Page 34 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

Ronan had been at the party for eleven minutes when he realized bringing Elliot had been a mistake. Not because Elliot was uncomfortable. That would have been easier. Elliot was never uncomfortable anywhere. He stood near the center of Dylan Price's living room with a red plastic cup in one hand and six people gathered around him as though he'd been invited specifically to hold court. Ronan recognized two of them from Bellweather. The others might as well have been strangers. It didn't matter. Elliot had apparently known them for years by the way they laughed when he spoke, interrupted one another to tell him stories, and kept finding reasons to touch his shoulder. Ronan leaned against the kitchen doorway and watched.

Elliot wore black jeans and a cream-colored sweater pushed carelessly to his elbows. His hair was styled just enough to look like it wasn't. The soft light from a floor lamp caught the warmer blond strands near the front whenever he turned his head, and every few seconds that stupid fucking smile appeared. Open. Easy. Sweet. Ronan knew better. One of the girls beside Elliot said something. Elliot laughed. She touched his forearm. Ronan's jaw tightened.

“Interesting.”

Ronan looked sideways. Dylan stood beside him holding two beers.

“What?”

Dylan offered him one. Ronan took it.

“You've been staring at your brother for like five minutes.”

“Stepbrother.”

Dylan twisted the cap from his bottle.

“Important distinction?”

“Yes.”

Dylan glanced toward Elliot. Ronan immediately regretted answering.

“Didn't realize you two were close.”

“We live together.”

“That wasn't what I said.”

Ronan drank. Dylan smiled. Ronan had met Dylan Price the previous spring through a friend from the architecture program. He was twenty-three, finishing a business degree at Bellweather, and possessed the particular kind of confidence that came from having spent his entire life being attractive enough that strangers forgave him quickly. He was easy to like. That had been the problem. Months ago, before Ronan had finally stopped pretending the thing between him and Elliot wasn't going to happen, Dylan had been uncomplicated. One night. No expectations. No promises. Nothing worth remembering beyond the fact that it had happened. Elliot had somehow transformed that irrelevant night into a personal insult.

“Don't,” Ronan said.

Dylan laughed.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say he seems cool.”

“He is.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I'm not.”

“Protective?”

Ronan looked at him. Dylan raised both hands.

“Jesus.”

“Leave him alone.”

“I haven't touched him.”

“Keep it that way.”