Page 35 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

Dylan stared at him for half a second. Then his smile widened.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Dylan.”

“Nothing.”

Ronan took another drink. Across the room, Elliot looked directly at him. The timing was too perfect. Ronan wondered how long he'd been watching. Elliot's smile remained while someone beside him continued talking. His eyes didn't. They moved first to Ronan. Then Dylan. Then the beer Dylan had handed him. Back to Dylan. Ronan almost laughed. There he is. Elliot looked away. “You see that?” Dylan asked. “No.” “You're a terrible liar.” “So I've been told.” Dylan bumped his shoulder against Ronan's. Ronan stepped away immediately. “Seriously?” “What?” “You're doing that on purpose.” “Doing what?” Ronan looked toward Elliot. He was still talking to his friends. Too casually. “Yes,” Ronan said. “You are.” Dylan followed his gaze. Something clicked. “Oh.” Ronan turned. “Don't.” Dylan's eyebrows rose. “Oh.” “Shut the fuck up.” “Wait.” “Dylan.” “Is that why you haven't answered my texts?” Ronan's stomach tightened. “Keep your voice down.” Dylan stared at him. The amusement slowly disappeared. “No fucking way.” “Nothing is happening.” “Sure.” “I'm serious.” “You just threatened me for touching his arm.” “I didn't threaten you.” “You basically did.” Ronan stepped closer. “Drop it.” Dylan studied his face. For once, he listened. “Fine.” Ronan exhaled. Then Dylan looked toward Elliot again. “Does he know about us?” Ronan closed his eyes briefly. “Unfortunately.” Dylan laughed.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I said drop it.”

“I am.”

“You're laughing.”

“I can't help that.”

Ronan drank again.

“Asshole.”

“Sorry.”

He wasn't. Ronan knew him well enough to recognize that. The music changed. Something bass-heavy shook the glasses sitting on a shelf near the doorway. More people entered through the front door. The house was already too crowded. Ronan hated parties like this. He hadn't always. At twenty-one, he'd spent entire weekends moving between apartments, bars, and whatever house somebody had volunteered to destroy. At twenty-four, standing in a living room that smelled like beer, perfume, and somebody's aggressively sweet vape while strangers screamed conversations over music suddenly felt exhausting. Elliot loved it. Or appeared to. Ronan wasn't entirely convinced Elliot loved parties as much as he loved people loving him at parties. There was a difference. His phone vibrated.

A message from Elliot. Ronan looked across the room. Elliot wasn't holding his phone. Interesting. He opened it.

ELLIOT: stop flirting with him

Ronan looked up. Elliot was listening attentively to a brunette explain something with elaborate hand gestures. Ronan typed.

RONAN: I'm standing here.

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

ELLIOT: flirtier than necessary

Ronan bit back a smile.

RONAN: jealous?

Elliot finally glanced toward him. His phone remained hidden somewhere. A second later:

ELLIOT: no

Ronan laughed aloud. Dylan looked over.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Your boyfriend?”