“Pay attention this time,” O’Malley commanded, looking down on Lucas with cold blue eyes before finally heading off to his own room. Thank goodness Lucas had ended up with Winston as a roommate. A no-drama roommate situation was one of the only bright spots in a week filled with challenges.
“He’s an idiot. Ignore him.” Running his hand over his hair, Winston stretched. Lucas wished he could shrug off O’Malley’s visit so easily.
“He’s already talking about ditching me for the lightning round, isn’t he?”
Not surprisingly, Winston didn’t reply, which was answer enough for Lucas. Winston opened the cabinet that housed the TV and started flipping channels. Pain burned below Lucas’s breastbone. He shouldn’t really care so much about staying for the remainder of the show. If he got kicked out, he could go home, use the rest of the summer to earn a little cash for senior year, start looking at grad schools, maybe find a band or different a cappella group to join. . . . The pain turned into a hollow, empty feeling at the thought of doing senior year without the M&Ms.
For three years, the group had been Lucas’s favorite part of college. The M&Ms cared more about what Lucas could do with his voice than about his connection to Mount Monticello’s most famous faculty member, allowing him to feel like more than just Professor Norwood’s kid. He hadn’t hesitated to give up his summer to do the competition with the group. They’d never made it further than the semifinals at any of the big a cappella contests. They’d been shocked when their audition tape had been picked for Perfect Harmony. Even if all those cameras and dance steps gave Lucas hives, he’d deal with it. The group had given him so much, he could give them this. Not to mention he only had to imagine the look of pride on his dad’s face to summon up the energy to try a little harder.
“How about the game? Cubs are up.”
“Nah.” Too many thoughts raced through his head, making him slightly dizzy. He needed out. “I’m going . . . for a walk.”
Like everything else about the show, the hotel was something the producers had gotten at a steal. Thirty years ago, it had probably been a nice place, part of a national chain with meeting rooms on the lower level to attract corporate clients. Now, however, with the national chain sign swapped for a generic “Hollywood Inn & Conference Center” sign, it showed its age in the worn green carpets in the corridors and older furnishings. No doubt the local management had been thrilled to get the contract for the show.
He walked slowly, taking the stairs instead of the creaky elevator. He took a moment to check his messages and send a quick text to his folks without mentioning how horrible the day had been. But in the end, his walk took him straight to Room 637.
“I control my actions. My actions and choices reveal my character,” Lucas mumbled to himself before he knocked on the door. He’d given himself the pep talk so many times, he no longer heard his father’s voice—only his own conscience. He knew how he wanted to live his life, knew that Cody was not what he needed. But it didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. It wasn’t like Cody had said, “come over for sex.”
Cody probably wouldn’t ever think of Lucas and sex together—
The door opened to reveal a half-naked guy.
A half-naked guy who was not Cody.
“What do you want?” The skinny blond kid from Cody’s group glared up at Lucas. He had on boxer briefs and a seriously bad attitude. His crossed arms made his ropy muscles pop. The pirate tattoo on his biceps flexed. “Well?” he snarled.
“Uh.” Lucas gulped. Beyond the guy’s shoulder, the bathroom door was partially open. Lucas could hear the shower running. This had been a spectacularly bad idea. He should have realized Cody would have a boyfriend—and a surly one to boot. If Lucas could find words, he’d tell the kid to worry less about Lucas’s designs on Cody and more about the assistant director’s. “Nothing. I mean. I just . . .”
“Got lost? Needed help remembering how to walk?”
“Yes. No. I mean, Cody said—”
“Cody said what?” Cody emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a cloud of steam and an itty-bitty white towel. Thirty seconds and Lucas had already seen more skin on these two than he’d seen on guys he’d lived with for three years. “Lucas! What’s up?”
“Not much.” Lucas’s feet shuffled. Cody and surly blond guy didn’t seem to have any problem having this conversation with the door wide open, but Lucas felt exposed. “I should probably go—”
“Go?” Cody’s eyebrows creased together, making the shiny silver hoops jiggle. “Didn’t you come for the movie?”
A tinny version of “Airplanes” sounded from somewhere in the room. “Heck,” the blond guy said as he ducked under Cody’s arm. “It’s nine thirty.”
“Come on in.” Cody held the door open and gestured at Lucas to come inside. Lucas followed, if only to ensure Cody’s towel stayed put—a few more wide gestures and the whole hallway would get the full Monty.
Lucas shut the door and leaned against it, letting the hard stab of the doorknob remind him not to get comfortable. The room was almost identical to the one he shared with Winston—a newer wall-mounted TV and different floral print on the bedspread the only real difference.
“I gotta go call Lindsay back.” Blond guy yanked on a Straight No Chaser concert tour T-shirt and a pair of loose black sweats. “Fuck the shitty reception in these rooms.”
“Fuck your fucking Quickie Mart phone,” Cody tossed back. “Am I supposed to wait on the movie until you get done checking in with the warden?”
“Nah. I’ll probably be a while.”
Cody rolled his eyes and made kissy noises. The purse of his lips sent heat straight to Lucas’s groin. He made a sound—not quite a squeak, but not exactly a manly cough either.
“Oh, hey. You’re still here.” Blond guy looked over at Lucas. He held up his phone—a cheapie model in a tacky purple and white plastic case. “Lindsay’s my—”
“Controlling, ball-busting—” Cody interrupted.
“Fiancée. My girl fiancée.” The blond sent Cody a hard look. “Since asshole here doesn’t do manners, I’m Keith, by the way. The show’s making us room together.”
“Dude.” Cody groaned and threw up his hands, making his towel slip lower. “You need me to chip in for a ‘Not Gay by Association’ tat or a ‘Rooming, Not Sleeping Together’ badge?”
“Whatever.” Keith reached down to slide on black sport sandals. “Just figured your friend might wanna know.”
No, Lucas most certainly did not want to know. He didn’t say anything to Keith, keeping his lips squished together. It was easier to think of Cody as entirely off-limits. The pinch of jealousy he’d felt earlier had sucked, but it had put up a buffer between Lucas and all this unwanted lust.
Even glancing at Cody was enough to make Lucas’s senses hum. Cody’s hair was still wet, and little droplets of water clung to his shoulders and left a shiny trail across his chest. The tattoo on his chest was a bird—as exotic as Cody was, with dark green feathers barely grazing his collarbone and brightly colored tail feathers skirting his nipple. His very shiny, light pink nipple . . .
Lucas forced his gaze to Cody’s face. The makeup he’d worn earlier was gone, leaving him looking younger and softer and far more approachable.
“Better hurry. Don’t want the she-witch calling my phone next.” Cody shooed Keith to the door. Lucas moved aside to let him pass but stayed in the corner of the entryway.
“Sorry about that. I was supposed to room with my friend Ashley, but the show said no co-ed roommates.” Smiling, Cody came closer. “But, hey? Better that he left, right?”
His damp body was mere inches from Lucas. The room felt like an airplane cabin depressurizing, all the oxygen sucked out as Lucas’s stomach went into free fall. Cody braced his hand on the wall next to Lucas’s head.
“Eeep.” A definite, no-disguising-it squeak escaped Lucas’s mouth. He leaned harder into the door, jamming the doorknob into his right kidney.
; Cody’s eyes narrowed and his mouth quirked. He studied Lucas’s face, looking for God knew what. But Lucas felt the intensity of his gaze in every pore, his cheeks going hot and tight, his stubble itching. He squished his eyes shut, wanting to push Cody away but not trusting himself to touch him.
“Oh, fuck me.” Cody stepped back abruptly. “Or rather, don’t fuck me. You’re straight.”
Oh, God. It would be so easy to lie and block whatever Cody had been heading toward fifteen seconds ago, erect another wall between him and temptation.
But his mouth told the truth. “No. I’m not.” He took a deep breath. His stupid hands shook against his khaki pants. “I’m gay.”
“Fabulous.” Cody leaned in closer. Lucas smelled like cookies, and his pink cheeks made Cody want to see where else he could make him blush. Nothing like a little play to get away from the negative vibes of Keith the newly straight. Keith’s decision to play for the other team hadn’t hurt. The ache behind his breastbone called him a liar, but if Keith wanted to go all Tom Cruise, fuck him. Or better yet, fuck Lucas. “You’re gay. I’m gay—”
“No.” Lucas put a big hand on Cody’s chest.
Cody didn’t usually go for baby bears, but there was something strangely appealing about a big guy who had a whiff of wide-eyed subby to him. Heat spread out from the pressure of Lucas’s broad hand and the rasp of the light fuzz on his muscled forearms. Cody’s dick went from he-might-do to do-him-now. But Lucas shoved him away, taking all that heat and sizzle with him.
Fuck this. Cody stalked to the built-in dresser, yanking a shirt out of his drawer. Why was he even bothering messing with Lucas? Cody didn’t exactly have to work hard to get laid. He rarely had to do the asking. Guys were all over him with offers of movies or drinks or dinner or, more directly, “My office. Now.”
“Your loss.” Cody kept his voice cool as he pulled on the shirt with an exaggerated shrug, letting Lucas have a nice long look at what he was turning down. “But you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Lucas’s voice was soft and his face flushed. Cody glanced down and noted the bulge in Lucas’s ironed khakis. It was far from a convincing no, but Lucas’s wide eyes and trembling hands made him look like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. And Cody wasn’t really in the mood for prey.
He hadn’t expected Lucas to show up. He’d thrown the invitation out without thinking. Living in LA, Cody was used to the casual “call me” or “we’ll hook up” comments that meant nothing. But Lucas was clearly still entrenched in small-town nice-nice. Cody was lucky he hadn’t brought a casserole to share.
Giving up on the teasing for now, Cody pulled on a pair of black briefs under his towel—a move he hadn’t used since high school locker rooms, but he didn’t want to give Lucas a heart attack by flashing him his junk.
“Urp.” Lucas made a strangled sound behind him. Guess he hadn’t been all that successful in staying covered. Oh, well. Modesty wasn’t exactly Cody’s strong suit. He let the towel drop and stepped into a pair of cotton shorts.
“You got a boyfriend?” Cody tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Lucas had admitted to being gay—Mount Monticello was a tiny private school with a conservative reputation. All the guys in Lucas’s all-male, white-bread, no-music-from-this-century group looked more likely to carry right-wing protest signs than to wave a rainbow flag.
“No.” Lucas held up a hand like Cody might be about to pounce. “It’s not like that.” The whoosh of Lucas’s breath sounded like an air conditioner clicking on. Cody put money on not liking whatever freeze-out Lucas was about to deliver. “I’m gay, but I don’t act on it.”
“Meaning what? No anal?” Not that he understood it, but Cody knew some guys for whom that was a limit.
“Meaning no sex. Period. Ever.” Lucas’s shoulders straightened, like someone had pulled invisible puppet strings.
“So you’re closeted—”
“No. Most people know. Hard not to.”
“Um. Dude, you’re not exactly flaming.” Unlike Cody, the only thing really gay about Lucas was his eyes. It was why Cody had been thrown earlier. There was nothing straight about the hungry way he looked at Cody, even after turning him down. Everything else about him, however, screamed wholesome—preppy yet outdated clothes, blond curls, and pink cheeks looking ready for a postcard. The contrast between hungry eyes and angelic face made Cody want to dirty him up a little.
“It’s complicated.” Lucas finally abandoned the doorway and paced the entry area, acting like fully entering the room would give him hives.
“Do I need to lay a trail of candy to get you all the way into the room?” Cody flopped on his bed. He didn’t do complicated—he’d learned that the hard way. Complicated meant enduring a stream of lame excuses. Complicated meant rules and obligations that Cody had long since shucked. Flipping on the TV, he left Lucas to either raise his voice or work out whatever the fuck his issues were.
Chapter Three
Lucas’s fingers were clumsy and clammy as he fiddled with the doorknob behind his back. Cody was surfing channels, apparently more interested in the TV than having a conversation about Lucas’s complications. Couldn’t blame him. Lucas was beyond ready to drop the topic, too. Maybe he should actually make use of the door and leave. But if Cody still wanted to a watch a movie, wouldn’t leaving right as he queued up the movie be a bit rude? Not that turning him down cold, acting like a spaz, and shamelessly ogling him was exactly polite.
Stop being an idiot. Stomach flip-flopping as quickly as his mood, Lucas pushed away from the door and walked over to the TV. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling awkward and uncertain as he looked down at Cody’s graceful body sprawled on the bed. Even in a faded T-shirt for a band Lucas had never heard of, there was an air of sophistication about him. He probably never had an unsure moment. Cody glanced up at him and raised his eyebrows.
“You still want to watch the movie?” Lucas asked.
“Well since de-virginizing you doesn’t seem to be on the table . . .” Cody licked his lips in an exaggerated big bad wolf fashion.
“Is everything a joke to you?” Lucas still wasn’t sure whatever had just happened had been real. Like maybe the guy did the whole lean-in-and-look-available thing to everyone. Like if he’d said, “Let’s go,” Cody would have yanked the offer away and laughed at Lucas’s gullibility. Not that Lucas was about to test that theory.
“Everything’s funny.” Cody grinned up at him.
“Not everything.” Lucas rubbed his hands on his pants. Might as well lay everything out there. Get all the awkwardness over at once. “My dad’s Richard Norwood.”
“Congrats.” Cody blinked at him. “My dad’s a could-give-a-fuck blank line on my birth certificate.”
“You’re from Iowa and you don’t know who Richard Norwood is?”
“Correction.” Cody held up one finger. Even with the Goth nail polish, his long fingers gave a certain elegance to each gesture. “I haven’t been in Iowa in over four years. Hopped a bus morning after graduation. I don’t exactly keep in touch.”
Cody’s tone was laid-back, but Lucas had to wonder about the kind of intense stuff that would make a guy leave home and never look back. His chest tightened at the thought of going four years without seeing home. Austerity and the college were encoded in Lucas’s DNA. Even two thousand miles away, he knew exactly what his front porch smelled like on July evenings—cut grass, wilted roses, whiff of citronella candles mingled with charred meat from his dad’s grill. He knew what his mother’s coffee tasted like at six a.m. and what the campus quad sounded like in early fall. The cement and exhaust and too strong, too expensive coffee of LA felt wrong.
“You haven’t been back at all?” As much as the guy was making his head pound like a bad drum solo, Lucas’s chest gave a sympathetic twang.
“Nope. Not like anyone there gives a fuck. Nothing there to go back to.” Cody’s expression was unreadable, the same hard glint in his eyes as when he’d so casually men
tioned not having a dad.
“I’m sorry.” Lucas didn’t know what else to say. He knew a lot of gay kids had it rough, and it made his stomach twist to think about what Cody might have gone through. His own family frustrated him at times, but he couldn’t imagine going through life without a dad or without having his family to fall back on.
“I’m not.” Cody brushed the bangs out of his face, his expression defiant. “So your dad’s some big dog in the land of corn?”
“He’s a professor of religious studies at Mount Monticello.” Lucas’s shoulders straightened, like they always did when he talked about his dad. Cody made a face at the word religious, but Lucas couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. “He wrote a book. The Gay Question. In it, he theorizes that the religious right’s main issue with homosexuality isn’t the same-sex attraction but rather the standard gay lifestyle.”
“‘The standard gay lifestyle’?” Cody made air quotes with his fingers. “What the fuck?”
“You know, clubs, alcohol, multiple sex partners—”
“Best part of not screwing around with chicks—”
“Drugs—” Lucas glared at Cody, who grinned back.
“You mean like poppers? Dude.” Cody kept mugging like he was an extra in a bad comedy, all exaggerated eyebrows and false enthusiasm.
Lucas’s back muscles went guitar-string tight. Lucas wasn’t entirely sure what poppers were, but he continued to stare Cody down, going for the I-can’t-believe-the-idiocy-of-your-logic look that his dad had down to a science.
But whatever expression Lucas managed only made Cody laugh harder. “Or E? ’Cause if E’s a gays-only thing, we better tell the club kids.”
“Deviant activities.” Lucas talked over him.
“Ooops.” Covering his mouth, Cody made wide eyes, eyebrow ring shaking. “I better go unleash the goat from the bathroom.”
“I’m trying to explain.” Lucas tossed up his hands. He didn’t know why he was bothering—it wasn’t like he could break down the book his dad had worked on for over three years into a sound bite that would make Cody the comedian take it seriously. Wasn’t like Lucas could put into words what it meant that Lucas’s own name was on the dedication page, or that his dad’s support of progressive policies had ensured that Lucas could go to the same school as his siblings and be openly gay at a school that used to ban gay relationships in its code of conduct.
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