by Edie Danford
Ever since Tyler Griegson had posted that pic of my dick on the listserv, claiming that I’d sprung wood in gym, all things locker room-or gymnasium-related made my gut churn and my pulse pound. And not for reasons of physical exertion.
The week after the picture had gone up on the listserv, one of Tyler’s buds found me in the locker room’s rarely used, decrepit last row—yeah, I was hiding and cowering; yeah, I about pissed my shorts when I saw him coming for me—and put me up against the open door of the cruddy old locker I’d claimed. I’d had just enough time to put my arm up so my face wouldn’t smash against the metal’s cold, raw edge. The dude’s awful words rasping in my ear hurt more than the slice into my forearm. Freak. Cocksucker. You goddamn well better stay in this fucking little corner. Unless you want me to cut that dick down to size. You want me to cut you? Huh, McQueeeeen?
I’d ended up needing stitches in my arm; the school nurse didn’t question my explanation about klutzily falling into my locker. Later that week the school sent my parents an email apologizing for the “condition of the lockers in the gymnasium” and promising that the maintenance staff would be assessing and replacing anything that might potentially harm students. Too bad they didn’t assess or replace douchewads like Tyler and his ilk.
Today was the start of the second week of soccer camp. It was raining like hell outside and there was still a half hour until the nine o’clock start time. There had been no sign of Josh’s bike or jeep in the parking lot, but I figured the field house offices—where they registered kids for summer programs and where the coach’s offices were housed—would be the first place he’d come when he arrived this morning.
As I walked through the hall, I saw that the lights were still off in the office windows. Nobody was around.
I sat on one of the benches under the trophy and award display cases and opened my bag. I had the library copy of Leaves of Grass, but I’d purchased my own copy—one that was annotated—and I couldn’t wait to talk it over with Josh. One, it would give me a chance to talk with Josh (always a bonus). And, two, I genuinely wanted to discuss some of the ideas I’d been mulling over with a guy who was familiar with the book.
After wiping my rain-spattered glasses on my T-shirt, I got down to the business of reading.
“Hey.” The deep voice and heavy foot treads sent a slight rattle through the display cases, and I jumped.
Austin Harmon walked toward me. “You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said. He stopped a few feet away from the bench. His beefy arms were crossed and his mouth—which I used to like when it smiled—was pressed into a chalk-white line.
“Um…the door wasn’t locked. Why can’t I be here?”
“Camp doesn’t get cancelled or move indoors because of rain. If you’re too much of a pussy to deal with wet, then go home.”
My gaze traveled over Austin’s amazing jock bod, from his buzzed head to his trendy sneakers. I’d grown up with this guy. In some ways he was like a brother or cousin. Family. I wanted to ask him if we could start over. I wanted to tell him I was sorry about what had happened between us, but that I wanted a goddamn apology from him too. Instead I said, “I’m here waiting for Josh. I wanted to talk to him about something.”
Austin raised his blond brows. “About what?”
“None of your business.” I raised my chin. He was going to have to do better if he wanted to intimidate me. His fault. I’d thickened my skin considerably since he’d sold me out to Tyler.
He snorted, his nostrils flaring. He reminded me of an angry bull, and I wished like hell that I could understand why I’d started to make him see red. That shit we’d done in Sanibel—it had been his idea. He’d been the one to take pictures. He’d been the one—
God. I was sick of thinking about it. My brain was worn down with slogging through the same old shit. I just wanted to move on from all things Austin. My hands curved around my book. He glanced down at it and shook his head.
“Josh isn’t coming till later. I got hired as an assistant coach, and I’m going to be getting you campers started today. So take your lame little books and your lying little ass and get out of here.”
“Jesus, Austin,” I said with a choking gasp. “What the hell? Why are you treating me this way?”
Something flickered in his pale eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
I laughed helplessly. “Really? What did I do to deserve this? I didn’t do anything to you! Except suck your goddamn cock. Which I fucking regret!”
His eyes went wide and for a second he looked more than angry-bull mad. He looked outright crazy, like in a for-real way. Weirdly, it made some of the tightness ease in my chest. If he wasn’t just being a prize prick, if he actually needed help, if he couldn’t deal with shit because of something messed-up in his head, or something his parents or friends were doing to him—
“Austin. Are you okay?”
He took a fast step forward. He loomed over me, his big chest rising and falling, his jaw clenched. “No, I am not fucking okay, Nicholas. Not since you went back on your promise not to tell anyone and fucking outed me to my parents!”
I thought he was going to wrap his big hands around my neck and choke me. His fingers were clenching and unclenching. My chest constricted; I couldn’t breathe. A pathetic whimper sound rose from my throat and he slammed his hands into the case above me. I cringed, bracing myself for falling glass.
Nothing shattered, though. Just my nerves as I listened to Austin’s ragged breathing.
I gulped. Air whooshed in my ears. “I—” I choked and swallowed. “I’m sorry.” I took a few breaths. “I didn’t mean to out you. It happened because of that picture Tyler posted on the listserv. My friend Pete asked about it. And my mom overheard. She promised she wouldn’t tell—” My voice cracked.
Why had I believed my mom would keep that promise? She’d practically blown a gasket when the story had come out. She’d thought Austin had “abused” me. Hell, she’d wanted to go to the goddamn cops before my dad had talked her down. Austin’s mom had been her best friend and now they didn’t speak to each other. What a goddamn mess. I felt like a huge hole had consumed my old life and that I’d never find a way to fill it. I’d never feel solid again.
And that was just my life. I looked up at Austin and suddenly felt worried as hell about the shit he was facing. His dad was a prize asshole.
“Oh shit,” I croaked. “I’m sorry.” Tears spilled and made hot streaks down my cheeks. I scrubbed at them with shaking hands. “I’m sorry things turned out this way.”
For several moments I just sat there, hoping like hell I’d stop crying, hoping like hell no one would come down the hall and see us.
Finally, Austin spoke. “Yeah, me too,” he said, his voice barely louder than my heartbeat. He gazed down at me and shook his head. “Griegson got ahold of my phone one night at a party. We were drunk. I was stupid. As usual. I lied about all of it. As usual. Made up a story about catching you in the locker room.” He sighed and dropped his hands. The cases above my head made a wimpy rattle. “You know what?” he said. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you did it.”
I licked my lips. The salt made me grimace. Barfing could happen at any moment. “Did what?”
“Squealed to your mom.”
“I didn’t—”
“Now the pressure is off. Now my parents have something bigger to worry about than their fucked-up marriage and my druggie brother, you know? Now my dad doesn’t give a fuck if I don’t get into an Ivy. All he cares about is that I don’t go around fucking little boys. Like you.”
Nausea rolled through my gut and I moaned. “Jesus, Austin.” I reached out for one of his hands, but he jerked away before I could touch him. “What can I do? I could tell them…I could have them talk to—”
“No! No.” He exhaled slowly. “I’ve moved on,” he said, unconvincingly. “I’m happy now,” he said even more unconvincingly. “But there’s one thing you can do.”
“
What?”
“Stay the fuck away from me.”
I nodded. I could do that. I could deal with never seeing Austin again.
His gaze flitted down the hall. There were voices echoing in the distance. He looked down at me. “Now would be a good time to start.”
“You want me to…to leave camp?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. I do. This is important to me, Nicholas. I like coaching. I like Josh. He helped me get this gig, but if he hears the rumors about you… And if my mom finds out you’re enrolled…”
“Got it.” I swallowed hard. I didn’t even bother to ask him about what kind of rumors they might hear about me or why they would care. I didn’t want to be around Austin. Ever again. “I suck at soccer anyway.”
Austin made a small scoffing sound of agreement. I glanced at his face. His expression was damn close to an old-style Austin smirk—the one I’d known and even tried to copy since I was about five years old. The sight of it made something wrench in my chest.
I shoved my book into my backpack. Walt Whitman and Josh Pahlke seemed like distant dreams. Sunshine forgotten after weeks of gloomy clouds.
“Thanks.” The word sounded like it had been forced from his mouth.
I nodded. I didn’t have any words to force. I shouldered my bag, headed down the hall and pushed my way outside and into the rain.
Nick—present
I DON’T KNOW if Josh noticed I’d been blowing off the “getting together outside the tower” idea, but he let it ride for the next couple of weeks. My powers of persuasion involved massage, blowing, sucking and a new dildo I’d found for him that was strictly hypoallergenic and strictly hot when it made him leak and come until he screamed.
The being-outside-the-tower issue was forced for both of us when I walked into Eastern European History class one Tuesday and found him leaning against the front desk with Sheree the TA.
I’d stopped in my tracks just inside the door and the dude behind me plowed into my ass and dropped a bunch of books.
I cursed and the dude laughed, and Josh glanced up and saw me. He smiled and I tried to remember how to play it cool as I bent over to help the guy with his books. He brushed me off with a “Thanks, I’ve got it,” but I shoved a few books at him anyway.
He smiled and went to find a seat, but when I stood to do the same, I moved too fast and had to blink away the room-spins.
“Are you going to make it, McQueen?” Sheree asked, her voice cool. I wasn’t her favorite student. She liked to lecture. I liked to discuss.
“Yep.”
“Have a seat,” she said, tipping her curly head toward the auditorium-style seats.
I was still feeling dizzy—too much fooling around last night and too much coffee sans food this morning—so I blew off my usual choice of sitting in the back row and slipped into one of the seats in front.
As I scrambled to get my laptop from my bag, Sheree raised her voice to begin class. “I have news,” she said, pausing to wait for everyone to get settled. “This wasn’t going to happen until next quarter, but life is moving faster than I anticipated. I’m sure you’ll all appreciate how rare it is to be offered a job in this field, and so I know you’ll forgive me for abandoning you with a few weeks to go in the quarter.”
I looked up to see her smiling—an appreciative, friendly smile, not a cloying, kiss-up smile, but it still bugged the shit out of me—at Josh. “But,” Sheree said, putting her small hand on Josh’s forearm, “I’m abandoning you into very capable hands. Everyone, this is Josh Pahlke.”
Josh. Josh was gonna be teaching this class. My gaze was fixed on his lower half. One hip was hitched on the desk and one leg dangled—he was swinging it back and forth, casually, not nervous. I knew firsthand how those muscles worked and moved and felt. But here, in this classroom, even though his body was three feet from mine, he seemed…untouchable.
I forced my gaze to my laptop’s screen. Josh was gonna be the new TA? Why didn’t I know this? Why was it so fricking weird to see him here? Crazy that I thought of this as my turf and not his. I mean, he was here at Ellery to do history research. He was Pearlstein’s pet and this was Pearlstein’s class. And it was my fault I didn’t know this was his new gig. Every time he tried to talk about my classes or his research I shut him up, using highly effective methods.
I finally let myself look at him. He was smiling at Sheree. He was saying thank you and giving the class a friendly smile, looking fabulously easy on the eyes in a pair of well-worn khakis that emphasized his fine, fine musculature, a crisp gray tee and a cardigan in an autumn-leaf orange. The fabric looked rich and soft. Cashmere maybe. Damn. I’d have to get my hands on that thing later.
Sheree began to talk again, listing off Josh’s impressive—my mind? It was blown—list of credentials.
His gaze drifted over to mine. I got the hot, sweet caramel treatment, before he winked and slowly looked away. I shifted around on my seat, echoes of ridonk songs about being “hot for teacher” ringing in my head.
I got shiftier and hotter when, after Sheree’s introduction, Josh sat next to me—turned out it was the only available seat in front, so his choice might not have been because of my red-faced irresistibility—and I spent the rest of the class’s hour ignoring the ridiculously sexy scent of his cinnamon gum, pretending to listen intently and tap out notes on my laptop. It was gonna be fricking hilarious trying to make sense of them later.
As Sheree began to wind down the lecture, I eyeballed the door to the room, plotting my fast escape. It was likely that Josh would be lingering to discuss shit with Sheree, and I was feeling too bugged out by his presence to be comfortable enough to play it cool while I waited.
That was what I did with guys I was attracted to—I played it cool. It had taken a few years of practice to learn how to ditch shyness or worry or nerves or all of the above, but now being cool—or pretending to be cool—came easily. Probably because the only things at stake with hookups were some ego strokes and an orgasm or two.
Now I was realizing not only that there were stakes involved with Josh, but that they were big stakes. Really big. As in, when I tried to picture life without Josh and his smiles and his sweetness and his tower and his big, warm beautiful body, all I got was a dark, blurry haze.
I shifted around on my seat and prayed Josh wouldn’t hear my stomach thunk to the tile floor. Felt like I’d eaten a half dozen of Kelsey’s gluten-free, soy-rich kale and bran muffins.
Jesus. I closed my eyes and the dark, blurry haze sent wafts of terror down my spine. I shuddered and held on tight to my laptop. Could this awful, nauseating, bowel-clenching feeling be…love?
Who the hell was I? Maybe I’d been kidnapped by aliens and this wasn’t real life anymore. Or something. Or maybe the water in the Torvek Tower had been spiked with Love Potion Number Whatever. Or maybe Josh Pahlke had put a spell on me—using his dick as a magic wand—and turned my brain into a goddamned pumpkin.
The moment Sheree bid adieu to the class for the last time, I shut my laptop and opened my book bag. A familiar hand squeezed my shoulder. I froze and looked up at Josh’s face.
“What?” I croaked.
He was smiling, his eyebrows slightly raised, asking me—silently—if I was freaked out. Even though the answer was as obvious as my red face.
“I thought maybe we could grab lunch at the Ellery Inn,” he said in his kind, cool, deep Josh voice. “It’s Tuesday and I’m hoping they still do the two-for-one milkshake deal.”
“Um…”
“You don’t like milkshakes?”
I sighed and shoved my laptop into my bag. “I like milkshakes.”
“Good,” he said. “I know you like me too, so it’s the perfect plan. Because with two-for-one you won’t even have to share my vanilla.”
I couldn’t hold back a smile. Josh always said he was boring and vanilla, but I knew for a fact he wasn’t. I also knew for a fact that when I was face-to-face with him—close enough to feel his body heat and i
nhale his clean, mild-soap scent—it was impossible for me to refuse him anything. And, Jesus, what was the harm in a milkshake?
I needed time to figure out how I was going to cope with my scary new hazy-crazy condition. Consuming a shake on neutral territory would give me at least forty-five minutes of time. Twenty if I sucked it down too fast. Which I vowed immediately not to do.
I swung my legs out from the desk. I didn’t pull back when my knees gently bashed Josh’s, or when his hand came down to rest on my thigh.
“Oh, hey. I see you already know my problem student.” Sheree had approached without us noticing. Her arms were folded and her mouth had pulled sideways into a snarky smile as she gazed at my thigh and Josh’s hand.
Josh gave me a squeeze as he said, “Yeah, I know him.” He glanced at me and smiled. “I can’t believe he’s a problem, though.”
I snorted at the same time Sheree made a similarly derisive sound. “I guess you don’t know him that well, then,” she said, once again proving why she wasn’t my fave person.
She wasn’t snotty with the other students—or not as snotty anyway. There was just something about my good looks and brilliant mind that stuck in her craw. (Ha.) Or maybe it was the fact that I’d been late with every single one of my Intro to Euro History papers last winter quarter, but I’d weaseled my way out of getting my grade dinged by doing a special project with Professor Pearlstein.
There was also the matter of her being roommates with a guy who’d had a misguided crush on me last year, and I suspected her shoulder had been the one he’d cried on. I was willing to cop to late papers and weaseling my way into Pearlstein’s good graces—although the project I’d done for him had been way cool and I’d worked my ass off on it, so it hadn’t been exactly weasely—but her roommate’s issues hadn’t been my fault. The episode had been a case of me being extra careful to be upfront about my single status and him being extra awful at listening to me. I’d actually felt like crap for both him and for me, but yeah, sometimes it sucked going to a small school in a small town. No escaping your screw-ups.