Against the Rules

by A. R. Barley

  It was nice to know where her loyalties lay. Ian bit his lip to keep from growling as he ate some chicken. The crust crackled and hot juices clung to his fingertips. It really was the best meal the cafeteria had put out in a while.

  Across the cafeteria a flash of color caught his eye—Jesse Cole in a mango-colored T-shirt, tucked in between his oversized boyfriend and Kelly.

  Ian let out a breath. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d seen him, but he’d been thinking about him off and on for most of the day, wondering what he was up to...if he was staying out of trouble...if he was safe.

  Sitting with his friends, Kelly looked good. His shoulders were free of tension. His gaze was sharp. His posture was military in its precision. The bruising from the previous Saturday was gone. There was a salad in front of him, but unlike Sinclair he’d taken the time to add in all sorts of brightly colored vegetables.

  “Kelly O’Connor.” Marcy’s gaze turned in the same direction. “Tragic story.”

  There was a conciliatory nod from everyone in hearing distance. Even Sinclair stopped stabbing at his lettuce.

  “The kid’s a fucking rock,” one of the English professors murmured from farther down the table.

  “After what happened to his mother...I heard President Aldridge tried to make him take the year off,” Marcy said.

  “I heard Aldridge offered him a job,” someone else said.

  “The kid deserves it. Kelly’s a fucking machine. Works in the housing department, does all kinds of programming—he arranged the open mic last semester—and still turns in all his work on time.”

  “Good work too.” A man in a natty tweed jacket joined the conversation. “He used to write science fiction. Funny stuff, very reminiscent of Douglas Adams, but still popular fiction. I told him he’d be better off working on something more literary. This year it’s been all documentary-style realism. His latest work reminds me of early Steinbeck.”

  “Makes sense,” his colleague said. “We tell them to write what they know, and it’s not like there’s been much for him to laugh about recently.”

  Kelly’s blond head had turned in their direction. He was too far away to hear what the professors had been saying, but something about the hard set to his jaw and the steely glint in his eyes told Ian that Kelly knew they’d been talking about him and he didn’t like it. The tension was back in his shoulders...and something else. Anger. Hurt. His gaze met Ian’s and their deep blue was storming like the sea in a hurricane.

  “Are we really gossiping about an undergrad?” Ian asked. He didn’t know what pissed him off more, the fact that the other professors were talking about Kelly like he wasn’t in the room or the fact that they seemed to know all the details of his situation.

  “O’Connor’s not just any student,” Tweed Jacket sniffed. “You remember Janet—”

  “Ian’s only been here two years,” Marcy interrupted. “He wasn’t here at the time.” She leaned forward slightly like she was going to let Ian in on some big secret. “You see—”

  “Don’t tell me.” Ian’s fork clattered to his plate. He knew the way Kelly tasted, the way he felt pulled tight against his body. He knew the weight of his erection against his hip. If anyone at the table should know Kelly’s story then it should be him, but he didn’t need them to tell him.

  It might be useful. He could use the information to help Kelly. If it was accurate and if hearing it from someone else didn’t do more harm than good. His gut churned as he tried to focus on anything other than the spot where Kelly sat across the hall from him.

  Whatever Marcy was talking about, he could wait to find out until Kelly was ready to tell him.

  “Can we talk about something else?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” Sinclair agreed heartily. “Let’s go back to talking about your sex life. That’s so much more appropriate for the table...narcissist.”

  “You’re just worried your wife likes me better,” Ian said. “I look good on a beach.”

  Sinclair gave him the finger. It was no more than he deserved, but at least they’d stopped talking about Kelly. A moment later the entire table was embroiled in a lively conversation about whether it was easier to lose weight on a low-fat or low-carbohydrate diet.

  Ian ate some more macaroni and cheese.

  Buzz. Ian’s phone sounded in his pocket. It was probably Andrew—his brother—again.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  Fine. He pulled the device out of his back pocket and blinked in surprise. An unknown number had texted him three times in rapid succession.

  Thanks for the Thai food last night.

  We should do it again.

  Unless the hyenas scared you off.

  Ian bit back a laugh. Calling his colleagues hyenas wasn’t exactly kind, but it also wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

  “Is that him?” Marcy asked. “The guy from the other night.”

  “You’re just jealous I have a guy texting me.” Ian’s fingers flew across the phone’s screen. Next time you should come to my place.

  Is it nice? Kelly responded.

  Nice wasn’t exactly how Ian would put it. Dreary was more like it. He was pretty sure there was something evolving in the laundry room. Beige walls and pea-green carpeting wouldn’t have been his first choice for home décor, but the cramped one-bedroom was less than a thirty-minute drive from the university and the rent was almost reasonable.

  It’s private, he finally responded. No roommates. No hyenas. Solid walls.

  No one to hear me scream your name?

  Exactly. He went hard at the thought.

  Prince Charming laid out in his bed, naked, his wrists locked to the headboard, his body writhing in pleasure as Ian opened him for the first time. All his anger—all his pain—gone in a wave of ecstasy. His legs wrapped tight around Ian’s waist. His mouth open as he came, panting, screaming.

  It was the same fantasy Ian had jacked off to the night before, and it wasn’t going away any time soon.

  What are you doing tomorrow? Ian texted quickly.

  Why wait? I can meet you outside in two minutes.

  Unlike you I have work to do. Ian frowned as he thought of the stack of to-be-graded papers waiting for him at home. Anyone who can’t write an essay after the first semester of college should be beaten.

  With whips and chains? Across the cafeteria Kelly grinned, his lips turning up in a seductive curve.

  Paddles. Heavy ones.

  There was a long pause then the phone jumped in his hand. I got my edits back. I could work on my senior project, if you’d like the company.

  It was a bad idea. Ian knew it without even thinking. He needed to concentrate on his work, and Kelly would be one hell of a distraction.

  On the other hand, if he was sitting next to Ian there’d be no reason to worry about what he was doing—or who he was doing it with.

  The thought made him shift uncomfortably in his black slacks. They weren’t together. He wasn’t Kelly’s boyfriend. He was just a soft place for the man to land—and a hard hand to spank him once he got there. Hell, if Kelly knew about what had gone down in Los Angeles, he wouldn’t even trust him to do that much. He had no real claim on his time or affections. That didn’t stop his hands from dancing across the phone’s screen. You got a place in mind?

  The Bluebird Café in an hour.

  See you there.

  Chapter Eight

  The Bluebird Café was an airy coffee shop two blocks off campus. It had big group tables, reclaimed architectural details from buildings that had been demolished all over the county, and alternative music piped through discreet speakers. The Decemberists were singing about silk-clad Spanish ladies when Kelly walked in and claimed a big table in the back of the room.

  Technically speaking the Bluebird
didn’t offer table service, but Kelly’s cousin Nora was sliding a cup of coffee onto the table in front of him before he’d managed to unpack his laptop. “You expecting someone?” she asked. “Usually you sit up at the counter.”

  “Maybe I’m just avoiding you.” Kelly stuck out his tongue.

  Nora dug into the pocket of her apron and pulled out her cell phone. “You coming to dinner on Sunday?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Kelly lied.

  She rolled her eyes. “You know they worry about you. Tell me you’re coming—and mean it—or I’ll text Aunt Carly you’re here.”

  “Blackmailer.”

  “Damn straight.” Nora winked, her heart-shaped face, red freckles and impish smile so like Kelly’s mother that he almost forgot how to breathe.

  “Fine.” His aunts and cousins had been asking him to attend their weekly dinner for months now. Maybe if he showed up they’d get off his ass for a while. “You going to let me work, or do I need to complain to the owner about the service?”

  His cousin’s laughter was almost worth the sting of her towel against his cheek. She turned and sashayed over to the counter.

  Kelly opened his laptop and set his tools out on the table, arranging his mug precisely in line with the top of his computer and placing his notepad parallel to the edge of the table. When everything was just right, he finally opened his manuscript. His final project was a series of interconnected short stories and vignettes. His professor wanted him to call it Evening Dews and Damps but Kelly thought that was a bit pedantic. Okay, it was really pedantic.

  Twenty minutes later Ian came in and ordered a drink at the counter. Damn, he looked fine with his cinnamon skin gleaming underneath the café’s rich warm lights. He’d changed sometime in the past hour and his scarlet T-shirt clung to muscular biceps. Ian wasn’t a body builder—not like Nick—but he was still fit. He ordered from Nora at the counter, paid and carried his coffee over to the table, sliding into the seat across from him.

  The heavy wooden table put a good three feet between them, but Kelly could still smell Ian’s shower gel mingling with the scent of fresh coffee.

  “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Ian said.

  “That’s because you didn’t have my number.”

  “My mistake.” Ian spread his work out carefully on the table in front of him. There was a lot of it. He eyed the piles of freshman essays with dismay. “I’m sorry if this wasn’t the second date you were thinking of.”

  Kelly broke off typing and took a sip of his coffee. “Who says last night was a date?”

  “It wasn’t?” Ian looked confused. The big bad top sent off balance by a few little words.

  Kelly bit back a laugh as he considered. They’d shared food, a movie and a cuddle on the couch. If it wasn’t a date then it was still the closest to a long-term relationship he’d had in almost a year. Still... “I didn’t get a good-night kiss.”

  “Brat.” Ian’s head snapped up and there was a playful edge to his voice, like he had the sudden urge to order Kelly to his knees. That probably wouldn’t go over very well in a crowded coffee shop on a Friday afternoon. Too damn bad. “You’ll get your kiss when I’m done with this. If you’re good.”

  “I make no guarantees.” Kelly smirked, but he went back to working on the manuscript in front of him, his fingers dancing over the keyboard. The words were flowing for the first time in what felt like forever, but he didn’t feel like working on Dews and Damps.

  He clicked over to the novel he’d been writing off and on since freshman year—the adventures of Kane Beekman, intergalactic news reporter and unrepentant alien sex fiend. It wasn’t his best work but at over five hundred thousand words it was definitely his longest. Someday soon he was going to break the story apart and pitch it to an agent as a series, but for right now he just needed to get Kane off the prison planet of Moldamp and back in action.

  He just couldn’t decide whether Kane would be better off shooting his way out the front door or getting rescued by his on-again, off-again, boyfriend, Vlad the mercenary. Vlad was seven feet tall with deep indigo skin, a prehensile tail and a penchant for leather pants. More important, Vlad had a spaceship and a don’t-fuck-with-me personality that drove Kane wild.

  “Thinking about something good?” Ian asked.

  “Just writing. Why?”

  “You were smiling.” There was a short pause. “You should do it more often.”

  “Make me,” Kelly said, but this time he laughed. After finishing his coffee, he put the cup carefully back in position. It felt good to be flirting with a man outside a nightclub.

  Hell, it felt good to be hanging out with anyone who didn’t know about his problems. Except...

  “What did the hyenas tell you about me?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.” Kelly had spent enough time with the university faculty to know they were worse than middle-schoolers when it came to gossip. He could put up with Ian knowing about his parents, really, as long as he didn’t start treating him like some poor, pitiful orphan. He couldn’t handle Ian trying to sweep it under the rug.

  “Watch your mouth. I’m not a liar—and I won’t let you be one either,” Ian said. There was a long pause. “I wouldn’t let them tell me. If we’re going to be friends—if we’re going to be more than friends—then I need to respect your privacy. Whatever you did—”

  Kelly snorted. “I didn’t do anything.” Except lose both his parents in the span of two months. How had Oscar Wilde put it? “To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.” Except, he hadn’t been the one who’d been careless, and now they were both dead. He forced himself to take a deep breath. “Do you want me to tell you?”

  “Not until you’re ready.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then you don’t have to tell me anything.” Ian went back to grading his papers, his red pen bleeding ink over the freshman essays.

  A few minutes later Nora showed up with a fresh cup of coffee, sliding it into place beside Kelly’s computer. She took the empty cup away without saying a word, but her expression made it clear there would be questions later. Damn. Kelly should have picked a different place to work, one without his cousin’s prying eyes.

  He took a long drag on his coffee, allowing it to chase his troubles away. The Bluebird did have some perks. His long legs stretched out under the table and his booted foot skimmed against Ian’s. The wide table was big enough for both of them to spread out their work while still providing a feeling of intimacy. Definite perks.

  Kelly went back to work, his fingers flying across the keyboard as Kane made a deal with one of the other inmates. His head bobbed up and down in time to the sound of the keys click-clacking away. The music had changed overhead and now Gold Motel was playing, their music upbeat and kicky in the background. It was his favorite album. Nora must be trying to make up for threatening to call Aunt Carly on him.

  “You’ve got that much energy, you can go buy me a fresh cup of coffee,” Ian said.

  “Here.” Kelly pushed his cup across the table.

  “And break your girlfriend’s heart? No, thanks.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re gay. You’re not blind.” Ian made a dismissive wave. “You must know the cute little barista likes you, a lot. This place doesn’t have table service.”

  Fuck. Kelly hadn’t thought about how that might look. He definitely should have chosen a different place to meet. Of course, his relatives worked in half the bars and restaurants in town. He considered lying—either outright or by omission—but telling Ian about Nora wasn’t the same thing as telling him about his parents.

  “She’s my cousin,” he finally said. “Of course she likes me. She’s probably hoping I’ll slip on the sidewalk, cr
ack my head open and let her borrow my car.”

  Ian nodded slowly before picking up the offered cup of coffee. He took a long sip. “She’s not a good driver?”

  “Not if you like your side-view mirrors intact.”

  “So, is it just Nora or do you have other family in the area?”

  “Ravening hordes.”

  “Sounds nice. I’ve got a big family, but they’re all back in Chicago. A brother and a sister.”

  “You the youngest?”

  “Middle child, but I’m the only one who left Illinois. Sarah’s married with kids. Andrew’s—” His voice skipped. “Andrew’s close by. I’m the one my parents worry about. They think I’m lonely. Ever since I turned twenty-five they’ve all been on me to get a boyfriend.”

  “And how old are you now?” Kelly asked.

  “Older.” Ian laughed. “I’m twenty-nine. How about you?”

  “Twenty-two.” The age difference wouldn’t have mattered with a casual fuck or a study buddy. It shouldn’t matter with Ian. “You okay dating someone who doesn’t remember the nineties?”

  “Trust me, it’s no great loss.” Ian put the paper he was grading down. “If you’re asking if I mind the age difference...I have a rule against dating college students, but I also have a rule against acting like a jackass when what I want is sitting right in front of me.”

  “I’m graduating in a month and a half.”

  “And that’s something else to consider.” Ian sighed. “I don’t even know if you’re staying in the area. You could just be having a bit of fun and getting ready to leave me behind.”

  Leave Halston? Kelly blinked in surprise. He’d never considered the option before. He could turn down the damn job as Aldridge’s assistant, sell his parents’ house and hit the road like Kerouac, leaving Halston and his prying relations in the dust. Maybe he’d go to California and sleep on the beach for a few years.

  If he could sleep.