The TA (Kingston College Book 1)

by Vivica Dorn

  THE TA

  Straight to Gay at Kingston College #1

  Vivica Dorn

  CHAPTER 1

  Je vais mourir. I’m going to die. These were the words running through Michel Dubeau’s head as he thrashed in the ocean, floundering, gasping, sucking sharp salty water into his throat, into his desperate, burning lungs. He knew he shouldn’t have gone out so far alone. He had never been a strong swimmer, could never keep himself afloat in deep or rough water. And he had come to the beach alone today. He had only arrived at Kingston College in the US from his hometown in Belgium three days ago and he didn’t have any friends here yet. There was no one waiting for him on the beach, no one to notice that he was gone. Panic coursed through him like sick fire but did nothing to slow his sinking, did nothing to slow the blackening at the edges of his eyes. He was drowning, totally alone and far from home.

  Je vais mourir.

  Michel could feel his limbs getting heavier, the water thickening like molasses against his movements. He was so very, very tired. And the water was so very, very cold. The sun disappeared from view as he slipped below the surface for the last time.

  Strong, sure hands shot out from the depths, finding their way to him. Michel was only vaguely aware of a long, muscled arm looping around his torso and dragging him upwards and forwards, striking hard and fast through the surf.

  Une sirène, Michel thought dizzily, his English words lost with his breath in the waves. A mermaid.

  Damp, malleable, and sharp, then hot and dry, the sand scratched the pale skin of Michel’s back as he was dragged onto the beach, the two hands that had saved him gripping firmly beneath his arms, yanking him back to the land of the living.

  Michel tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. He tried to breathe but couldn’t. He felt sodden, soggy, filled to the brim with brine and muck. He had the strangest sensation – he felt like the sand was rocking him on hot, sharp-peaked waves, just as the water had done. His head spun. People were speaking around and above him, but he couldn’t understand the words.

  Something firm pressed against Michel’s mouth. He felt immense pressure in his chest, as if his ribs were going to crack. Light exploded behind his eyes and he shot up to a sitting position, stunned, choking and spitting up water. He coughed and hacked, tears streaming from his eyes, throat on fire, salt stinging in his nose. One strong hand gripped his shoulder, another gently but firmly tapped his back, helping to dislodge the fluid. After a few moments he turned his head, blearily looking up at the face that belonged to those hands, the face of the one who had pulled him from the depths. The sun illuminated the man’s face in profile, creating a stark silhouette that showcased a strong, square jaw, a high, straight nose, hair forming curls from the dampness. Golden curls, dark from the water.

  Pas une sirène, un ange. A pair of sharply blue, oceanic eyes met his. Not a mermaid, an angel.

  He didn’t get to speak to the sunlit figure. He couldn’t speak at all, and soon enough the ambulance arrived to take him away for testing and treatment. He avoided the beach for the remainder of August and didn’t think he’d ever see his rescuer again.

  Well, that’s what he had thought. Until he walked into Dr Adams’ Politics and Governance course, the class he was assigned to help teach, and saw the lifeguard who had saved him sitting in the front row.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sam didn’t know anyone in Dr Adams’ Politics and Governance class. He didn’t really know anyone at all, a freshman at a new school. Sighing and brushing blonde hair away from his eyes, he cast his gaze over the lecture hall, trying to decide where to sit. In high school he had always gravitated to sitting near the back, but this hadn’t exactly been conducive to his academic development. He was prone to goofing off, being the class clown. He was smart, he knew that, but he was too cocky for his own good. Or so he had been told. Now that he was in college, and a good college, too, he knew he should make an effort to sit near the front, to focus, to live up to his potential. He then realized that he recognized a boy in the front row, a small but fit figure with dark curls and big, girly blue eyes. Fred? Flynn? Finn.

  “Hey, Finn, right? You just tried out for the swim team with me I think.”

  Finn blinked up at him with long lashes.

  “Oh, yeah, for sure man, I recognize you. You have a killer butterfly. Sorry, I forget your name.”

  “Sam,” he said, sliding into the empty seat next to Finn and holding out his hand. The smaller boy took it with a surprisingly strong grip. “Sam Hendrick.”

  Finn smiled and nodded, taking out a notebook and pens.

  “Have you bought the textbook for this class yet?” he asked as Sam reached into his own bag.

  “Nah, not yet,” Sam replied, yanking his laptop out. “It’s so expensive, wanna make sure I’m staying in this class first. I may end up switching, I’m on a wait list for Psych 100.”

  Finn nodded, grimacing.

  “Yeah, me neither. I’ve heard this class is a bitch. I’ll have to see if I’m staying in it, too. I want to major in Political Science, though, so it’d be really useful. We’ll see,” the dark haired boy said with a slight shrug. Sam nodded in agreement.

  Just then Dr Adams walked in, followed by a slender figure that Sam couldn’t quite see behind the professor’s bulk. Dr Adams was tall and built; he doubled as the Kingston College wrestling coach. His sandy brown hair was swept elegantly back from his broad forehead, his beard trimmed neatly. His stern dark eyes swept over the quiet first year students.

  “Hello.” His deep, booming voice rolled out over the lecture hall. “I’m Dr Avery Adams. Welcome to Politics and Governance. In this course we’re going to examine at the goings-on of the world with a critical eye, looking at trends in globalization and the rise of democracy in the developing world. I hope you’ve all brought the textbook...”

  Sam smirked as he felt Finn shrink down beside him, awkwardly trying to avoid the professor’s gaze.

  “Well, if not, there’s still time for that. I will have our teaching assistant, Michel, post this week’s readings on the online portal. Michel, come over here and introduce yourself.”

  A slim young man stepped out from behind Dr Adams’ imposing figure. His chestnut hair fell in waves over his forehead, just brushing past his ears. He looked at the class through dark lashes, brilliant green eyes taking in everyone and everything. His curved mouth was exceptionally red and Sam couldn’t stop staring at it. Something about that mouth, that creamy skin, those dark green eyes was so deeply, starkly familiar... that mouth... that mouth...

  With a sharp inhale, Sam suddenly remembered that mouth, cold and almost blue, pressed against his own as he performed CPR. This was the drowning victim! The only person he had had to jump in the water and save during his entire summer as a lifeguard at Kingston Pier Beach. Sam felt his pulse jump to his throat. He narrowed his eyes, leaning way forward in his seat, trying to get a better look at the striking TA.

  It’s no wonder I didn’t recognize him, Sam thought, taking in the rich gleam of Michel’s skin, the warmth colouring his cheekbones, and the vivacity with which he stepped forward towards the students. When Sam had cradled Michel in his arms, almost six weeks ago now, he had been pale, shaking, bleary and cold, his chestnut hair almost black with dangerous wetness and plastered to his gaunt cheeks. Sam never would have guessed that the confidant young man before him could have ever been so vulnerable. It was only when Finn whispered “you ok, bro?” that he realized he was leaning almost absurdly far forward, his hands gripping the far edge of the desk, his knuckles white. Jaw clenched, he released his hands and nodded without looking at Finn. Several emotions were washing over him – relief at seeing th
e person he had saved alive and well, and the memory of deep, gut-wrenching fear. He forced the panic down, breathing deeply. He had never been so afraid as when he had performed CPR on the beautiful young man who stood before him now. He had never been afraid of anything, really. Until then.

  “Bonjour, tout le monde. Hello, I’m Michel Dubeau, your TA for the semester. I look forward to working with all of you.”

  That voice, lilting and European, entered Sam like a melody, and he felt the anxiety that had risen in him soften and ebb away. He was no longer thinking of Michel’s mouth and the way it had been so cold and blue that day, and yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  “I completed my undergraduate degree at Oxford University” - Sam liked how the gorgeous TA said that last word, oo-nee-vair-see-tay - “and I’m very glad to be at Kingston College to complete my master’s degree. I will be marking the majority of your papers and exams, so please don’t hesitate to come see me for help. I will hold office hours on Monday and Wednesday afternoons, from 3pm until 5pm.”

  Michel eyed the room, a slight smile on those exquisitely red lips. Until he noticed Sam. His green eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in a perfect O. Sam clenched his jaw, leaning forward once again, returning the look with an intensity he didn’t understand, refusing to break eye contact. He could feel Finn looking at him questioningly from the side but he didn’t give a damn. Michel hesitated for a moment before he composed himself quickly, closing his mouth, cheeks flushing crimson. Dr Adams gave the TA an odd look, then turned back to the class.

  “Thank you Michel. Everyone, Michel is one of the most brilliant graduate students I’ve had the pleasure of working with, so make sure you take every chance you have to learn from him. Michel, you can take a seat with the students and we’ll begin the first class.”

  Michel nodded jerkily and slid into the seat at the farthest end of the front row. Sam was seated near the centre, and due to the way to rows of seats curved, he could see Michel’s face in profile. He didn’t hear much of what Dr Adams said after that. His eyes kept finding their way to the slim TA at the end of the row. The TA whose chest was rising and falling faster than it should have been. The TA whose cheeks glowed, even after Dr Adams turned off the lights to project the course syllabus against the white screen on the wall. The TA whose life Sam had held in his hands, in his mouth. Sam clenched his jaw again, harder this time.

  After the ambulance had taken Michel away, everyone told Sam how courageous he had been, how strong, how skilled, how he looked like he had done this a thousand times before. Sam understood why they had all said that. His body had completely taken over, his instinct and lifeguard training kicking in, making each movement sure and quick despite his inner panic. What people didn’t know was that immediately after the incident he had barely made it to a garbage can to vomit. What they didn’t know was that he had called the hospital four times that night asking about the patient, and that he broke down and cried when he heard he would be alright.

  Sam was used to breezing through life easily, carefree and laid-back. His friends called him mellow, his ex-girlfriends called him distant. He had never experienced emotions of that intensity before – fear of that magnitude, and such a strongly rooted protectiveness. Those same feelings were manifesting in him now, in strange and unexpected ways. He wanted to, under the cover of the dim room, make his quiet way over to Michel, slide into the seat next to him, press his fingers to his throat to check for a pulse, place his tanned cheek against that red mouth to check for breath. He wanted to run his fingers through that chestnut hair, force those green eyes to lock on to his, look at me, look at me.

  As if he had heard him, Michel glanced Sam’s way, squinting in the gloom.

  Hey, Sam mouthed, smiling without meaning to. He really couldn’t believe how damn happy he was to see this guy dry and breathing.

  Michel shook his head a little and motioned with his hand to the clock, mouthing back what looked like after.

  Sam nodded, a small thrill running through him. He would get to talk to him, after.

  Sam fidgeted and stared at Michel for the remainder of the class, counting down the seconds until he could spring up and out of his seat. When the lights flicked on and Dr Adams dismissed them, Sam had already packed up his bag.

  “Good to see you, man,” he said to Finn, rising quickly, his eyes still on the TA. “Hopefully we’ll be swimming together again soon.”

  “Yeah, you too, Sam. See ya.”

  Finn looked up as he said the last two words. But the tall blonde boy was already gone.

  CHAPTER 3

  Michel waited outside the classroom, arms crossed, looking down at his nervously tapping toes. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to say to the student who had saved his life. Of course, he knew he had to thank him. But then what? For perhaps the first time in his life, the usually eloquent Michel Dubeau didn’t have a clue what he should say. He sighed harshly, heart pounding.

  A large pair of running shoes entered his eye line, centimetres from his own feet. He looked up and came face-to-face with a broad muscled chest, then a golden neck, then a strong jaw, then two piercing blue eyes. Without meaning to, Michel leaned back into the wall. The tall student was standing unnaturally close to him and he felt himself scowl a little before he reminded himself to remain polite. This person had saved his life, after all. He gulped a little as he felt those blue eyes bore into his.

  Michel Dubeau didn’t like feeling indebted to anyone. After the deaths of his parents in a car accident when he was only 16, he had moved in with a poor but loving aunt and he had done everything he could to improve his circumstances on his own. He got the highest grades at his school in Belgium and won a prestigious scholarship to study at Oxford in the UK. He was at Kingston College on a scholarship, too, and the rest of his expenses were paid for through his salary as a teaching assistant. He worked hard, mercilessly hard, to be free of debt and make his own way in the world. And staring up at the boy to whom he now owed everything made him extremely uncomfortable. He felt heat creeping up his neck, his ears burning. But he met that intense blue gaze with dignity that bordered on ferocity. He wouldn’t be made to feel weak or inferior. He would thank this young man, relieve himself of any real or imagined debt, and move on.

  “I, I have to thank you, of course, for... for the time before.”

  Damn. His usual elegance with words had totally disappeared. He was almost as comfortable in English as he was in his native French, but in front of this Greek statue-looking boy with the blue gaze that could cut stone, the blue gaze that seemed to say that he knew everything about him, English suddenly felt clumsy, slow, and strange. Michel looked down, hating himself for breaking eye contact first, biting his lip a little.

  “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what to say right now.”

  A touch so soft he almost didn’t feel it ran along his jaw, then tightened at his chin and gently tipped his face upward. He flinched at the contact as if burned, heart hammering as he was forced to meet those knowing blue eyes again. But the eyes had softened, and the tall boy almost looked pained as he said, “you really don’t have to say anything. I’m just so glad to see that you’re ok.”

  Michel swallowed, face on fire, chest heaving. He should have been offended by this American’s sudden intimacy, the way he was touching him, the way he was looking at him. But for some odd reason he wasn’t. And that irritated Michel beyond measure. It was as if his body remembered its saviour, and he had to acknowledge the strange and sharp yet tenuous connection he felt, painfully deep in his chest, to this boy. This boy whose name he didn’t even know.

  “What’s your name?” He asked, his voice almost a whisper. He couldn’t escape from the chaotic blue of those eyes, he was sinking, lost to the waves, barely breathing, drowning...

  With a sudden jerk, he slapped the hand away, gasping for air. The other boy’s eyebrows shot up. Sam stepped back, his hand falling to his side in a fist. Michel shook h
is head at his reaction. I can’t believe I just smacked a student, he berated himself. But he couldn’t help it. It was instinctive, a panicked rallying as he felt himself falling deeper into that unbearable blue, so foreign yet achingly familiar.

  “Ah, sorry, I’m not really sure why I did that,” Sam murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, looking mystified.

  “Anyway, I’m Sam Hendrick. I guess I’ll be in your class from now on.”

  He held out the slapped hand, no trace of hesitation despite the fact that Michel had just hit him rather hard.

  Clearing his throat, Michel reached out and took that large, openly offered hand. A frisson ran through him as the strong warm fingers tightened over his. Without any prompting, the vague and shadowy memory of those hands on his waist, his chest, his neck, surfaced, and his cheeks burned.

  “Ah, it’s good to meet you. Sam.”

  Sam smiled broadly, revealing straight white teeth that shone against the deep tan of his skin.

  “It’s good to meet you, too.”

  Sam did not let go. Michel felt himself scowling again, his palm beginning to sweat. What the hell was with this American? And why did he leave Michel feeling so deeply disoriented?

  Michel pulled his hand away. Sam grinned at him, and with a wave, turned to go.

  “I’ll see you in office hours on Wednesday!”

  Great, Michel thought, clenching then stretching his tingling fingers. Looks like this guy isn’t going anywhere.

  On Wednesday, as the clock ticked away, its long black hands approaching 5pm, Michel found himself once again tapping his foot and waiting for Sam Hendrick to show up. At 4:56pm the tall athlete burst into his office, his hair wet, his cheeks flushed.

  “Sorry! I know office hours are almost done. I just had the second round of swim team tryouts and I really had to book it here to make it.” He looked over his shoulder at the clock on the wall above the door and groaned.