Blake was in 1208. I squeezed in with someone hauling what looked like half of an electronics store up to the twentieth and punched the button for twelve. My throat was dry when I stepped off the elevator, my skin too tight.
Then I was there, in front of 1208. Unlike some of the other doors I’d passed, this one was closed and free of any decoration. I knocked.
“Yeah?” The voice didn’t belong to Blake.
He hadn’t said much about his roommate. Only that the guy’s name was Wyatt Reese and he was a quiet computer nerd and always at the library—or as Blake had said, “Maybe instead he’s running a meth lab someplace. He gets this look sometimes. Kinda creeps me, but he’s cool.”
“I’m looking for Blake.”
“Not here.” The guy didn’t even open the door as he barked the answer.
“Do you know where he went?”
“Nope.”
God, I was so stupid. I’d forgotten the whole reason Blake had to be back early. He had to be at soccer practice.
There was Lake Murphy behind the tower. The field house, the home of the locker rooms and weight rooms and stuff, was next to it. I could hang out there and wait for Blake to come back from practice.
I walked up a little hill, stretching out on the grass under a tree, and waited for him to walk by. Until I jerked myself awake, I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep. All that excitement, I guess, and then the bleh of waiting around. But there were people moving on the path now, and all the excitement came rushing back.
Blake was easy to spot in the group of people. Tall, broad shoulders, the sun shining on his hair turning the brown to red like it always did. I was on my feet and had yelled his name before my heart started beating again.
He looked up, then held his hand palm out toward me. It was more like a stop sign then a wave hello.
He talked to the guys he was walking with, then tipped his head at me, indicating the path around the lake. I headed down to meet him, hearing his laugh.
“Catch you later.” He waved—not a stop sign—at the guys as they went on toward Kilpatrick Tower.
I didn’t do the run-across-a-field-of-flowers thing, but I did move pretty fast those last couple of steps, aiming to land lips-first.
It went about as well as most things did for me when they involved coordination. I fell into him. For once he didn’t catch me, but he did sort of kiss back when I got my lips to his.
I was starting to have a bad feeling about this. Maybe Coborn wasn’t as diversity friendly as everyone had said.
“What’s wrong?” I stayed pressed against him, despite how hot it was.
“I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“I know. Surprise.” I smiled and tried to kiss him again.
His hands landed on my shoulders and his mouth was a bit softer before he pulled away. “Yeah.” The word was mixed in with a shaky laugh.
“Seriously, Blake, you’re freaking me out. What’s wrong?”
He hitched his backpack up on his shoulder and urged me on the path around the lake, away from his dorm.
Since he didn’t answer, I tried to guess. “You said you were out to the guys on the team, that you told them when they recruited you.”
“Yeah, I am. But this is all kind of public.”
We’d kissed in the halls in high school. No tongue or anything, and there were some people who made gagging sounds, but they were a minority of the seven hundred or so kids who managed to pass the tests to get into our magnet school.
“I wasn’t going to drag you into the bushes.” However much I might have wanted to. “My roommate isn’t here yet. We could—”
“Uh, I’m pretty beat from—”
I stopped walking.
He stopped a step ahead and turned back. “What?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
He took my arm and pulled me down the path a bit more.
I went along for a bit, then stopped. “Okay. Tell me.”
He put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. His green ones were so serious.
God, he was dying. His mom was dying. His dad. Their cat. Because if ever there was a someone-is-dying look, that was it.
“You know I love you.”
I smiled, but I wasn’t feeling it. “Yeah.”
His throat bobbed on a swallow. “But, Ethe, I don’t love you like that anymore.”
Turned out the person who was dying was me.
Chapter 2
No heartbeat, no breath, I didn’t even think my feet were still touching the ground. Dying was taking a hell of a long time.
“Ethan?”
Blake’s eyes had shifted to anxious, guilty. Good. The murderer. Then I wondered if this was Blake doing his throw-himself-on-the-sword thing. He had this white knight complex sometimes. If he felt he’d done something wrong...
“Is this because of something like last spring? Because I told you that was cool. I mean, we’re guys. Sometimes dick happens.”
Blake had told me he had um-kinda-sorta messed up. Based on his stammered excuses, I’d figured out that he’d cheated on me. After being pissed for a few minutes—mostly because I’d passed up my own chance with some flirty sophomore who’d stuffed my locker with roses on Valentine’s Day—I’d gotten over it. Now that we were both far from home, I’d been counting on trying a threesome together.
Blake looked away. “No, it’s not that.”
Liar.
He’d been holding on to my shoulders the whole time. Now I shrugged his hands off.
“I don’t get it. What the hell happened?”
He shoved his hand through his hair. I’d always thought that was adorable. Now it looked stupidly dramatic. And that Makayla girl had thought I looked gay?
“I told you. I don’t feel that way about you anymore.”
The numbness I’d felt when he first told me was gone and, like anytime sensation comes rushing back, it made my whole body burn and tingle, and not a pleasant way. “And you thought now was a good time to mention that?”
He shrugged, then shifted his arm, looking pained, like when his rotator cuff was bugging him. He was uncomfortable?
“You know when would have been better? How about before any of the times I got a stiff neck trying to find space to blow you in your mom’s Jetta this summer?”
He rubbed at his shoulder, biting his lip. “I didn’t know then.”
“Exactly when did you know? Before we tried fucking again? Without a condom?”
“Don’t be like this.”
“Like what? Fucking truthful?”
“All...” He waved at me, like the entire problem was summed up right there. Ethan Zachary Monroe. The Problem.
“Like you’re being,” he finished in a completely lame way.
“Because you know when would have been a fucking time to tell me you wanted to break up?” My voice echoed back to me across the lake, and I didn’t give a shit.
He had the nerve to keep rubbing his shoulder, looking like I was hurting him.
“Anytime before I followed you to college here.” I turned and started jogging away. No one could catch me if I started running for real. Long legs were good for something.
My throat got tight, jaw aching like I was going to cry and no way was that happening. I had enough to deal with now that I was stuck alone at this stupid college in the middle of nowhere without being that guy. The tall freak who ran across campus while crying.
Or according to that girl, the tall gay freak who ran across campus crying. The one who’d actually believed all the bullshit that when you fell in love you stayed that way forever.
* * *
It was three weeks AB (After Blake). More or less. I didn’t have much reason to mark time. For the first time in two years, I wasn’t counting down till when I was going to see Blake again. I sure as hell wasn’t counting down the days until I went home for Thanksgiving and had to admit to my parents that they’d been righ
t about my going to Coborn College being a mistake. I’d lied my ass off in texts and emails, telling them everything was going great. Even according to Facebook, I loved it here.
Here being Coborn College, seventy miles from anything resembling a city—and that was if you have a car. Without a car, it was a bouncing series of bus transfers to every tiny town along the way. But who would want to leave Coborn College, populated by the stars of their three-years-undefeated soccer team, the rest of the jocks getting their physical education degrees, the stuck-up fine arts students and the miniscule fraction of nerds in the college’s super competitive computer science program? Apparently just me. Who fit into those groups exactly nowhere.
I hit Repeat on my playlist and rolled over on my too-short dorm bed. I hadn’t stared at the ceiling in at least twenty minutes. Maybe something had changed.
Someone banged on my door. Probably looking for my roommate, Connor, who, despite being a supersmart computer nerd, actually had a social life.
“Not here,” I yelled.
“Ethan, that’s just stupid. I can hear you.”
I rolled off the bed and dragged the door open to find Makayla.
“What’s up?” I asked her.
“I can’t take another round of your whiny-ass, love-is-dead playlist.”
“Sorry. I’ll put my headphones on.”
“No, you won’t.”
Things had slipped my mind a bit these past few weeks, but I’d still made it to most of my classes and work-study at Res Life and I’d even turned in the first round of bullshit journal entries on the crap we were reading for educational sociology. I could totally manage remembering to put my headphones on in the time it took to cross the room.
“I got it. Really.”
I started to close the door but she jumped inside.
“I mean no because we’re going out.”
I blinked at her. I’d already had to explain that I wasn’t the kind of gay man who could help her pick out clothes or decorate her dorm room. I didn’t paint nails or do hair. I could teach her how to suck cock maybe, but since I’d only known her a few weeks I hadn’t offered that. Yet. If she kept bugging me, I was going to buy a giant dildo and leave it on my desk.
“It’s Saturday night,” she added, as if that made a big difference.
Now that she mentioned it, the halls had been a bit rowdy and from the usual blast of fireworks, I was guessing the soccer team won. Again.
“Out where?” I narrowed my eyes.
She sighed and sat on my bed, leaving me to fold my arms and hunch awkwardly at my desk. Makayla hadn’t seemed to grasp that I was enduring life. Not looking to be a part of it.
“I get that you had a major breakup, but the only way to get over it is to get out and get back on the—”
“Cock?” I suggested. I was irritated enough to be rude.
She laughed. “That could work. I bet he would hate seeing you with someone else.”
One day Makayla had found me in the lounge venting my frustrations on some calculus problems I was supposed to be turning in. Calculus, because I’d need to teach that to first-graders. Half-afraid she’d call mobile crisis—I was silently screaming while I shredded papers—I confided the whole mess to her, not mentioning Blake by name or his connection with the beloved soccer team. After offering to have him killed, because she was from Philly and knew people, she’d hugged me and almost made me cry.
But knowing the situation didn’t give her a pass to jump in and try to fix it.
The only thing that would fix it is for Blake to get over whatever was up his ass and come crawling back. I’d make him beg for a bit. But then we’d get on with things the way they were supposed to be.
There was no way he woke up one day and fell out of love with me. And everything had been fine before he left to come back here.
Though she did have a good idea. I’d have died if I had to watch Blake with someone else.
“What kind of out are we talking?” I asked.
“Off-campus party.”
Which meant alcohol.
“Who?” Because we were talking about limited social possibilities in this student pool. I’d seen plenty of gay guys on campus, but they were all part of the fine arts crew. They wore only black and didn’t speak to anyone boring enough to be getting an education degree.
“Mixed.”
I stared at her, injecting a faux horror into my voice. “I thought it was strictly against Campus Code of Conduct for any of the factions to intermingle.”
She rolled her eyes. “You really need to leave the room more often. Besides. It’s off campus. Anything can happen.”
I wasn’t a big drinker. Not because of rules or stuff like that. I’d never liked the taste enough to get drunk. But in the kitchen of the house where Makayla and her roommate, Whitney, took me, there was a battered, barrel-shaped cooler on the counter. It had one of those plastic taps sticking out near the base, where you pushed a button and got water or lemonade. But in this case, it dispensed something just purple enough to not be black. Something that tasted sweet like Kool-Aid, but the burn in my throat told me it had alcohol in it too. Probably a good thing considering how much bacteria could be inside of that old thing.
Anyway, I’d definitely found my drink. After two cups, I relaxed enough to stop thinking about how sticky the floor was, how smoky it was, how likely we were to all get arrested because there were way too many people drinking and being loud in this house. I even spotted my roommate, Connor, who looked surprised to see me before he went back to talking to some girl.
As I pretended to give a shit about life while standing with Makayla, I felt eyes on me. The type of gaze that makes you brace your hips and shoulders to show off. I didn’t look right away.
“Someone is totally checking you out.” Makayla said.
“I know.” Two—no, three cups of the purple stuff made me confident and almost happy.
“Well, if you hook up, don’t worry about us. Whitney said there’s no way she’s walking back in her heels so we’re getting a cab.”
Lucky me, there was a window that gave me a good look at the guy’s reflection. Blond, buzzed-off sides and gelled curls on top. Like the way I wore mine but way blonder. Baby face. Cute mole by his mouth. Body...hard to tell because his clothes were loose. I knew he caught me looking at him because his reflection smiled and wow.
I was already warm, now I was hot. If I was going to try something with the guy with the smile and the mole, I was going to need another drink.
Then the soccer team walked in.
I made for my cooler full of purple stuff.
After a few gulps of my new favorite beverage, I knew I could do this. I could be smooth—or what passed for it with my klutzy self—smile at the blond guy and act like I didn’t give a shit what Blake did.
I finished off what was left in my cup and refilled it. The hallway back to the living room seemed longer than I remembered, but I managed it. Didn’t trip once.
Blond guy was gone. Blake was gone too, though I knew he’d come in with the rest of the soccer guys. I knew him. His hair, his shoulders, everything about the way he stood. My body knew him, tingling, wanting to touch him.
Some people were dancing between the couch and the front window. I saw Makayla in that group, bouncing along, smiling, despite having expressed her dislike of the “unimaginative repetitive nature of this song” more than once.
After another lap of the front rooms, I knew I’d missed my chance with that blond guy with the sweet mouth. At least I still had my cup of purple stuff. Damn, it was hot in here. I went out onto the porch and sucked in some air.
Someone pressed up against me from behind, tall enough to whisper in my ear, but I didn’t need the voice to know it was Blake. My skin—my dick—knew him.
He slung an arm around my shoulders. “I miss you.”
God, I missed him too.
But the thick weight against my hip was probably motivating him more
than anything else.
I turned. “You mean your dick misses me.”
He shrugged and then grinned. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No.”
It was dark, but I didn’t need much light to read his face. The way his smile and eyes pleaded and promised.
I wanted to drop to my knees and blow him right there. Instead, I tipped the cup to my mouth.
Blake’s hand covered mine, and he pulled the cup toward his lips. “What are you drinking?” He drank, his throat moving in a way that made me lick my lips.
His eyes went wide, and he released the cup. “Jesus. That’s some serious shit.”
“I like it.” I showed him by finishing off what was left.
“Didn’t think drinking was your thing.”
“And I didn’t expect you to dump me after I followed you here.”
He looked away. Good. He actually looked embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
There was so fucking much he shouldn’t have said I needed some clarification. “Said what?”
“That I missed you.” He put a hand on my face, thumb resting on my mouth. “But I do.”
I could blame the liquor, but it was the need in his voice that got me. I licked his thumb. Lapped up all the salt taste then drew it into my mouth, swirling my tongue over it. My hand held his wrist to keep him there, and he used that to pull me closer, easing his thumb out of my mouth before replacing it with his lips and tongue.
My dick was slower to respond than usual. But it was getting there. I followed his tongue back into his mouth, and I swore I could taste how he made me feel. Special. Sexy. Wanted.
So when he held my hand and pulled me off the porch, I followed him then too.
Chapter 3
Blake’s wasn’t the first dick I’d ever had in my mouth, but I’d thought it would be the last. Except for a mutually approved threesome that was probably more likely in fantasy than reality.
Getting Him Back Page 2