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I wedge myself between his hip and the sweeper’s, and Rowan’s arm swings around my shoulders. I turn my head and blink curiously at him, wondering what he’s up to. All my pride turns to fear that Rowan is high already and about to do something careless. But when his gaze meets mine, he just smirks and says, “Sorry for ditching you. Thought you were behind me, but then you were gone.”

“It’s all good.”

His head cranks back over the top of the sofa as Rebecca’s manicured nails rake across his scalp. Fear circles right back around to jealousy when I watch Rowan’s eyes flutter shut and a moan ripple from his throat. “That feels so good,” he murmurs while shifting his ass to lounge deeper on the sofa. His shirt is long enough that I can’t tell if he’s popping a woody, but it sure looks like he’s enjoying himself.

Before I can do something careless myself, I stand up and leave for the stairs. Rowan doesn’t follow. Doesn’t even call after me. I’m so concerned with not losing him, I wonder if he’d even care if he lost me.

I come out of the stairwell into a frenzy of body heat and a nauseating bass note rattling my skull. Shouldering through the crowd, my heart aches so bad I could cry.Get a grip, Tommy.He’s not even mine. Not really. We’re something, but what? Whatever Rowan wants us to be… Because that was the deal I offered up on a silver platter out of my desperate, gay as fuck longing.

The back deck offers fresh air, but it also proves I was right about what Connor was going to get up to with Thalia out here. He’s got her pressed up against the railing, her skirt hiked up and her knee glued to his hip.

They’re what Lese wished we could’ve been. She wanted to be my arm candy at these shitty gatherings and revel in being dry humped in front of everyone. Seems like a fun way to live life, if only I could do it with someone I actually want to be with.

I leave the deck and wander into the backyard. The vibe is calmer out here. The music isn’t so loud, and people are chatting at normal volume. A few pairs are making out by a firepit, but everything is dim enough that it’s easy to ignore.

Like a loser, I spend this time Googling stupid shit on my phone.

‘Am I gay?’

I tap on a quiz, and it asks me all sorts of damning questions. Questions about my sexual preferences, my romantic preferences, my friendship preferences, and what sort of life I want for myself in the future. I want Rowan, but do I want a boyfriend? Do I want a husband?

Do I?

The results come up:It is possible you’re gay, but your identity is something only you can determine.

Well, fuck.

When my head is clear enough to accept that even if I’m one day the husband of a husband, he won’t be Rowan, I head inside to let him know I’m going to order an Uber and split. I make it halfway between the back door and front door when my ear buzzes with the sound of Rowan’s voice cutting through the music, shouting my name.

I turn toward the sound, and he’s in front of the dining table, recoiling away from a girl who looks a hell of a lot like my ex.

His eyes connect with mine, and he shouts, “Can you come tell your girlfriend to get off my dick?!”

I want to roll my eyes, but all my jealousy and anxiety comes rushing back to flood my head with a fog of anger, and I end up shooting Lese a mean glare.

“Tommy?” She jumps in surprise, looking me up and down like I’m a ghost come to haunt her or something. “N-no. Tommy, I wasn’t—”

I turn on my heel and march toward the front door.

“Tom!” Thin fingers grip my arm and tug me back with such little force I could walk right out of it if I wanted to, but I suddenly have something to say.

Switching around, I tell her, “Fuck with whoever you want, Lese! I don’t care! You don’t mean anything to me anymore!”

As soon as I let the words out, I feel like an asshole. Even if she was a cheater, I’m just as big a liar. Her big brown eyes well with tears, but no matter how bad I feel, I don’t have it in me to apologize. Not now.

I turn back around, but instead of going for the door, I walk into the raucous cluster between the living room sofas, shouldering my way to where Eve is Stevie Nicks dancing. As soon as she’s within reaching distance, I circle my arm around her waist and bring her against me. I hear her squeak my name before I press my mouth to hers, then her arms swing around my neck to keep me captive in my decision.

Her mouth tastes like alcohol and chalky lipstick, and her kisses are sloppy. Not sloppy the way Rowan’s are, passionate and purposeful. Just…sloppy. Somehow too needy and too gentle all at once, and she hangs onto my neck like she’s waiting for me to pick her up and take her to a bedroom. I’d rather die.

Self-loathing sets in too late to undo anything, and when I finally squirm away from Eve, Rowan is staring at me from the mouth of the dining room in his stoic way where I can’t tell if he’s studying me or judging me. I open my mouth like I’ve gotsomething to say, but even if he could hear me over the music, my mind is mincemeat.

While Eve paws at me to kiss her more, Rowan breaks our shared stare to do what I was planning on—marching out the door.

“Tommy!” Eve whines.

Once I shrug her off, I race after Rowan. I shout his name as I jump down the front stoop. I shout it again as I chase him down the sidewalk in the direction his car is parked. It isn’t until Rowan is beside the Legacy that he turns to face me. A deep set frown and an anger line between his brows replaces his stoicism.

“What do you want?”