by Wendy Qualls
This would be the right time to say something flirtatious, some buried part of Paul’s brain piped up. She’s everything your parents would love to see in a girlfriend for you: she’s pretty, she’s Christian, she’s female, and she’s adorable when she laughs. You could do much worse.
And yet she did absolutely nothing for him. Not in that way, anyway. She was nice, and he did care about her, but it was the same way he cared about Danielle. If he were truly a good person, he’d bring up the topic, let her down gently, and help steer her toward someone else.
Paul was not that person, though. He forced a silent smile, said his good-byes, and headed back toward the psychology building.
* * * *
“You wanted to see me?”
It was an awkward repeat of Friday morning, right down to Dr. Kirsner ignoring Paul hovering in the doorway until he’d deemed a sufficient amount of time had passed to prove his point. Finally he waved Paul to the seat across from him (one step up from a folding chair, hard and uncomfortable and a shade too low for the height of the desk) and leaned back in his much fancier leather desk chair. “I’ve got a task for you,” he announced.
“O…kay?” Whatever this project was he certainly didn’t look happy about Paul’s involvement.
Dr. Kirsner steepled his hands over his lap. “I’ve been told to provide a ‘departmental liaison’ for a certain university-wide project,” he said, the curl of his lip betraying how he felt about being ordered to do anything. “I don’t know much about it, other than that every department is expected to participate fully and that the project is primarily electronic. Since you’ve got the lightest workload, I feel that this position should rightfully fall to you.”
Lightest workload? Paul bit back the instinctive defense of his schedule—Dr. Kirsner knew precisely which sections Paul was teaching, how many students he was advising, and what his office hours were supposed to be. He had exactly the same number of classes as the other professors did, but Paul easily had 50 percent more students than most of his colleagues because he didn’t shy away from the larger intro courses and—thanks to scheduling or just word of mouth—he had students want to be in his section. And even though he was still midway through the waiting part of the publishing process for his last research study, he was in the middle of drafting the next one. It’s not like I’m sitting around my office on my rear and twiddling my thumbs.
Paul didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when it came to complaining, though. It was well within Dr. Kirsner’s rights to assign his little project to any faculty member he liked. Maybe if Paul made the psychology department look good, it could help his career in the future. Potentially. He cleared his throat. “What do I need to do?”
“You’ll be meeting with the project organizer this afternoon—he can tell you all about it, I’m sure.” Dr. Kirsner waved two fingers vaguely, as if the project wasn’t worth the effort of lifting his hand the entire way. “His name is Brandon Mercer. He’s some sort of consultant, and he’ll be in your office at twelve-thirty.”
* * * *
It was a good thing Paul had a pretty thorough lesson plan written out on paper, for once, because there was no way he’d have been up to winging it for his 11:00 Intro Developmental Psych lecture. Every relatively quiet moment between the summons from Dr. Kirsner and the impending meeting with “the consultant” seemed to be peppered with increasingly vivid memories of Brandon from that one magical night freshman year: the breathless sneak back down the hallway to Brandon’s room, the sight of Brandon’s head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut during a particularly loud gasp, the definition of muscles on his bare chest, how he’d kissed like he wanted to fellate Paul’s tongue. And Christ, the feel of Brandon’s erection rubbing against his own as they squirmed together on the bed. It had all been so overwhelming at the time, but somehow Paul’s brain had managed to capture every single second in Technicolor.
And none of it was appropriate for Paul to be daydreaming about during class—or anytime while he was on St. Ben’s campus. The cold shower would have to wait for when he got home, but in the meantime Paul bought a sandwich at the cafeteria as soon as his lecture finished, and hid in his office to eat. He really didn’t need anyone around to ask how he could be “reading” psychology periodicals despite being distracted enough he forgot to turn the pages.
Brandon showed up right on time. The look of surprise on his face was almost—almost—worth the inevitable awkwardness which would follow. The momentary lapse was quickly covered by a cocky grin, though, as he came in and nudged the door closed behind him.
“So you’re my departmental liaison. I had wondered.”
Paul nodded, keeping his expression carefully neutral. Hopefully betraying no sign of what he’d been thinking about pretty much non-stop since Friday. “I was just let in the loop this morning—not told much about what I’m supposed to do,” he admitted. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“It’s really not all that time-consuming.” Brandon dropped into his chair with an easy grace. “St. Ben’s has hired me to review a bunch of their electronic files, looking for irregularities. I won’t necessarily know what I’m looking for, though, so I asked for someone in each department to act as my point of contact if I have any questions. Specifically, I need someone who’s been here a while and knows everyone in their department fairly well—which it sounds like you do.”
Paul nodded again. With those criteria, he supposed he was a valid choice. “What kind of irregularities?”
“Don’t know yet.” Brandon looked over the desk at Paul, a hint of teasing in his gaze. “The more of them I find the more I’ll get to consult with you, so I’m not going to complain.”
There it was again—that frisson of something between them, still there after ten years. Brandon was staring, now, perplexed by whatever he saw on Paul’s face, but Paul couldn’t look away.
“I’m about to be really forward again,” Brandon said slowly, “but… Do dinner with me tonight? We can keep it to ‘dinner-dinner,’ I promise. It’s just… I haven’t seen you for ages. I know you’re not interested in anything complicated, but I really would love to have the chance to catch up. I want to hear more about St. Ben’s. And your research. And—well, anything really.” Paul was astonished to see that Brandon was turning a bit red under his beard. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I’m just really not looking forward to sitting around my hotel room doing nothing all evening.”
“No, that’s—it sounds good. Nice.” Paul cleared his throat. Nothing too dangerous about merely having dinner, is there? Some small voice in the back of his head started cataloging all the ways this was a horrible idea, but he ignored it. “Where do you want to go?”
* * * *
Even with the cold shower and a truly stupid amount of time spent staring at his closet and deciding what to wear, Paul showed up at the barbecue restaurant almost half an hour early. He ended up killing time sitting in his car and playing repetitive little games on his phone, glancing up every time anyone so much as drove through the parking lot. At ten minutes to seven, he finally gave up and went inside to get a table.
“Hey.” Brandon slid into the chair opposite a few minutes later and shot him a bright smile, no trace of his earlier insecurity. “Damn, haven’t been here in ages. I remember their okra was fantastic.”
“Still is.” Paul busied himself with looking over the menu, even though he ate here often enough he could have probably listed off almost everything on it from memory. Including prices. “I always get the fried catfish platter,” he said instead of whatever stupider thing would have escaped his mouth if given the chance.
“Sounds good to me.” Brandon shoved his menu aside. “So how was the rest of your day?”
Small talk was surprisingly easy, all the way through dinner and a slice of chess pie apiece. They’d never really been close enough freshman year to
go out like this, just to spend time in each other’s company, and it was nice. Novel. Brandon talked about his experiences at Georgia Tech and how he’d fallen into working for a digital security firm, and Paul outlined the basis of his doctoral thesis—the cognitive basis of human decision-making—and summarized the more interesting bits of his research. Before Paul knew it, their plates were empty and the check was sitting on the table between them and Brandon was regarding him speculatively.
“So,” Brandon said quietly. “This was dinner.”
“Yeah.”
“It was good.”
Paul swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, it was nice.” For the first time in forever, it feels like I have a social life.
“Are you ready to go home now?” Brandon’s question was simple, but the implied alone echoed over the table loud and clear. One last offer just in case Paul was interested. It felt like so much more than that, though. It was the only chance Paul was likely to get to not be that obedient son, the predictably boring professor. The final chance to indulge in more than what Grace—or any other nice, wholesome woman—could offer. Brandon was still pretty much the only face in most of his private little fantasies, and the chance to refresh that memory with actual sex…
“You could come over, if you want,” Paul mumbled. “To—to hang out a bit, I guess? I mean—you don’t have to, but if you were still thinking of…yeah. I might—maybe we could call it coming in for a drink? Not that I have anything alcoholic, I think, but if we…crap. I’m not making sense, am I?”
Brandon’s smile was slow and smoldering and he bit his lip in what Paul could only call a sultry look. “Was that an invitation?” he drawled. “Because I very much like the idea of you taking me back to your place and letting me show you a bit of what you’ve been missing. I’ve certainly been missing you.”
Holy crap. “It’s… It’s a maybe.” Paul ducked his head, looking anywhere but at the gorgeously confident man across from him. “I…um. I don’t know if I’m as ready as I—it would be mean to get your hopes up. I think I want to talk first. And then, possibly. I’ve been—I’ve been thinking about you a lot today. And I think maybe we can do something like that. Not everything, but…maybe some of it. If you want.”
And God, Brandon’s grin turned downright predatory. “I want,” he murmured. “Oh, I want. Tell me what you want to learn, and I will be happy to indulge you.”
Chapter 4
Paul gave Brandon his phone number and address before they left the restaurant, just in case, but with the light traffic they had no trouble caravanning back to his apartment complex. It wasn’t the fanciest in town, but it was a step up from the apartments filled with partying students, and it was generally pretty quiet. His living room window overlooked the “pond”—currently more of a mud puddle—and the walking path at the front of the property. The complex’s prime selling point had been that it was fifteen minutes away from campus, in the opposite direction from the apartment he’d shared with Christopher. Fewer memories.
“This must be convenient,” Brandon commented as they got out of their respective cars and headed for Paul’s front door. “Not much of a commute, I’m guessing?”
“Not with the hours I keep,” Paul answered. “I’m hardly ever on the road during rush hour. Well, around here it’s more like rush fifteen minutes.” He let them both in and nodded toward the kitchen. “Um, coffee? Or a soda or something?” God, I sound like an idiot. Or the hostess at a home Bible study. Inviting Brandon back to his apartment was already feeling like a terrible idea. He didn’t even know what he wanted. He wasn’t sure if—
“You’re adorable,” Brandon announced, interrupting Paul’s growing sense of self-doubt. He grabbed Paul’s hand and tugged him over to the sofa. “I’m still stuffed full of chess pie and sweet tea, and so are you. I can see why that restaurant is your favorite. Right now, though, what I really want to do is—oh my God! Are these all yours?” He slid from the sofa into a graceful crouch in front of the entertainment center. And in front of Paul’s ridiculously large collection of videogames. “Damn, I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“Um.” Because of course he had to notice those. Could it have been more obvious that Paul was a sad, lonely bachelor? “I don’t watch TV much. Those are…what I do.”
Brandon was only half listening, already running a finger along the spines of the neatly-organized jewel cases. “This is amazing,” he said. “And you’ve got excellent taste. Don’t apologize. Maybe—”
Yeah, about that. Paul took a deep breath and tried to quell the butterflies in his stomach. “Brandon, about that… I want to say yes, but I don’t know how much I …”
To Brandon’s credit, he picked up on Paul’s shaky tone immediately and came back up to sit beside him on the sofa. “You’re still not sure about this,” he said matter-of-factly. “Tell me what you do want, then. Hell, there’s nothing wrong with actual communication. Even if I would dearly love to pull you into my lap and let you ride me right now.” That sly half smile slid back into place again. “You get the most adorable flush in your cheeks when you’re flustered; did you know that?”
Oh God. Paul could feel himself blush further, but there was nothing he could do about it. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just…” Christ, this is hard to put into words. “You know when there’s something you really, really want, but you know it’s probably bad for you? And you’ll regret it later?”
“I’m that something, I assume.”
“Pretty much.”
Brandon arched one eyebrow. “And you’re already planning to regret this? Because that’s not really the best start to a potential evening of wild sex.”
Damn. Despite Paul’s nerves, that sounded seriously tempting. Heck, any sex would be fantastic, given how long it had been since Christopher. But maybe it would be better to restrict the whole affair to a few good kisses—and even that would be pushing it. Surely a good make-out session with Brandon would be enough, wouldn’t it? Not as rude as kicking him out of the apartment so soon after inviting him in, but it wouldn’t be so…
Dangerous.
That’s what it came down to: Brandon Mercer, with that wicked smile, that smoldering look, that deliciously tempting tone of voice. He was a serious threat to Paul’s ability to convince himself that he’d be just as happy living a believably straight life forever. It was bad enough fantasizing over what Brandon had been like when they were both eighteen, but the current Brandon Mercer had an aura of confidence that was nearly impossible to ignore.
“You’re worried,” Brandon said aloud. He slid to the far end of the sofa, then stood. “Look, much as I’d like to have some sexy fun together, I’m not the kind of guy who sticks around where he’s not wanted. How about you let me know later, okay? Give me a call? We don’t have to—”
“No!” Crap, that came out sounding downright clingy. “I mean—I do want this. Something. I just—I can’t do casually gay. All my experience is built around ‘guilty and closeted.’ And I’ve got a lot to lose if this gets out, so you’ll have to forgive me for being a little extra-cautious here.”
“What, you think I’m going to go around announcing that we fucked?” Brandon rolled his eyes. “Christ—this is why I usually don’t do this with closeted guys. Forget it.”
“Stay.”
“No—look.” Brandon propped his hip on the arm of the sofa and crossed his arms. “I don’t mind if tonight becomes your dirty little secret. I kind of expected that when I asked. I’m not going to go bragging about what you taste like or how you are in bed, and I wouldn’t know anyone here to tell even if I wanted to. But I’m not going to be the focus of some Jesus-hates-me meltdown where you can paint me as some rainbow Typhoid Mary spreading gay cooties in my wake. If you want this, you’ve got to own it. I’d rather sit alone in my hotel room than be some big ongoing source of guilt for you to rail against. You w
ant me? Then say it.”
“I do want you.” The words tumbled out all by themselves, but Paul realized he meant them. “I’m sorry I’m being a jerk about this and I wish I could…yeah.” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out at a measured pace. “You’re right. And I do have some experience. I’m not some blushing virgin or anything.”
“Not anymore,” Brandon countered with a wicked grin.
God. “I’m saying yes,” Paul insisted. “I’m just not entirely sure what I want to say yes to.”
The smirk dropped from Brandon’s face, replaced by a much gentler expression. “Want me to suggest something, then?”
Easier than me having to fumble through saying it. Paul nodded.
“Right, then—here goes.” Brandon lowered himself back onto the sofa and slid an arm around Paul’s shoulders. “First, we fool around and I show you a thing or two you may have been missing out on, your ‘some experience’ notwithstanding. And then we say screw it, curl up together here on the couch, and play video games together until we get tired. I’ll either sleep on the couch or you kick me out. Deal?”
“Deal,” Paul agreed. The promise of video games afterward was oddly soothing—made it feel like they were just hanging out and happened to be getting physical rather than the significantly more skeezy “hookup for the sole purpose of getting off.” Not that he’d ever had someone over to hang out at this apartment anyway.
“Thank God.” Brandon’s eyes darkened. “Get over here.” His hand slipped up to the nape of Paul’s neck, warm and insistent, urging him forward.
Oh. Paul had seen the kiss coming, had expected it, but he hadn’t predicted the sheer rush of sensation at even the first touch of Brandon’s lips against his own. Not that Brandon was holding back—he knew what he was doing. His fingers cradled the back of Paul’s skull, carding gentle tributaries through his hair and positioning him at the perfect angle to better steal every single thought from his head. Paul tried to keep up, but two seconds into the kiss he had to admit he had absolutely no idea how. It felt like every little nudge of Brandon’s lips was a question and Paul didn’t have the answers.