Clean Break
Farm College #2
Erin McLellan
Copyright © 2019 by Erin McLellan
Clean Break
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1-7321734-3-9
Cover Artist: Natasha Snow, http://natashasnow.com
Editing: Edie Danford
Proofreading: Susan Selva, https://www.lescourtauthorservices.com; Keyanna Butler
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For inquiries, contact Erin McLellan at www.erinmclellan.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Content Warnings: explicit sex including mild kink; explicit language; instances and/or discussion of racism, homophobia, and transphobia; depiction of anxiety and OCD; consumption of alcohol; character with a deceased parent; insects
For more info about these warnings: http://smarturl.it/cleanbreakcws
Blurb
Connor’s To-Do List:
Learn to accept my future on the family farm
Be social, to a degree
Make a secret bucket list
Have a real conversation with Travis Bradford
* * *
Travis’s To-Do List:
Get into my top law school
Get the hell out of Elkville, Oklahoma
Stay focused on my dreams and goals—no crushes, no distractions
Get spanked by hot and perfectly fussy farm boy, Connor Blume
* * *
Travis and Connor do not like each other, but after being paired together in Entomology 101, their mutual hostility explodes into secret after-class hookups and unexpected feelings. With graduation looming near and their careers taking them in different directions, they’ll have to decide if a future together is worth adjusting their to-do lists and letting go of their carefully laid plans.
For my college sweetheart, Justin.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
An Excerpt from Controlled Burn (Farm College #1)
Also by Erin McLellan
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
TRAVIS
I was thirty minutes early for my first Entomology 101 class of the semester, so I popped a squat on the floor next to the hallway vending machine to watch the thirst-trap cowboys walk by. The Entomology Department was part of the College of Agricultural Sciences, and the class was in the ag building, so the hall was blessedly full of corn-fed eye candy.
The only reason I was taking Entomology 101 was because the teacher, Dr. Greer—who was total Daddy goals—had told me it would be fun. I’d needed to add a blow-off class to my schedule in order to keep my full-time student status, and there was something satisfying about taking the weird bug class during my last semester of undergrad. It appealed to my sense of ridiculousness.
A pair of pristine work boots moseyed up to the vending machine, and I glanced up to get a view of the guy’s long, denim-wrapped legs. They were thick, like tree trunks, stretching the worn jeans in the most mouth-watering way. My perusal lovingly passed the dude’s hips, waist, strong chest, and landed on his face.
Connor fucking Blume.
Out of all the hot cowboys I could have checked out this morning, the first one to catch my eye was the one guy I’d have been perfectly happy to never see again.
I tugged my hood down and drew my knees to my chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice me.
He dropped some quarters into the machine, made a selection, and bent over to pull his food out of the compartment at the bottom, which was when he spotted me, of course. We both froze, eyeing each other. I glanced away, and he straightened with his snack in his hand.
He’d bought raisins. Seriously. Who the fuck buys raisins from a vending machine?
I legit hated him. Everything about him. From his auburn hair to his powerful thighs to his choice of vending machine snack. He sucked.
He just stood there, not saying hi or smiling or anything, so I shoved my earbuds in my ears. Asshole must have gotten the point because he turned on his heels and lumbered off.
Okay, he didn’t lumber. His walk was too precise for that. Everything about Connor Blume was precise. Unless he was tipsy. Then he was a bumbling, insulting mess.
I tried to concentrate on the music blaring in my ears—it was one of my old running playlists—but it was too easy for my mind to wander. And it did wander, straight over to Connor holding up a wall at the end of the hallway. He was surrounded by other students, and they all appeared to know each other.
I didn’t know anyone here.
This building suddenly felt far away from the English building, which was much more likely to have people like me—artsy, weird, queer, Black.
Though, Connor was queer—no doubt about that.
He was watching me now, eating his stupid raisins.
Connor seemed uneasy in crowds. I hated that I knew that about him, but it was one of the things that had enticed me when I’d first noticed him a year ago. Every Wednesday he’d show up with his friends at the Lumberyard—the only gay bar in Elkville, Oklahoma—and sit through the evening like he was in a dentist’s chair. That cautious, uncomfortable cowboy act had made me want to ease him. Draw him out.
Lot of good that had done. I always fell for jerks.
Jerks shouldn’t be hot—it wasn’t fair—but Connor, undeniably, was both. I’d never seen him with stubble, but he had a delicious red shadow on his jaw this morning. He was wearing a Carhartt jacket, like every redneck ever, and it added dimension to his broad chest.
That chest had felt so good under my hands the one time I’d gotten close enough to touch him.
Connor dropped his box of raisins, and they spewed all over the hallway. He kneeled to clean up his mess, and his face was flushed. Oh yeah, he was hot and bothered by my eye-hate-fucking.
Which was good. Because he bothered me right back.
“Travis Bradford. I was happy to see you on the class list.”
I tore my eyes away from Connor and scrambled up to greet one of my favorite people ever. Dr. Greer was stocky and had a silvery beard and deep brown skin. Plus, one of the best laughs ever.
“Hi, Dr. Greer. After hearing you talk about this class last semester, I decided I couldn’t miss it. I hope I’m not the only non-major enrolled.”
Dr. Greer was the faculty sponsor for QSOC—Queer Students of Color—one of the student groups out of the Spectrum Center here on campus. I’d met him on my college visit when I’d been a restless, heartbroken eighteen-year-old searching for a new home after all my hopes and dreams had been ripped apart. My parents had been understandably wary about me going to college in a wheat field in Oklahoma, but Dr. Greer had p
ut them at ease. He was good at that.
“Nah. We usually have several non-majors. It’s a fun class, so word gets around. Any news on those law school applications yet?”
I grinned. “I’ve gotten an early acceptance and a denial. Still waiting on my number one school, but don’t want to jinx it.”
Dr. Greer’s big, booming laugh drew the eyes of students around us. “Let’s change the subject, then. Did you have a nice holiday break?” he asked.
I caught up with Dr. Greer until it was time for class to begin, and we walked into the room together.
The classroom was set up stadium style, with long tables rather than desks. Most students had already found seats, which left me with few options that weren’t the front row or uncomfortably close to Connor, whose presence in the fourth row was like a shining beacon. Or a bin of smelly garbage I needed to avoid.
Garbage, for sure.
I squeezed into an empty seat at a table with three girls wearing shirts announcing they were on the equestrian team. Connor was in the row behind me, which was for the best. I wouldn’t be tempted to stare.
Maybe I’d be able to make it through this entire semester without having to interact with him. If we did have to interact, I could pretend I didn’t know him. Didn’t remember him. He’d only broken my ridiculously easy-to-break heart last year, which was my fault for cultivating a dumb crush on a man I hadn’t actually known. I probably wasn’t anything to him except an almost-hookup that had petered out before it got good.
Yeah, I didn’t want to know him at all.
Falling for assholes was a past-Travis mistake, and I was working on myself. Becoming a better person. Focusing on my future and career rather than boys.
Past Me: got way too invested in dumb crushes.
Current Me: had no shits to give about boyfriends or crushes or anything beyond no-strings hookups.
Future Me: was going to hightail it out of this cow town and forget all the fuckboys in it.
“Good morning and welcome to Entomology 101,” Dr. Greer said cheerfully from the front of the class. All the chitchat died down as he passed out the syllabus and started the boring first-day-of-class ritual of reading it word-for-word.
It didn’t matter how cool a teacher was, I’d never met one who could make syllabus day interesting.
Dr. Greer outlined the different course modules—basic biology and behavior of insects, folklore and mythology of insects, insect-borne illnesses, insects and agriculture, insects and forensic science. He flipped the syllabus to the next page, and the class followed suit, the rustle of paper soothing and familiar.
On the top of the page was the heading, Madagascar Hissing Cockroach Observation Project.
“As I’m sure you know,” Dr. Greer stated, “you’ll all be taking home a Madagascar hissing cockroach for most of the semester.”
Excuse the fuck out of me?
Dr. Greer had not told me I’d have to take a bug home with me when he’d waxed poetic about this class. He continued to explain the project, but I had static in my ears. My skin prickled, like bugs were crawling over my arms. Which was apt, truly.
How gross.
“Now, let’s talk about assignments,” Dr. Greer continued, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “You’ll see on the syllabus that there are daily ‘partner assignments.’ Yes, I know. I hear your grumbling. I don’t care. These are participation and class assignments, so it’s not like you’ll be dependent on someone else for large projects. You’ll be paired with your buddy today, and if people drop or join the class, we’ll rearrange as needed. I’d suggest sitting next to your partner going forward, as we’ll have daily discussion questions where you’ll be required to converse with them and turn in your answers. If you have major issues with your assigned partner, please don’t hesitate to visit me during office hours, and we’ll work it out.”
I was feeling less and less sure about this class. I’d take boring-ass literature about some middle-aged fuckhead’s existential crisis any day of the week over a cockroach and busy work.
Dr. Greer moved on to explanations of the midterm and final, as well as minutiae about the Madagascar hissing cockroach project. We wouldn’t get our cockroaches until after the first drop date, so I’d have a couple of weeks without a pet bug to care for. Thank you, Jesus. Also, this class didn’t have many assigned readings.
Maybe things were looking up.
“That’s about it, class,” Dr. Greer said. “If there are no questions, I’ll pair you up with your partner so you can meet and exchange contact information before class is over . . . No questions? Awesome. I’ve found the easiest way to pair up is alphabetically by last name.”
Ah shit.
My adrenaline spiked and sweat slicked my skin. That was worse news than a pet bug. Blume and Bradford were way too fucking close.
CONNOR
My day had been going exactly as planned. I’d walked to all of my classrooms yesterday, so I knew the most efficient route to each. I’d woken up with enough time to iron my shirt and still get to my first class early. And I’d remembered quarters, so I could get a snack before said class started.
I’d also made three different lists last night, so I felt prepared for the day.
One for class materials:
Planner
3 College-ruled Notebooks
4 Pens
Notecards
Whiteout
Yellow highlighter
A to-do list:
Schedule meeting with advisor
Buy Scantron forms
Deep clean kitchenette in apartment
Work shift at Feed Store
And, lastly, a list of goals for the week:
Complete class readings for next week
Finish deep clean of entire apartment
Be social – to a degree
Delete Tinder, again
Go to the gym twice
Travis Bradford was not on any of my lists.
A lot of non-agriculture majors took Entomology 101 because of the Madagascar hissing cockroaches, but Travis had never struck me as someone who would be interested in insects. Not that I knew Travis. I didn’t.
I hadn’t realized how much I wanted to know him until I’d ruined all chances of it ever happening last year. Now the thought of facing him turned my stomach.
As soon as Dr. Greer announced that class partners would be assigned using alphabetical order, I started taking stock of the students I knew in the class. There had to be someone with a last name between his and mine. Blume and Bradford. There were so many letters between L and R.
“Please raise your hand as I call your name, so your partner can find you,” Dr. Greer instructed. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my temples. I could taste it on the back of my tongue.
He started in the As. In no time at all, he’d called my name.
I raised my hand, and Dr. Greer smiled kindly. “And Travis Bradford.”
Fuck. Little tendrils of anxiety snuck through my brain and attacked. Travis was sitting in front of me. I’d stared at the back of his head for the entire class, so I had a great view of him. When Dr. Greer called his name, he didn’t flinch, like me, or react at all for several stomach-churning seconds.
Finally, he lifted his arm and rotated around slowly. When his eyes met mine, there was no recognition in them. No reaction. He didn’t smile or nod. Or glare. Nothing.
There was a lot of commotion in the room as Dr. Greer continued calling names and students moved around the classroom. Normally, that much noise and socializing would have put me on edge, but it paled next to the unease already slithering through me. I stared at Travis as he stood up. The guy next to me vacated his seat to join his class partner, and Travis made his way toward me, taking the long way around to get to my table.
I was hit by déjà vu. He’d come at me like that once outside the Lumberyard, slowly, as if he were approaching someone who was skittish. I’d wanted him badly that night, b
ut I’d been so surprised by his interest that all my words had jumbled in my brain until they fell from my mouth in a disastrous mess. At least I would never again make the mistake of blurting out that I found kissing “distasteful,” especially with my dick in someone else’s hand.
If only I could blame that night on my best friend, Desiree. Desi had been lecturing me about asking for what I wanted when it came to sex and being honest about what I didn’t like. And I didn’t enjoy kissing. Not usually. Especially with a person I didn’t know. It was too wet and invasive. I hated feeling spit dry around my lips, or a tongue all thick and slick and unwieldy in my mouth.
But that night, I’d been tipsy—hence, my lack of filter and use of a word like “distasteful”—and Travis had misunderstood. I couldn’t even remember how that conversation had fallen apart so quickly, only that it had.
Travis took the seat next to me. His face was blank as he presented his hand for me to shake.
“I’m Travis. Nice to meet you.”
I shook his hand and stared at him—at his bright brown eyes and plush lips and smooth dark skin. Did he not remember me? That didn’t make sense. He’d glared at me so hard before class that I’d gotten flustered and dropped my raisins. People didn’t frown at other people like that if they were strangers, did they?
After a couple of seconds, Travis said, “Dude, this is where you respond with your name.”
I pulled my hand back. He knew my name, and not just because Dr. Greer had said it. “I’m Connor.”
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