All Hail the Underdogs (Breakaway, #3)

by E.L. Massey

Rome doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it exposes his crowded upper teeth. His canines slightly overlap the incisors next to them on either side of his mouth, which makes him look a little bit wild. Like a predator, maybe.

He goes to sleep more comfortable than he’s ever been in his life, trying not to think about how the quilt around his shoulders smells like Damien Raphael Bordeaux. And he likes it.

“I cannot believe,” Olly says faintly, handing Kaner back her mug, “that this is going to be my legacy. And it’s not even true. My dick is average. Maybe even below average. Which was something I wasn’t even worried about until now that the entire school apparently thinks I have some sort of monster cock. Oh my god.”

“Right,” Rome snarled, “but sometimes violence is the question, and the answer is yes.” “That was almost poetic,” Damien said, his hand still wrapped, restraining, around Rome’s elbow. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m serious,” he says. “Give it to me. You’re not drinking anymore.” “Why not?” “Because the smell of scotch is tied to every single memory I have of my dad beating the shit out of me. So give it to me and take the fucking water, or I’m going right back to the train station.”

sometimes i feel like i am out of season a pale and tasteless imitation of myself i am too much i am not enough i am tired but in the gray post-night when I am sleepless and left only with my thoughts my thoughts my thoughts at least sometimes now they are of you.

Rome isn’t embarrassed by Damien though. If anything, he’s already feeling defensive of him. Because his family might make the same assumptions about Damien that Rome did initially, and he doesn’t want that. Yes, Damien is rich and beautiful, but Rome knows now that those are the least noteworthy things about him.

“So, what,” Uncle Bruce says. “You’re hoping the two of you might just accidentally fall into a relationship without ever having to talk about it?” Rome winces.

“So,” Damien says because it’s more than time for a subject change. “I’ve noticed we’ve started holding hands.” “No,” Rome says. Damien glances at their fingers, linked together and resting on the center console. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” “We’re not talking about it,” Rome says. “I mean. We are. Kind of. Right now. And we probably should.” “No talking,” Rome says. “If you’re holding my hand, you’re not allowed to talk about holding my hand.” That’s an easy choice to make. They lapse into silence for the rest of the drive.

Patrick Roman’s fifth crush is Damien Raphael Bordeaux, and the word “crush” feels woefully inadequate. Damien has stupidly pretty brown eyes, a deep laugh, and a one-dimpled smile. He likes plants and poetry and Rome, apparently. He is strong and gentle, infuriating but kind, and words do not suit the things that Rome feels about him.

“Fuck you,” he says, completely devoid of heat. “I can’t—I don’t know what to do when you’re being like this.” “‘Being like this.’” Damien’s mouth curves up a little on one side. He kisses Rome’s chin again. “Being nice? I’m always nice to you. Or recently, anyway.”

“The point is that we love you,” Olly says. “You. Period. And that’s not just Damien. That’s all of us.” “Oh.” “And maybe Damien loves you a little different from the rest of us,” Olly muses, raising his eyebrows pointedly, “but that’s none of my business.”

“You must be Finley’s big brother. I can see the family resemblance.” Rome seems to have some emotions about that sentence. “Hi,” he manages. “Rome.” “Pardon?” “Oh.” Rome clears his throat. “My name. I go by Rome. This is my…Damien.” Damien maybe has some emotions about the way Rome carefully says his name.

The Rome he’s dating returns from the cold section with an arm full of drinks and says, “Afternoon, sir. I know my boyfriend looks like a real suspicious character in his floral shirt and velvet scrunchie, but he’s got an Amex black card in his wallet and a Land Rover parked outside—a gift from his loving parents. I have six dollars and a borrowed bike. My parents are both in prison. So if you’re going to follow someone around your fine establishment, it should probably be me.”

So, I think I do. Love you. Because you’re…good things.” He scrubs his fingers over his face, making an annoyed noise. “I’m good things?” Damien “The best,” Rome mutters. Damien tries to stifle a grin. “Shut the fuck up,” Rome says. “I’m trying.” “I know. I see that.”

To Do, it reads. Damien Raphael Bordeaux. “I will choke you,” Rome says. “Not one of my kinks, but thanks for asking.”

“Did you make a sex playlist?” Rome’s face flushes hot. “I was trying to be romantic, asshole. I can turn it off.” “Don’t you dare,” Damien says. “Great. Take off your fucking pants.”

Maybe there are people who are made of the same sort of dust. People who used to be part of the same star that’s trying to find its way back together again.

“Okay,” Rome says. “So we’ll talk about it.” “Okay,” Damien agrees. “Also,” Rome says. “Would you stop trying to marry me?” “No,” Damien says, kissing the shell of his ear. “No, I will not.”