Page 40 of Dance of Devils

“Sleazy,” I sigh. “There was a retirement party for a private school headmaster.”

Roman makes a face. “Lemme guess, schoolgirl outfits?”

“Alllllnight.”

“Someone should probably search that motherfucker’s computer.”

I snicker as Roman beckons the bartender.

“What are you drinking?”

“Eh, I might just stick to water.”

Roman, who’s clearly already had a few, rolls his eyes. “I’m buying, Brook. What are you drinking? For real?”

He doesn’t knowallmy financial woes. But he gets that a drink out is a stretch for me.

“I’d love a Pilsner, please,” I smile at the bartender. When he slides it in front of me, I turn and clink my glass to Roman’s. “Cheers. Thanks for the drink.”

“Any time,” he grunts, downing a few huge gulps of his beer before he frowns into it.

“So…” I glance at him. “Anything in particular you wanted to chat about? Or just looking to hang?”

Roman sucks on his teeth, twirling his beer on the bar in front of him.

“That…uh…” He clears his throat. “That night we don’t talk about…”

“We cancontinuenot talking about it,” I say quietly.

Roman grimaces. “There’s…” He pauses and takes another big swig. “I don’t know if Evie told you, but Dad’s been talking about setting me up with someone.” His mouth twists as he quickly looks at me. “A girl, obviously,” he grunts.

“Yeah, obviously…”

He clears his throat again and glances at me. “That night… I mean, I was pretty fucked up…”

“Tell me about it,” I grin. “I think we’ve also established that I was too.”

He gives me a half-smile before he turns back to his beer. “There may or may not have been some…I dunno…weird shit on my phone…”

I’m going to go out on a limb and assume he means Grindr, the gay casual hookup app, that his phone was open to when he pulled it out of his soaked pocket.

“I don’t think I remember anything in particular,” I lie, shrugging.

Roman shoots me a cagey but somewhat grateful look.

“Well, this girl my dad found… I’m probably going to be marrying her.”

My brows arch. “Woah. Con…grats?”

Roman nods slowly, looking into his drink. “And…whatever you may or may not have seen that night…” He frowns and turns toward me. “I’mnotgay.”

I smile gently. “Sexuality is fluid, Roman.”

“Not with me,” he grunts firmly. “I’m straight, Brooklyn.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Iam,” he insists.