Sebastian (The Dumonts Book 1)

by Mackenzie Gray

  sebastian

  MACKENZIE GRAY

  SUMMER HOUSE

  Meet the Dumonts: Sebastian, Noah, Kellan, and Maverick.

  Hot-shot collegiate soccer star Sebastian Dumont is used to getting what he wants. After all, he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His talent on the field is legendary. Corner kicks? Piece of cake. Throw-ins? Not a problem. Calculus, on the other hand, can kindly shove itself where the sun don’t shine.

  In order to maintain his good standing and prevent probation, Sebastian needs a tutor. That’s where mathematics graduate student Aidan Forester comes in. He’s used to tutoring less-than-willing participants, but never has he dealt with one so arrogant, so condescending, so infuriating.

  Neither is what the other person wants. Nerdy math geek? No. Self-centered jock? Absolutely not.

  But maybe they’re what the other person needs.

  Sebastian is the first book in a steamy MM soccer romance series. Contains failed under-the-table-dealings, bar trivia, a Jude Law look-alike, and a HEA for our two heroes.

  Summer House

  Copyright © 2019 Mackenzie Gray

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be sold, reproduced, or distributed in any form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  For my readers

  Table of 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

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Mackenzie Gray

  Chapter 1

  Sebastian

  Pulling down my aviators across my eyes, I study the sleek jet waiting on the rippling black tarmac. It’s a pretty thing. High-class luxury, as usual. Behind me, sitting in the small waiting area of the private airport, my family does their usual thing of ignoring one another while scrolling through their phones. It’s what the Dumonts do best.

  My own phone sits in my pocket, ignored. The news broke last night, and ever since, my father has been calling news stations left and right, doing damage control. That’s another thing the Dumonts do best: damage control.

  Settling back in the plush chair, I push back the curls falling across my forehead and try to ignore the ill feeling slinking through me. For a minute, I thought my family would be able to spend an entire holiday abroad without any paparazzi hounding us, but I knew it was too good to be true. I’ve spent the last three years of my life abroad, living in London, attending the University of Oxford, but someone gave the tabloids the slip that my dad had acquired another real estate business on the verge of bankruptcy, so once again we’re packing up and moving back to the states for my last year of university. I’ll be attending Notre Dame for my senior year. Indiana. Whoop de fucking doo.

  One thing’s for sure. I’m going to miss the old-world elegance of London. Wealth and history go hand in hand there. Kellan, one of my brothers, will miss it most of all. We both played soccer for Oxford, he as a defenseman, me as a striker, but he became close with the rest of the team while I didn’t. I’m not concerned. As far as I’m concerned, the lot of them can go fuck themselves. They hated me from the moment I stepped foot on the field. Pitch. Whatever. The captain was always jealous I was the best on the team. Maverick is looking forward to the move the most. He’s been in a long-distance relationship with his high school sweetheart, and soon they’ll be back in the same city.

  Noah sits across the aisle between our other two brothers. Noah is Kellan’s identical twin, and Maverick is the youngest, while I’m the oldest at twenty-two. We all share the same features. Olive-toned skin and dark hair, except mine is more honey-gold whereas Noah and Kellan’s is a deep brown. I’m the only one with curly hair, which I get from our mom.

  As if feeling my eyes on them, Kellan and Noah, the twins, look up at the same time. It’s creepy as shit when they do that, and they know it. Noah, the one with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, lifts an eyebrow at me. “Does the Prince need anything? Need me to call Henry for you?”

  I roll my eyes at that. He’s always pulling my leg, calling me the Prince, just because I’m the oldest. Henry is our butler. “No, I don’t need anything.” Henry went to the bathroom, I believe, but I might shoot him a text asking him to pick me up a sandwich from the small deli on the other side of the airport.

  Screw it. Sandwich it is.

  Noah snorts and returns to his phone. “Pansy ass.” Though he and Kellan look the same, they couldn’t be more different in personality. Noah is quiet and nerdy, reserved, more concerned with his D&D groups and video games and coding than other stuff. He’s brilliant though. Studying to become a software engineer in the video game industry. He and Maverick don’t play soccer, while Kellan and I do.

  “Oh, fuck off,” I say. Just because Noah doesn’t buy into our family, doesn’t mean I don’t have to. “Maybe if you were less of a dick I’d ask him to pick you up a sandwich, too.”

  Kellan raises his hand as he scrolls through Instagram. “Latte for me, skim milk, no whipped cream, decaf. Oh, and a pastry on the side. No fat.” His shoots me a grin. “Gotta keep up my figure.”

  I snort at that. He and I both know we can eat whatever the hell we want. It’s not like we don’t burn it off running miles on the field every day.

  Well, since this is turning into a grocery trip, I say to Maverick, “Anything for you?”

  He sets down his phone, looking satisfied. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Mav,” our mother growls from across the aisle.

  His smile widens. “No¸ thank you, dear brother.”

  Our mother doesn’t appreciate slang language. She didn’t drop a hundred grand a year on our primary schooling for nothing. And that’s per person, by the way. The children of a billionaire don’t get public schooling.

  Call me a snob, but I’m not someone to look a gift horse in the mouth. I was born privileged, and as far as I’m concerned, I’ll die privileged too. Indiana knows they’re damn lucky to be getting me and Kellan on their team. We’d been scouted since age thirteen and twelve, respectively, and it’s only gotten more intense over the years. I’m still undecided about who I’ll sign with once I finish school. I know my brother has his heart set on a European team, but I think that’s because his current boyfriend plans on moving out to the Netherlands after graduation. Poor sap.

  The intercom announces that our jet is to begin boarding. Suddenly, Henry bustles into view, huffing and puffing as he carries a large box full of the food I requested, as well as additional snacks for the plane ride. Not that they won’t have incredible food on the plane, but we’re a picky bunch. Once, they overcooked my dad’s steak and he threw it in the trash.

  With nothing but our carry-ons, we exit through the sliding glass doors into the cool, misty morning. Henry trails us, carrying something for Mav. He’s a portly man who’s worked for my family since I was born. He’s like a doting uncle in my eyes.

&
nbsp; “Any updates?” I ask our mother.

  She shakes her head with annoyance. Laura Dumont is impeccably dressed in a form-fitting dress, heels, and a sleek coif of brown hair a shade darker than mine. We have the same light hazel-brown eyes though, same as Mav. “I’m not sure what the status will be when we drop you off at campus. Shouldn’t be too bad, but you never know.”

  The reason the tabloids follow us isn’t only because of my dad. Kellan and I took the world by storm a few years ago in the soccer world, and they’ve been following our careers ever since. Knowing Notre Dame will have both of the Dumont brothers on the same men’s collegiate team is sure to disturb the calm. Indiana isn’t exactly Manhattan, LA, or Paris. It’s, well, normal. Both of us arriving is decidedly not normal.

  Once we board, my family settles into their seats. The interior is pale, sleek, luxurious. It smells of oranges. The seats are wide and extravagant. Each person has their own flat screen.

  Kellan sighs next to me. “Ready?” he asks.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  The pilot speaks over the intercom system. “Good morning. This is Captain Arnold speaking...”

  Sitting back, I close my eyes and settle in for the flight. Notre Dame, here I come.

  Chapter 2

  Aidan

  “Now, who can tell me how to solve for x?”

  Turning from the projector screen, I face the three-hundred undergrads sitting in my freshman calculus 1 course. What I see is to be expected. In fact, I’d say it’s better today than it was two weeks ago. In the front row sit the handful of dutiful students, laptops open, notebooks ready, pencils freshly sharpened. They write down every note, every equation, every point I make, everything I say and don’t say during the ninety-minute lecture. They approach me after class with questions for clarification. They attend my office hours. They never miss a lecture.

  In the middle of the tiered room, which sweeps out in a half-circle, are what I like to call the Ambivalents. They are firmly B and C students. They take this class because they’re required by the university, not because they want to be here. They’re not math people. They’re art or communications or athletic people—the opposite of me. Most of the time, they show up, and when they do, they’ll write down notes if their phone isn’t distracting them.

  As for the very back row—well. They don’t give two craps about passing my class. Many of them are star athletes who expect me to give them passing grades simply because if they don’t pass, they’re put on probation. As if I could care. It’s frustrating because instead of taking accountability of their own laziness, they float through life, banking on their athletic talents to take them into a cushy career. Despite this, I tend to go easier on these students for the most part, if only because I have so much to grade, and if I didn’t let some things slide, I’d never leave my office. Being a second-year grad student is basically like being a slave anyway.

  I repeat, “Solve for x. Anyone?” I glance around the room.

  One of the students in the front row waves her hand back and forth. I push my large, wire-framed glasses up the bridge of my nose, smiling my most charming smile. Her name is Darlene. Math major, as I was, before I got accepted into the master’s program on scholarship. “Darlene.”

  “The answer is—” She checks her work in her notebook. “—22x2”

  My grin is wide. I clap my hands together once, happy that someone finally got it. We’ve been going over these equations for almost two weeks now, and the class has been struggling. “Yes! Great job. Now, for question two—”

  The bell rings, startling those that were dozing in their chairs awake. It always amuses me when that happens. Sometimes a pen goes flying from someone’s hand. Most of the time a kid gets an accidental hand or elbow in the face.

  “I’ll see you all on Thursday. Remember, our exam for this unit is next week. If you need extra help I’ll have office hours on Friday.” I’m shouting to be heard over the sounds of students packing up, the doors slamming open as they bolt their way to freedom. With a sigh, I go to my desk to see if I have any new email. I’ve been discussing a point in my research with a fellow grad student, but so far I don’t have a response.

  “Um, Mr. Forester?”

  I glance up from the stack of papers I’d been rifling through. Darlene observes me with those inquisitive brown eyes of hers. She’s quite pretty, but too young. And female. That’s basically the crux of it.

  Still, I smile back at her, pushing a lock of dark hair away from my face. “Darlene, you don’t have to be so formal. I said you can call me Aidan.” I don’t let all my students call me by my first name. Most call me Mr. Forester. Or asshole, especially when they receive poor exam grades. “What can I do for you?” A quick glance at my watch. My next class starts in fifteen minutes, so I don’t have much time to prep between classes. That’s why I constantly talk about my office hours. Which no one ever seems to attend.

  “Oh.” Her eyes widen as she takes in my smile, and her face turns pink. “I’m having trouble with one of the homework problems, but I won’t be able to make your office hours on Friday. Is there another way we could reschedule?”

  “Sure.” I do this because Darlene is an excellent student, always punctual, and works harder than anyone in the class. It’s not because she’s a math major. It’s because she cares. “How about Monday morning? I’m free from nine to ten, if that works.”

  She thinks for a moment, mentally going through her schedule, then nods enthusiastically. “Yes, that works. Thank you so much Mr. Forester!” Turning, she hurries out the door just as my professor approaches.

  Dr. Jax is who I’ll look like in forty years. Tall, thin, and graying. While I’m not as skinny as him—I do have a little muscle on my bones—we both look like bookish people. Both wear glasses. Both are obsessed with all things numbers. I guess that’s a requirement for a mathematician.

  “Hi, Dr. Jax. What can I do for you?”

  Despite his hawkish features, he’s actually a kind and generous man. He’s the one who pushed for me to apply to their grad program, placing himself as my mentor. He was my professor in my Advanced Calculus 2 class as a freshman, and then as a senior with Complex Analysis III.

  “Actually, it’s what you can do for me.” His eyes crinkle behind his glasses. I’ve met his wife probably half a dozen times and she’s always talking about how he looks like a Chinese Shar Pei when he smiles. I have to say, I agree. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure.” Students start trickling in and taking their seats in the large auditorium. My next class if Calculus 2, which I’m excited for. It mostly includes math majors, so most of them are awake and eager to learn. Except Fridays. No one pays attention on Fridays.

  He takes a breath, suddenly hesitant. A trickle of worry moves through me. At first I think it has to do with my thesis, but it shouldn’t, since we spoke about that last week. “I want to talk to you about your tutoring services,” he says.

  My eyebrows lift slowly. “Oh.” It’s not what I expected. “I actually don’t tutor anymore. I haven’t since I became a grad student.” It’s not that I dislike tutoring—I love it, actually—it’s just that I no longer have the time. My workload is incredibly taxing and I can’t afford the few extra hours a week to tutor, especially now that I have office hours, which in their own way, are basically tutoring. Plus, I’m getting paid for being a Teaching Assistant. Sort of. The stipend doesn’t stretch far, but I make it work.

  He nods. “I thought so. But listen, I want to ask a favor from you. There’s a new student arriving, soccer player. And, well, his grades aren’t that great. His math is horrendous, honestly. But you’re a hard worker and you manage to break down concepts in a way that’s easy to understand. I was hoping you’d take him on a student once a week for a few hours. The soccer coach spoke to me about it. He’s their star player, but the guy has to pass. Schoo
l policy.”

  I bite back a groan. My workload is bursting at the seams as it is. “I’d love to, Dr. Jax, really, but I just don’t have the time. I’m sure Clary would be happy to help you out if you ask her.”

  He shakes his head, frowning. “She’s out of town all next month. And David, well, he’s not all there, you know?”

  Oh, I know.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Jax. Really. If I could—”

  “What if I increased your stipend?”

  That stops me. My current stipend is enough to cover rent, utilities, and most of my food, but sometimes I go hungry. At least I don’t have to worry about a car. I get around with my bike. “How much are we talking?”

  “How much would it take to have you tutor this guy?” He sounds desperate. Maybe I can use this to my advantage.

  Quickly, I calculate my expenses for this year, the money I don’t have but need. My savings are meager. It could do with a bit of cushioning.

  “Would I be tutoring him for the entire semester?”

  “Preferably, yes.”

  My lips purse. I have my answer. “I’ll do it for an extra two grand.” It’s a steep price, but it would go a long way in giving me more financial stability. A little breathing room wouldn’t hurt. It might actually help my productivity if I’m not losing sleep over the possibility of going into more debt.

  He doesn’t bat an eye. “Done.”

  Damn. I should have gone higher.

  “I’ll send him to your office on Friday morning at ten.”

  “Can’t wait,” I grumble.

  Chapter 3

  Sebastian

  I arrive ten minutes late to practice. It’s my fault I got lost, and I suppose it’s my fault I decided to stop for a smoothie at one of the campus stores beforehand, considering I hadn’t eaten lunch because I was busy unpacking. Before heading to the field, I had changed into my gear: one of my old jerseys, my lucky socks, and a fresh set of cleats. I’m ready to play now.