something? He’d chosen an old Carlisle T-shirt he was pretty sure he’d never seen Denny wear. “What?”

  “Do you have any idea how many hours I spent at the gym after I got home from Chicago, trying to bulk up to look like you?” Denny flexed one of his arms and Rafi’s eyes locked on the bulging muscle. Pulling his own sweatshirt back on sucked, because he had to close his eyes. “I got close, but you’re still more cut than me, you bastard.”

  “Sorry?”

  Denny sighed, grabbing his own hoodie. “And after we’re done, you’re going back to your own room to change. You can give me those back whenever.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t get it, but Denny was frowning again.

  “You naked in my room twice in one day is not a temptation I’m prepared to deal with.”

  Rafi stared at the ceiling and the floor and any damn place except Denny’s face. All he could think was that Denny had sure as shit seen him up close and naked the night before. “Shut up.”

  As if he knew it flustered Rafi—as if he liked that it flustered him—Denny kept needling him. “Not like it’s any big secret. I’ve made a fucking fool of myself over you, what, three times now?”

  “No, you haven’t. Not a fool.” Rafi was the fool, and the longer Denny spoke, making fun of himself, the worse Rafi felt. Because Denny definitely needed to know this thing that Rafi had only just realized, when that asshole who lived on his floor had started trash-talking Denny and Rafi had wanted to kill him.

  “Oh, please. I blew you at a party. You make my dick hard and we both know it.” Denny was leaning against the closet door now, his hands behind him, which thrust his hips forward.

  Shit. Just hearing those words out loud right now was making Rafi’s dick, which had been expressing interest ever since Denny turned around and started devouring him with his eyes, wake up and join the party. He didn’t know if it was the adrenaline of the anxiety attack he was ignoring about the potential gossip, or the thrill of knowing he was about to say shit out loud that he normally kept in his own head, but suddenly Rafi just didn’t care anymore.

  “If you’re gonna cockblock me at parties, we can just deal with that right out in the open,” Denny insisted. Boy was on a roll now. “And if you don’t like it—”

  “I like it.”

  For a second, he wasn’t sure Denny had even heard him. The way the other man’s voice trailed off, the narrowing of his eyes, cleared that up. Denny opened his mouth, but Rafi had a question he needed to ask first. “If I, um, cockblocked you, does that mean you didn’t…?”

>   Denny squared up, standing with his hands on his hips. “You understand there’s no scenario in which that is any of your business, right?”

  He nodded. That was the problem. “What if I wanted to make it my business?”

  “I’m gonna need you to be pretty fucking clear here about what you’re saying.” Denny’s gaze was steady. “I’m not up for being wrong about this again.”

  Rafi shifted his weight. Fuck, this was hard. “What if I wanted to, you know, date?” He bit his lip. Was that clear? Better to make sure. “You.”

  The pause that followed was Grand Canyon-esque.

  “You wanna be my boyfriend, Rafi?” Denny’s voice was skeptical.

  He swallowed. “Pretty sure. Yeah.”

  “Pretty sure?” Denny’s eyebrows and his voice both rose. “I swear to God, if you’re jerking me around right now, I will fucking kill you. You understand? Death. Dismemberment. Dismemberment before death, even.”

  “I’m not jerking you around.” Rafi didn’t mean for his voice to be so soft, but that was how honesty was working for him right now. “I’m not actually ready, you know? I still feel like I’m all…messy. But I can’t keep doing this.”

  “You can’t.” Denny said it like a statement, but Rafi knew it was a question.

  “Watching you with that guy last night almost killed me. I’ve never been jealous before like that. Like I couldn’t stand it. And then you… So, if I have to do it now… Shit.” This wasn’t coming out right at all. Like being with Denny was some kind of hardship he’d suffer through, when Rafi knew it was the thing he’d had to stop himself from running after all this time. “I want you more than I ever wanted anything, that’s all.”

  Denny stared at him, then let out a groan that made Rafi take a step back. “You. Make. Me. Crazy, Rafael Castro. You make my dick hard, and my head stupid.” He shook his head and then glared at Rafi, but in a cute way. Rafi tucked his lips between his teeth and tried not to smile. “Fine. I can do it.”