by Edie Danford
I kept thinking about him. And not just the sexy stuff like the feel of his skin, all hot satin under cool water. The delicious sounds he’d made when I’d kissed him. The way his caramel-brown eyes had gone all melty when I’d made him come.
No, what I thought about the most was what he’d said. Thanks for being so fricking nice to me. And the hesitation in his voice when he’d hinted he wanted me to fuck him.
Josh was one of the most confident, put-together guys I’ve ever known. It had been kinda mind-blowing to discover he wasn’t so confident and put-together when it came to sex.
If I’d been reading the signs right—and I’d become very good at reading signs having to do with dick—Josh Pahlke had offered me his virgin ass that night. And if that wasn’t mind-blowing enough, all I had to do to make my brain totally go poof was to remember his attitude about the whole thing. He’d been surprisingly open and vulnerable. No posturing, no ego.
Really, he’d been amazingly sweet. Wide-eyed, but smiling. Hesitant with his hands, but God, one hell of a kisser.
It was like he’d been trusting me with a secret. It was like he trusted me, period. Which was stupid on his part. What if I’d been some random guy who’d hooked up with him just because he was smoking hot? Some random guy who would’ve taken advantage of all that sweet-stupid openness and totally worked him over?
Jesus, he’d actually called me “nice” when all I’d been thinking about was how stupid little Dickolas the Queen was going to make the most perfect boy ever to graduate from Lake Woods High come like a mofo.
Yeah, it was making me crazy. Crazy enough I was thinking about taking a hiatus from Pete and the little group he’d founded in the tenth grade—the place where I’d shared every detail of my personal life for the past few years.
I put down the phone and stared at the ceiling. There was a lot of shit I could be doing right now instead of thinking about Josh again.
I heard a door opening and shutting, some thumping in the hallway. I stood and pulled on some boxers. “Hey,” I hollered as I opened the door. “Don’t even think about getting in that shower!”
My across-the-hall neighbor Kelsey looked like shit, her Mohawk spiking in all the wrong directions and her eyeliner turning half her face charcoal-gray.
I laughed. Kelse and I were buds. She had a work-study gig in student housing and, because last spring she’d had to hear my endless despair about not being able to secure space in any of the non-dorm housing options, she’d clued me in to the fact this room had become available last-minute. I’d be forever grateful.
But I still had to give her shit about her current condition. “Bad night?” I asked.
She raised her middle finger and hooked her lip into a sneer. After performing a head-to-toe survey of my mostly naked bod, her gaze lingered on my crotch. Her sneer got sneer-ier. “Better than yours.”
I snorted. “Wouldn’t take much. I unpacked two more boxes and then passed out on the unmade bed at eleven.”
“Alone?”
“Yup.”
“You’re slipping, Nicky. A few days into the quarter and you haven’t fucked a freshman yet?”
“Nope. I haven’t fucked anyone this quarter.”
She laughed. “You’re so slow I bet I could beat you in a race to the shower.”
I raised my eyebrows, striking a pose against the doorjamb. “You dare to challenge me before nine in the morning?”
“Oh, indeed I do.”
She turned on one bare foot and hoofed it down the hall, cackling like a nutjob.
“That’s a challenge?” I called after her, laughing.
“Nope,” she said before flinging open the bathroom door. “It’s a win.”
Shrugging, I went back into my room. It was Friday morning and I didn’t have any classes scheduled, just my regular work-study gig at the library. Not like anyone was gonna be checking me out in the bowels of the manuscript-processing department.
I scrounged around the pile of clothes overflowing my duffel—I still hadn’t unpacked all my shit yet—and found my least offensively dirty cutoffs. I matched them with an almost clean tee. My contacts weren’t in, but I tended to do a lot of up-close, detailed work in the library and I could see tiny shit better if I could take off my glasses and use my naked eyes.
I shoved my feet into some flip-flops and wrestled my hair into a messier-than-my-usual-mess ponytail. Good to go.
The heat had broken, thank God, so the three-block walk to the library was comfortable, a perk that came along with this year’s living situation. My new house was called Vegan House. It struck me as stupid to name a house after the inhabitant’s eating preferences—I mean, why not call it Yellow House, or pseudo-Georgian house, or House with Very, Very Cool People? Anyway. It was across the street from frat row, which had advantages and disadvantages.
A few of the advantages had just taken off their shirts I noted as I approached the scenery at one of the more big-deal frats, Fenton House. I believe Fenton was named after one of its founders and had nothing to do with eating, although, okay, Fen-men were some of the hottest guys on campus and a few of them were gay or bi, so maybe there were some tasty opportunities there after all.
Turns out Fen-men liked to show off their bods at every opportunity. They worked hard on them so why not? Today it appeared they were setting up a trampoline and a bunch of other shit that yelled “big party”. And that right there was one of the disadvantages of my house’s locale. I liked me a party, but not every night of the week.
As I stepped into the library and veered off toward the Ellery Library Café—my feet apparently wouldn’t take me any other direction—the smell of coffee and fresh-baked goodness made my stomach boogie. Another thing in the con column of living at Vegan House: I was not a vegan. I was gonna have to fake it all year. My chances for pulling it off weren’t good. I was a wuss when it came to trying out new foods. I had a few trusty favorites—cheese, coffee, bread, cheese, chocolate, cheese, wine and cheese—and I liked to stick to them.
With this in mind, I stepped into the long line, eager to order my standard breakfast: a cappuccino and a chocolate croissant. I inhaled slowly and looked around. I’d missed this place over the summer. The cute bistro tables. The smell of coffee beans and books. The people—students of all shapes and sizes and colors, every one of them as intense about shoving as much knowledge and caffeine and conversation into their heads as I was.
“Nicky!” The guy working the counter waved.
“Charles.” I grinned. Charles was short, cute and the president of Ellery’s GSA. We’d started off on the wrong foot last year, but Lucy and Amelia had smoothed things over and now I counted Charles as a bud.
A couple of people in front of me in line—two women from my French Romantics class last spring—turned and smiled. “Hey, Nick!”
I smiled back. “Hey there. How was summer?”
“Amazing,” they said with perfect synchronicity. We all laughed.
“Want to join us?” the shorter one—Emma—asked.
“Sure, but I gotta work at nine,” I told them.
“That’s cool,” Emma said. “We have class at nine too.”
We chatted for a while—turned out we’d all aced the final in the Romantics class even though we’d been on the verge of total brain meltdown after taking it. When they got their drinks and food, they settled into a recently vacated table by the window.
My mouth continued to water as I waited my turn in line.
“Did you have a good summer?” Charles asked after I gave him my order.
“Pretty damn good. How about yours?”
“Can’t complain. We’ll catch up later, right? Party at Green House tonight? Sheldon’s deejaying.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
I chatted with a few more folks as I waited for my order, and when I joined Emma and her friend—Abby, I’d finally remembered her name—at their table, they shared some awesome photos Emma had taken at
a Fra Angelico museum in Italy this summer. Good art, good convo, good chocolate and, after a half hour, I’d finally managed to shake off my melancholy from the last couple days.
It felt…right to be here. This was my space, my turf. I could meander down the trails my mind liked to meander and feel completely free. And, best of all, I wasn’t trying to be someone I wasn’t. A good son. A patient brother. The hottest twenty-year-old top in Chicago.
I’d just shoved the last wedge of croissant into my mouth, letting my eyes drift halfway closed as a blob of melty chocolate exploded across my tongue, when a tall, built guy got in line at the counter. My gaze automatically homed in on potential eye-candy, of course. And then my eyes practically bugged out.
The tall, built guy was Josh Pahlke.
PART TWO
When Prince Whatshisname shows up on your turf being all princely and charming and then asks you to lunch, you fucking say yes.
Chapter Five
Nick
THE CHOCOLATE BLOB hit the back of my throat. I coughed. Or maybe spasmed. I grabbed my cup—too fast, too forcefully—and coffee and froth spilled over my knuckles.
“Crap,” I gasped.
“You okay?” Abby pushed her water toward me. I nodded gratefully and took a big gulp.
All the while I kept my gaze fixed on Josh. I didn’t have to do a mind check or a double take or any of that oh-my-God-no-way bullshit.
It was him. Standing casually in line at the Ellery Library Café in all his Joshua glory. Not the damp and delicious just-out-of-the-hot-tub Josh. Not the glorious but awkward just-came-all-over-my-hand Josh. This was holy-wow, make-everyone-in-the-whole-damn-room-sigh Josh.
He wore a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and skinny khaki pants that showed off his super-athletic legs and ass. His new-looking Vans were a nice shade of Harvard crimson and the messenger bag draped across his broad chest was made from perfectly battered butterscotch leather.
It looked as though he’d gotten a haircut in the last few days—there weren’t any cute little doinky curls over his ears anymore, just thick, wavy, golden-brown perfection covering his noble, sculpture-worthy skull. His teeth gleamed and his eyes glittered as he smiled and gave the pathetically awestruck Charles his order.
Poor guy. Charles and Josh. Charles was never going to be the same. And Josh was not going to get what he’d ordered.
What the hell was he doing here? My brain’s gears whirred and clanked. Josh had been a Fen-man when he’d been at Ellery. He must be in town to go to the Fenton House fete I’d noticed the pledges setting up earlier—
“Um, Nick? Are you okay?”
I turned away from my Josh eye-glom to see Emma and Abby looking at me as if I had chocolate oozing from my mouth. Which I probably did. I picked up my napkin and wiped my lips.
“Yeah, fine,” I said, working a smile. “Just got taken by surprise. Saw someone I, um, didn’t expect to see.” Surprise didn’t really begin to cover it. My hand was shaking as I clenched Abby’s water glass. Shit. Looked like I’d drunk the whole thing. I swallowed convulsively and felt air and water gurgle uncomfortably in my stomach. “Sorry about the water,” I told her.
“No prob.” She smiled and glanced toward the counter.
Charles was looking up at Josh like Frodo meeting King Aragorn for the first time. Charles’s ears were bright red beneath his beige café cap. He gestured toward the ceiling, his fingers waggling goofily. A little piece of spittle flew from his mouth, catching the light before disappearing somewhere blessedly beyond the realm of food and drink. Josh was nodding, smiling, being his nice, beautiful Josh self.
“You know that guy?” Emma asked.
I rubbed my hand over my face. Shit. Déjà vu really sucked. “Yeah,” I managed.
“Wow,” Abby breathed, gazing at Josh.
“Agreed,” I said.
“Oh, um, here…” Emma pushed her napkin toward me.
What? Was I drooling for real? I picked up the napkin automatically, going for another mouth wipe.
“No.” Emma’s gaze was fixed on my cheek. “Right…here.” She pointed to her own cheek.
As I began scrubbing my cheek with the white paper napkin—wishing I’d taken time to shave and shower this morning, or really, you know, just stayed in bed—Josh turned from the counter, coffee mug in hand.
Abby nudged my knee with hers. “Should we ask him to join us?”
I glanced around the café. No available table, but there was an extra chair at ours. “He’s probably meeting someone and I should probably get going—”
Josh’s gaze landed on me. He did do a double take. And probably a mind check. And maybe a silent “what the fuck”.
Shockingly, he didn’t run away. Or turn his back. Or cock his head all where-do-I-know-you-from. He smiled. And my heart did that stupid stall and stutter shit again.
“Oh, wow,” Abby murmured under her breath. “No wonder you’re flustered. He’s beautiful.”
Flustered? Who even said that? But, God, it sure as hell applied. “Yup,” I said to all of it.
Emma laughed. “Prince Charming comes to Ellery, right?”
Oh God.
Josh approached our table, still smiling, and I tried very, very hard not to feel or act or look or sound like I was fourteen again. Or remember that the last time he’d seen me I’d been wanking my meat.
“Hi,” he said as he got close.
“Hi,” I croaked. I tried to clear my throat without looking or sounding like I was clearing my throat.
“So not Amherst or Williams, huh?”
“Um…no.” I had momentarily forgotten Josh didn’t know me beyond those few hours we’d spent together in the hotel. Seeing me again wouldn’t be cause for any “whoa’s” or “wow’s” or mind-bending clashes between the past and present. Any weirdness he was experiencing would be more like the vague awkwardness of having to see a trick when he wasn’t expecting to see him ever again.
I needed to start making my brain work. Now.
“Would you, uh…” I gestured at the empty chair. “Like to join us?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Emma cleared away some stuff and Josh set down his mug. When he took off his bag and settled into the chair his calf brushed against mine and—no joke—the feel of his khaki-covered leg made me dizzy. Or maybe I was experiencing a head rush from the coffee and chocolate. I hoped it was the latter. Because behaving like I was fourteen had been a drag when I was fourteen, and it was even more of a drag at twenty.
“I’m Josh,” Josh said, offering his hand to Emma—who shook his hand and introduced herself. And then he offered his hand to Abby—who shook his hand and introduced herself. They all smiled and laughed in that way people do when they’re happy and friendly and pleased to meet other happy and friendly people. And then he offered his hand to me. He winked and said, “Cinder, right?”
“Um…” I shot a glance at Emma and Abby. Their expressions were rabidly curious. Yep. I’d be curious too.
In a way I was absolutely positive came across as very smooth, subtle and un-fourteen-year-old-ish, I wiped my hand on my shorts and shook his hand. One shake. A fast one.
I coughed. “That’s a nickname. Actually my name is Nick. Nick as in Nicholas, I mean. Not, uh, Nick as in ‘nickname’.”
Emma giggled. “Good one.”
I wanted to sink under the table.
Josh laughed. “I don’t think we officially met in Boston. Josh Pahlke.”
I probably should’ve returned his wink or his smile or his friendliness, but because I was on unsteady ground, I fell back on my old standby—narrowed eyes and a mysterious little smile. I knew I could deliver the expression even under duress because I’d been practicing it—in the privacy of my home and in a variety of socially fucked-up situations—forever.
“Nice to meet you. Officially,” I said, forcing the smile a bit wider.
“Nice to meet you too, Nick.” Josh smiled into his coffee mug.
I needed to chill. Nick was a common enough name—there’d been five of them in my high school class. I’d been the only one with the catchy and highly memorable moniker of Dickolas the Queen, but I’d already determined Josh didn’t remember me at all and it was unlikely my name would trigger any new connections.
Josh’s fingers—big and golden-tan—looked great curved around the white china mug. When he set the mug down, I knew the heat from the coffee would be lingering on his skin. His shirtsleeves were rolled and a glimpse of the birthmark on the soft-looking skin on his inner wrist made my fingers itch. Would it be weird if I reached over and touched him? I hadn’t had nearly a big enough fix of those hands the other night.
Yeah. Yes. Yes, it would be weird if I touched him. I clenched Abby’s empty glass and shifted around on my chair—had the chairs in the café always been this uncomfortable?—and glanced at his face. He was watching me. Our gazes connected and his smile did that unbearably hot, crooked thing again.
“You’ve, ah, got a little…” He leaned forward and took a swipe at my cheek with one of his warm golden fingers. “Chocolate, I think.”
I picked up my napkin and dabbed wildly at my cheek—the opposite cheek I’d tried to wipe earlier. I was surprised the paper didn’t ignite, my skin was so hot. Josh laughed. “You got it, man. And then some.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, crumpling the napkin in my hand.
Emma was giving me the side-eye. Yes, I was acting odd. Different from my usual brand of odd.
“So,” Abby said perkily. “You guys met in Boston? I thought you were from Chicago, Nicky. What were you up to in Boston this summer?”
All eyes were on me. “Nothing,” I said. I made my hand relax. “Um, I mean, I was helping Amelia and Lucy move into their new place.”
“Oh cool!” Emma leaned forward in her chair. She was friends with Amelia. “What’s it like?”
I gave details. I wasn’t sure how coherent they were because I was so hyperaware of Josh. He kept looking at me. I mean, I was talking and it was polite to pay attention to a guy who was talking, right? But the awareness I was feeling because of his nearness—the heat spreading down my chest and the tiny hairs standing up along my limbs and the shortness of my breath—was making me loopy. And hard. Jesus, I was actually chubbing up sitting here in the library with Emma and Abby on either side of me.