Page 37 of Dirty Hit
Dominic:That’s not what I asked.
I stare at the screen, jaw tight. Again, I could stop. I could slip my phone back into my pocket and pretend this conversation never started, but instead I take a quick picture of the cuff and send it to him.
He takes a little longer this time.
Dominic:Good boy.
Two stupid words, and my entire nervous system reacts like he’s in the room with me again. I press the heel of my palm into my eyes until little bursts of color flash behind my lids.
I know all the verses. I could recite them:man shall not lie with man, bodies are temples, flee from sexual immorality… whatever that umbrella term covers.
I’ve heard every sermon about “same-sex attraction,” every story about people who prayed hard enough, and repented deep enough, and came out the other side “healed.” Whatever that means.
I’ve nodded along. I’ve told myself my own impulses are just tests—just thorns in the flesh, just temptation to be resisted.
None of that theology covered Dominic Volkov.
None of it gave me instructions for when temptation has a name, a face, and hands that know exactly where to go. No one told me what to do if the person you’re supposed to run fromis the only one who makes you feel like you’re not sleepwalking through your life.
Me:Don’t call me that.
Dominic:Then stop acting like one every time I tell you what to do.
Dominic:Office hours when?
The world narrows to the tiny glowing screen in my hand and the band of leather around my wrist. I jam the phone back in my pocket before I type something worse, and head for the stairs, heart pounding.
By the time I make it to my office, my shoulders ache from how hard I’ve been holding myself up. The small nameplate next to my door looks normal: Brendon Lane, Teaching Assistant.
I unlock the door, step inside, and shut it with more force than necessary, dropping my bag by the desk.
The room is quiet—just me, my desk, two chairs, and the bookshelf, with its crooked spine of casebooks. No Dominic leaning in the doorway. No hand on my throat. Just four beige walls and the faint hum of the building.
I let out a breath and sink into my chair. My phone buzzes again, rattling against the keys in my pocket, but I ignore it for the moment. For the first time today, I let myself sit still and not perform for anyone.
It takes about thirty seconds for my brain to slide back to yesterday.
A mankissedme.
The thought still feels surreal. It’s not like I never considered that I might not be entirely straight. You grow up in a church where sermons about lust ping off every wall, and your eyeslinger a second too long on guys in locker rooms. Nothing on girls hits you quite as hard as it should, and you start to suspect things.
A man kissed me yesterday, and it felt like my whole life finally decided which direction to fall. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean for everything I’ve built on top of the lie that I’m fine being who everyone expects.
I press my thumb against the edge of the cuff, rolling the leather under the pad of my finger, and close my eyes. The memory rises so fast it’s overwhelming. The heat of his body, the scent of his cologne that drives me mad. The first brush of his mouth on mine, shock freezing me in place and then melting in the same instant.
When girls kissed me, it was soft and shy and sweet. Sometimes urgent, but in a way that felt rehearsed. There was always this distance in my head and a part I knew I had to play correctly. Move your mouth like this. Put your hands here. Tilt this way. Check the boxes, feel some vague pleasant sensation, and then step back.
Dominic’s kiss cracked that distance straight down the middle.
There was no script. No careful choreography. Just heat and teeth and the shocking realization that every nerve in my body had been waiting for someone to hit that specific combination. It wasn’t even the roughness that got me—though that didthings—it was the intention.
My phone buzzes again, the vibration rattling my pocket against the side of the desk. Jericho isn’t here to judge me, but I can practically picture him watching from the bookshelf, tail flicking, while he waits to see how stupid I’m going to be.
I cave.
Dominic:You fucking die?
Dominic:Or did some eager freshman trap you in a question about extra credit?
