by L. C. Davis
I pursed my lips to hide my amusement. “Well, maybe the dogs will have a bear cub night soon.”
“Wolves, actually,” he corrected with a wistful sigh. “Everything is pack-themed. It's crazy hot. The whole place looks like a big cave.”
“That does sound like something,” I admitted. “So what happens to the winner? Do you have to, you know, get tied up and stuff?”
He thought about it for a moment before shrugging. “I don't know. You get a membership, but every sub from here to northern Cali drools over the thought of getting some one-on-one time with the Alphas. I'm not sure anyone has ever tried to turn it down.”
“No,” I chuckled. “I'd imagine not.”
“Why?” His grin widened. “You thinking of entering after all?”
I shook my head vehemently and felt a blush creep up my cheeks. “No, just curious. Psych major, remember?”
“Sure,” he said in a disbelieving tone, standing up from the table. “Well, that's a shame. You'd totally win. I'll be back, I'm gonna grab a drink. Then you can tell me more about Texas.”
I smiled and nodded. That would give me some time to come up with my deflections. Then again, I was several thousand miles away. The chance of anything I told Arthur getting back to Jeff was close to nil.
The obnoxiously blue paper drew my eye and I glanced behind my shoulder before picking it up. Ten-thousand dollars. That was a massive sum. Not nearly what I owed the university, but it might be enough of a downpayment to convince them to release my transcripts...
No. That was insanity. Even if I stood a chance in frosty Hell at winning their cheesy contest—which I didn't—victory would only put me at the mercy of the Wolves. All signs pointed to them being exactly the type of men I promised myself I'd stay away from.
Arthur came back a few minutes later, holding a cappuccino in a cute, colorful cup and a plate full of pastries. “Courtesy of the waitress. They're closing soon, so she gave us the extras. I think she was moved by our love,” he said with a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes.
Heat surged back into my face as I turned back to see the waitress winking at us. I returned her wave and mouthed a thank-you before turning back to Arthur. “I'm sorry. She was flirting and I may have kind of led her to believe I was meeting my boyfriend here.”
He gave me a dismissive wave. “I'm just messing with you. What are friends for if not to be used as awkward shields? Might have to introduce you to this guy in my econ class who won't take a hint.”
“Deal,” I said eagerly. At least he thought it was funny. The last thing I needed was romantic tension with my new roommate.
“So,” he began. I braced myself for questions I couldn't answer. “You're a psych major? Any chance we can study together?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to hide my relief.
“Great! I barely skated by Winters' class last semester with my GPA intact,” he grumbled. “Oh yeah, what was up with him holding you after class?”
“Oh, that,” I sighed, briefly pausing to consider whether I should fill him in on the gory details of my academic career. I decided he would catch on eventually if we were roommates and inevitably heard me arguing on the phone with the billing department of my old school. I gave him the abridged version and he listened intently.
“So the jerks are refusing to send you the transcripts for the classes you passed just because some scholarship fell through?” he asked, confused. “I'm a typical trust fund kid, so forgive me if this is ignorant, but aren't scholarships, like, non-refundable?”
I hesitated. “Well, it's a tricky situation.”
“Is this situation tricky, or is the one that actually happened tricky? For a future psychoanalyst, you're kind of a bad liar.”
I made a failed attempt at smiling. “That's probably why I went into it,” I admitted. “I did have scholarships for the first few semesters, until right around the time I met my ex. Let's just say our relationship was a bit intense.”
“Oh,” he said with a nod of understanding. “So you tanked your GPA over a guy. I get that.”
“Not quite,” I said. “My GPA was fine, it's just that the scholarship was contingent on doing some community service and working as a tutor. It all took up time Jeff thought I should be spending with him, so he insisted on footing the bill.”
“Whoa,” he said with wide eyes. “I've heard of paying for dates, but footing a whole tuition bill is a bit much for a college romance, isn't it?”
“Jeff wasn't a college student,” I explained. “He's a few years older and his father is one of the wealthiest real estate developers in Texas. Twenty-k per semester was pocket change for him.”
“So he was your sugar daddy,” he remarked.
I winced, but I couldn't argue with the term. It applied. I could see that now, with some distance. “At the time it just felt like he was taking care of me, but yeah. I guess he was.”
“Not that that's a bad thing,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “Like I said, my parents pay for my tuition. No judgment here.”
I shrugged. “It's okay. It was a terrible decision. I just didn't recognize it at the time.”
“I still don't understand what that has to do with the school not releasing your transcripts, though,” he admitted.
“Well, Jeff's dad is uh, very well connected,” I replied, touching my scarf instinctively. “After I left him I found a note on my windshield from the campus admissions office telling me that I owed them the sixy-four thousand dollars that Jeff had paid. My windows were bashed in, too.”
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Did you call the police?”
“I guess I could have called the police chief, but he was busy playing golf with Jeff's dad,” I murmured.
“Fucking asshole.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “If I had realized that two-and-a-half years ago, I might not be in this mess.”
“You shouldn't be so hard on yourself,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Sounds like he was seriously screwing with your head. That makes you an abuse victim, not stupid.”
I winced at his use of the “a-word” and tried to change the subject. “If you don't mind, can we keep this between us? I just want to start over here.”
“Of course, but are you safe? I mean, would he try to follow you here?” he asked. His concern surprised me. It seemed so genuine. “I could have my mom talk to someone. She's got some connections of her own.”
“You barely know me,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye. Hopefully he didn't notice. “As sweet as that is, I think it's okay. I'm sure he knows where I am. If he was going to do anything more, he would have done it by now.”
Arthur didn't look convinced, but he mercifully let it drop. “If you change your mind just let me know. Come on, let's get back to the dorms. Hopefully the muscle head hasn't used my pajamas to clean off his equipment.”
I laughed, grateful for the subject change. “Alright, I'll help you pack.”
3
My first week at school passed smoothly. Arthur turned out to be a great roommate, albeit a loud one. His snarky sense of humor and abundant energy made the semi-cramped dorm room feel more like home than Jeff's sprawling condo ever had. Professor Winters' class was already turning out to be my favorite, despite our awkward start. Wednesday's class flew by and his perspective was insightful enough to make the repeat material not only tolerable but more interesting than it had been the first time around.
By my first Friday at Eastern Washington University, I was already starting to see it all less as a waste of time and more like the liberating second chance it was. When Winters called me up to his desk after class, my optimism was shaken. Had he uncovered more about my past? Maybe he was going to ask me to transfer out. It was still the last day to drop a class without penalty.
“I commend you for remaining conscious after an hour-long lecture about neurobiology that I'm sure you've heard four times already,” he said with a friendly smile that partially eased my wariness.
>
I smiled back and set my bag down, trying not to seem guilty of something I hadn't done. “Six actually, but yours was the best,” I admitted.
“Oh, I'm sure you say that to all the professors,” he said in a teasing tone.
I shook my head. “No, really. The lecturers at AU had a reputation for being pretty dry. Everyone I tutored had a hard time following the basics, but you make it really simple and engaging,” I assured him. Maybe he really did just want to get feedback from the transfer. I could hope.
“Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about,” he began, dashing that hope. “As I'm sure you know, it's the last day to drop a class without receiving a grade of incomplete. I hate to sound like a broken record, but are you sure you don't want me to petition the department to let you take a higher-level course?”
“I'm sure,” I insisted. “Even if you get me into one, they'll never let me graduate without the intermediate credits. Besides, I'm enjoying myself in this one.”
“I had to ask one more time,” he said apologetically. “In that case, how would you feel about becoming my teaching assistant?”
I jolted. “Your what? But I'm technically a sophomore. Isn't that usually reserved for juniors and seniors?”
“Typically, but it's left up to the teacher's discretion and we both know you're qualified,” he replied. “I might not be able to cut through the red tape to get you into the classes you belong in, but I can at least make sure you're properly challenged. I'm not one for free rides,” he said with a smirk that suddenly helped me understand why half the class was just as enamored with him as they were afraid of him.
“If that's an option, yes, I'd love that,” I replied eagerly. It was everything I had worked for at Austin, but I'd cheated myself out of the experience just to follow Jeff around like a lost puppy.
“Great,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I've got to run to a faculty meeting, but we should discuss it before class on Monday. Are you doing anything tonight?”
I hesitated, remembering that I'd broken down and promised to at least attend the strange contest at the Lodge with Arthur. I didn't want to let him down so early in our friendship, and he seemed like the kind of guy who needed a sober buddy when he went out.
“I actually do have plans tonight with uh, study group, but I'm free for the rest of the weekend.”
He paused, taking out a smartphone to browse through what I assumed was a scheduling app. So much for the idea that he wore a watch because he didn't have a cell phone. It looked like he was just old school by preference. It was kind of charming if hopelessly indie.
“I'm doing family stuff tonight and tomorrow actually, I was just thinking of bailing tonight,” he said in a surprisingly casual tone. He was different with the other students. More formal. Granted, I was a couple of years older than most of the class, but he spoke to me like a colleague and I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. “How about Sunday night?”
“That should be fine. Where do you want to meet?”
He thought about it for a moment. “There's a cafe across from campus. I'm sure you've seen it; there are these big tacky, culturally appropriative totem poles out front. They make one hell of a cup of coffee, though,” he said with a smile, slipping the papers on his desk into his messenger bag. “How about six?”
I smiled back. My unease was gone for the moment. Maybe he really was just a nice guy who liked helping his students. “That sounds great.”
“Cool. Enjoy study group,” he said, showing me out of the classroom so he could lock up and turn out the lights.
“Huh?” I asked, confused for a moment. “Oh! Right, yeah, thanks. Enjoy your weekend, Professor,” I said, turning towards the exit.
“Remember, after class it's Prentice,” he called.
I waved and disappeared before I could blurt out a confession that I was going to a gay dungeon rather than a study group session. For someone who lied so often, I was horrible at it.
“So you told him you were going to study group?” Arthur laughed, digging through a trunk at the end of his bed while I was blowing off a week's worth of steam by sniping zombies on his game console. I munched on a crisp pastry straw filled with chocolate since it was a relatively hands-free snack.
“It just came out, okay? I didn't want to tell him I was going to a BDSM club to watch a bunch of sweaty men strip,” I protested.
“Right, because there's no middle ground.”
I sighed. “I'm a terrible liar.”
“Yeah, we're going to have to work on that. Good thing you're old enough to drink, although I have a feeling you're still going to freak when you get carded tonight.”
“They're carding?” I asked, feeling my stomach clench. He was right. I still wasn't used to being twenty-one, and twenty-two was nearly on the horizon.
“Well yeah, it's a sex dungeon. Everyone gets carded. As long as you're eighteen you can still get through the door but you can't drink. I'm twenty-two according to my ID, so remember that,” he warned.
I groaned. “You'd just better hope no one asks me. You'll be twenty-one in six months, can't you just wait?”
“Nope,” he said emphatically. I groaned.
Loud clinking sounds were coming from the trunk and I paused my game to glance over.
“What are you doing over there?”
“Putting our outfits together for tonight.”
“Our outfits?” I asked warily. “I have my outfit.”
“Yeah, jeans and a hoodie. Or a sweater and a scarf. Not gonna fly at the Lodge.”
I sighed. “I guess I could wear something a little dressier. I'm not really a clubber.”
“No kidding,” he said, hardly bothering to veil his sarcasm. “Well, none of my pants will fit you but the good news is, you don't need a shirt!”
I frowned. “That doesn't sound like good news to me, Arthur.”
“That's because you're a prude,” he grinned. “Look, I know you refuse to enter the contest, but we can at least have a fun night dancing and flirting with hot guys. We deserve it for surviving the first week back, don't ya think?”
“I guess,” I replied hesitantly. It did sound like fun in a strange way. It certainly wasn't what I was used to, but then again, that was why I had traveled such a long way from Austin. “Alright, fine. But uh, I can't wear anything too revealing.”
“Why not?” he asked. “Are you religious or something?”
I laughed. “Hardly. I just have some scars,” I explained, feeling nauseous all of a sudden. I sat the controller down and moved the pastry straws out of reach.
“Scars?” he asked, frowning. “Whoa, you okay? You look kinda pale.”
“Low blood pressure and blood sugar. Bad combo,” I explained, stretching out my stiff hands. “I'll be fine, I just didn't eat much today. And yeah, I have some old scars from --” I stood suddenly and barely made it to the bathroom in time. So much for getting some food into my system.
Arthur followed me and dutifully held back my hair. I flushed the toilet and scrubbed my hands in the sink. After brushing my teeth to the point of wearing away the enamel I splashed some cold water on my face. “I'm so sorry. Didn't think I was that sick.”
“Are you okay?” he cried. “Do you need to go to the doctor? I've never seen anyone get sick that fast.”
“It comes on quickly,” I told him. “I'll be fine now. Really. Just a weird episode, that's all.”
He looked at me doubtfully but let it go. He let my hair fall back around my shoulders and stroked it with a longing look. “Your hair is amazing. I'm so jealous of the color,” he remarked. “Is it naturally that red?”
“Thanks,” I said. “And yeah, it's natural. I couldn't keep up with dying it,” I admitted. I'd considered it, though. Maybe that would make me less recognizable and less desirable to Jeff.
“Red hair, green eyes and tan? Not fair,” he sighed. “Well, you should totally wear it down tonight,” he said. “If you're sure you're feeling we
ll enough to go.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I'm actually looking forward to it. It'll be a nice distraction.”
He looked relieved. Even if I hadn't been feeling well, I couldn't have disappointed him. He'd been so good to me. I would never admit it, since someone as bright and charismatic as Arthur probably had dozens of friends, but he was the first one I'd ever really had.
“Okay!” he said, going over to the trunk to pull out what looked like a coil of belts. “Now take off your clothes.”
I rolled my eyes, but I did slip out of my hoodie and jeans. I'd seen him in boxers enough times in the past week that modesty seemed a bit silly, even though something in me clung to it. “Yes, sir.”
He looked me over and whistled. “Damn. It really is a shame you won't enter that contest.”
“Just make me look kinky enough to fit in but not so kinky I'm going to draw attention,” I pleaded, covering the right side of my neck.
“Yeah, no chance of that,” he remarked, stepping forward. “You're definitely going shirtless, but I've got a leather harness that would look amazing on you. I'm also thinking about -- hey, what's that?” he asked, reaching for my arm. I flinched as he turned it over, revealing the white and pink scars running up my forearm, some fresher than others.
“I told you I had scars,” I murmured.
He reached for my other arm, revealing the same. Fortunately, my hair covered my neck.
“I didn't know you were a cutter,” he said sadly. “You could have said something, I wouldn't judge.”
“It's in the past,” I replied, shrugging. Letting him know the truth felt too vulnerable. Hopefully he wouldn't notice how recent some of the marks were. “At least now you see why I can't enter the contest.”
He frowned. “That's not true, they wouldn't disqualify you over that. But if you do want to hide it, the good thing is that BDSM fashion covers almost everything but the naughty bits,” he said with a smirk. “So we've got options.”