Soccer is extremely physical. Dangerous, too. “Two years ago I broke my wrist. The following week I broke my other wrist. It happens.”
“You’re telling me you were playing with a broken wrist?”
For anyone who has loved a sport deeply, you suffer when you’re forced to keep your distance. “Yeah. Wasn’t too bright of me.”
He doesn’t respond as we turn into the tiny parking lot to Jenny’s. It’s packed with my teammates’ vehicles, but we manage to squeeze into a space well enough.
He turns off the car, and we sit in silence. I study him for a while, until Aidan turns toward me, wary. “What?”
I shake my head. His eyes are extremely blue behind his glasses. Deep ocean blue. “Nothing.” I get out of the car, and he follows.
Inside, we’re greeted by the sounds of victory. By which I mean, a lot of drunk college guys. Jenny’s is your typical sports bar. It’s our home bar for the team, and you can find us here after games whether we win or lose. At least, that’s what Kellan told me, after a teammate told him. Luckily, we haven’t lost a game yet, and that’s in part due to me. Game number two should be a win as well if I have any say in it.
Aidan freezes in the doorway, his eyes large, and darts a look all over the place, seeking, I’m guessing, a place that has enough space to stand without touching another person. There isn’t any.
Curling my fingers around Aidan’s upper arm, I tug him closer. I’m surprised by the wiry muscle I find there. “Stick close to me, okay?” I say into his ear.
He stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. It wasn’t my intention to speak to him in an intimate manner, but there’s no room in the bar. Except now I’m curious. I stand closer than what is appropriate. And I don’t shift away.
“Um.” His throat bobs. “Are you going to step back?”
“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?” Curious as to his reaction, I loosen my fingers and rub them back and forth across his sleeve. A tremor rolls through his body.
“Yes.” The word is hoarse.
In the end, I pull away. I’m startled to realize my pulse is elevated. My math tutor smells, well, pretty good. I take in his face. He’s cute, in a nerdy way. The longer I study him, the more I feel like I’ve seen him before.
“Take off your glasses,” I demand.
He blanches. “What? I can’t see without them.”
Of course. I do the job for him, being careful not to bend the frames. Aidan is a few inches taller than me, so I go slowly.
“Now unbutton the top button of your shirt and roll up your sleeves.”
He grows more nervous. My mouth goes dry as I watch him dip his head and roll up his sleeves to the elbow, like every straight woman and gay man’s fantasy. And then it hits me. Aidan looks like a young Jude Law.
Fuck.
His dark hair is mussed. His blue eyes are shaded by long lashes. With his glasses out of the way, I can better see his bone structure. It’s pleasing to the eye. His jaw is strong, his mouth fuller than is fair on a man. Red tints his cheeks.
He says, “What?”
I blow out a silent breath and pass him back his glasses, turning away. “Nothing.” Except I might be in a little bit of trouble. “Promise me if I do anything stupid, you’ll put a stop to it.”
“Like what?” he asks as we make our way through the crowd toward the large tables shoved together in the back where my teammates have gathered.
“You’ll figure it out.”
As soon as my team catches sight of me, the fun dies. Somehow, in this packed bar, it goes quiet. The music fades. They all stare at me, semi-hostile, yet with grudging respect. They know that without me, we wouldn’t have won that game.
Tonight isn’t the time for arguments. I’m going to keep it chill. “Max.” I nod at the captain, who is squished between our goalie and another forward, Sanchez. Looks like they were playing flip cup.
After a moment, Max returns the acknowledgement. He’s a very, very good player. If it wasn’t for his outright hatred of me, I might even like the guy. Alas, that’s all but impossible when the death stare from hell descends every sweltering afternoon from the person who is, theoretically, supposed to bring the team together. But that’s his problem, not mine.
“Nice playing out there.” This comes from a sophomore named Chad. He sounds sincere.
“Thanks.” I look around for Kellan and spot him over by the pool tables. My teammates stare at Aidan in curiosity and confusion. He’s out of place in a sports bar. I clap my hand on my math tutor’s shoulder. “Everyone, this is Aidan.” He jumps under my touch. I keep my hand there, just for the hell of it.
There’s a round of “Hello, Aidan.”
Time to get the hell away from this awkwardness.
“I need a drink,” I mutter to him, jerking him behind me.
We’re so close his chest brushes my back. “I can get you one, if you want.”
“No.” I’m not about to let go of the only ally I have.
We reach the pool tables soon enough. Kellan has already gotten me a beer. This is why he’s my favorite brother.
“Thanks,” I manage, baring my teeth. I drink half of it in one gulp and chug the rest of it soon after.
Both Aidan and Kellan stare at me. If I’m troubling myself with my team, I’m going to need to drink more. A lot more.
“Would have gotten another drink if I knew you were bringing someone,” says my brother, which is code for, Are you fucking this guy? It turns out I’m not.
Aidan waves his hands. “It’s cool. I’m not much of a drinker, anyway.”
“Designated driver?”
“Well.” Aidan shoots me a questioning glance. Technically, he did drive me here. My car is back at the stadium.
“He sure is,” I cut in with a grin.
Aidan doesn’t have a drop of alcohol. I, on the other hand, kill almost an entire handle of tequila. The expensive stuff, not the shitty stuff. Shitty tequila tastes like ass. The top-shelf variety is smooth as a baby’s bottom. I guess I really like talking about butts when I’m wast—wraste—whatever.
The night blurs. The lights are far brighter than they were hours ago. The air is sticky against my skin, smelling of sweat and cigarette smoke and perfume. I’ve somehow made my way back to my team, who I despise. We’re playing beer pong, and I’m killing it.
It’s me against Jason, the jerk who side-tackled me last week and got caught, forcing us to run circuits until I puked my guts out. Only two of my cups remain.
Then one.
The bastard gets his ball into one of my cups. We’re now tied, one cup left each.
The entire time, he’s been shit-talking me under his breath. Aidan stands off to the side, watching. For moral support, I like to believe. He hasn’t spoken to me all evening, but I can feel his eyes on me when my back is turned. He’s keeping his promise, ensuring I stay out of trouble. To be honest, he’s the first decent person I’ve met since arriving at Notre Dame. It’s made me realize I didn’t treat him well our first meeting. Maybe he’d be open to me buying him lunch one of these days as a thank you.
My mind is foggy, but I’m still lucid enough to catch the direction of my thoughts. Lunch. Is that a harmless gesture of thanks? Or something more? I take another sip of beer, hoping for an answer. Nothing. Damn you, beer.
In the end, Jason beats me, but it’s close. His snide, “Better luck next time” crawls under my skin, and I’m striding toward him before I realize my feet have moved.
That’s when I run into Aidan’s chest. His hands are on my upper arms, and he stares down at me with a murmured, “Sebastian.” It sounds like a warning, but all I feel is the resonance of that word traveling through his fingertips, into my body. I’m staring at his Jude Law look-alike mouth.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he says, not unkind
ly, and plucks the beer from my hand, tossing it into a nearby trashcan.
“I wasn’t finished with that.”
“You are now.”
My gaze dips to his neck and the skin revealed from the open collar of his shirt. It’s the color of the moon. The paleness of someone who spends their days locked in a cubicle or classroom. The thought of such a life makes me want to retch. I need the outdoors, the grass, the sun. The wind on my face. It makes me feel alive.
I say, “Seems like in the last three hours you grew a backbone.”
He flinches. Shit. I’ve said something wrong. “Time to go,” he quips, pulling me out the door and to his car.
Tension radiates from him as he pulls out of the parking lot. I rattle off my address. Normally when people get angry with me, like in the case of my team, I can brush it off. But Aidan’s anger feels different. He’s doing me a favor putting up with my sorry ass, force feeding me math when I’d rather be anywhere else. The part that affects me the most, however, is that I think he believes in me. As if, actually believes in me. That’s why he didn’t take the money, take the easy way out, accept the bribe. No one aside from my family has believed in me before. Who knows. I could be delusional.
We reach my apartment building. Kellan and I may be brothers, but we each have our own place, though they’re located in the same complex. Aidan walks me to my door. There, I stop, not ready to go inside yet. “My teammates hate me,” I mumble. Though I’d say it’s an improvement that no one got into a fight or even an argument tonight.
He sighs in exasperation. “Maybe your teammates dislike you because you’re an asshole.”
That stops me. I blink at him. Ouch. “I’m not an asshole.” I consider what I said. “Well, not much of one.”
“Yes, Sebastian. You’re an asshole. A big one. You’re an entitled, selfish, self-centered asshole. I knew that from the moment we met. I can tell from the way your teammates look at you that they think the same. You want to know why? Because you aren’t a team player.”
Wow. Okay. Dude can really dole out punches when he wants to. My body sways from side to side as I fumble for my keys, pulling them from my pocket and dropping them on the ground. Aidan sighs and picks up the keys. He unlocks the door for me.
“I’m sorry.” That’s what he wants to hear, isn’t it? “About what I said at the bar. It was uncalled for.”
“You’re right. It was.”
“So...” The word hangs between us. “Do you forgive me?”
Another sound of disbelief. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re not entitled to my forgiveness. That is the mark of an asshole.”
“What about my brother?” I ask. “He’s on the team, too. We come from the same family, were raised in the same environment. He’s an asshole too, right?”
Aidan looks at me with what might be pity. Everything is sloshing inside my head. And my stomach. “Your brother has humility, which is something you lack. You can’t just go about life thinking you’re owed everything. Well, I guess you can,” he amends, gently pushing me over the threshold, “but you’re not going to make friends.”
I stumble to the couch, and surprisingly, Aidan comes inside and shuts the door. My arms and legs are sprawled across the black leather, my shirt a mess, hair in my eyes. And there goes Jude Law, staring at me behind his hot glasses and hot disheveled hair. Makes me want to yank him onto my lap and maul his face. Yeah, that would go over well. Devouring my math tutor. Classic.
The longer I stare at him, the longer he stares at me. Neither of us looks away.
“I should get you some water,” he says, moving toward the kitchen.
“Wait.” Lurching to my feet, I follow. The kitchen is smaller than I’m used to, but judging by Aidan’s shock, that isn’t the case for him.
“This is your kitchen?” He turns around in a circle. The scent of his sweat permeates the space. I take in a deep, drugging inhale. His eyes widen at that. At my slow smile, he backs up against the counter. “What are you doing?” he snaps as I inch closer to him.
A few inches separate us. I lean forward to close the distance. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a young Jude Law?” God, he smells good. I must be going insane.
Aidan looks bewildered. “N-no?”
“Well, you do.”
Curling my fingers in his shirt, I yank him forward and crush my mouth to his.
Chapter 12
Aidan
I’m backed against the kitchen counter as Sebastian’s mouth devours mine with single-minded intent. I’m hard as a brick. It’s the unexpectedness of the action, the thrill of discovery. As time goes on, I find, when it comes to Sebastian, that my expectations are tossed out the window. It freaks me the hell out. As long as I have an idea of what to expect, I can get through life pretty okay. I expect to be poor in grad school, so I learn how to work around that. I expect to deal with a self-entitled asshole to tutor, so I deal with that as well. But tonight Sebastian revealed a self-conscious guy in need of compassion. Like everyone in life, he only wants to be seen.
And this kiss… It’s tearing me apart. His mouth is soft and insistent, warm, and he knows exactly what to do with it. A scrape of teeth across my lower lip, and I gasp, the sound strangled and swallowed down. A low growl emits from his chest, causing the hair rise on my arms, my balls to draw up tight, a pulse of blood shooting down my shaft. It’s a sound of pure desire.
Or drunk desire. The bite of tequila lingers on his tongue, which now strokes against mine, soft, then in deeper, harder strokes, until our mouths are fused. Hunger. It’s in the hot press of his palms on my chest. The slow rocking of his hips against mine, Sebastian’s cock a long ridge against my thigh. My head is screaming at me to break away, but my body has a mind of its own. I angle my hips, seeking friction.
My fingers, curled around the counter at my back, tighten. “W-wait.” I mumble the word against his lips and break away, panting. He uses the opportunity to trail wet kisses down my neck, biting into the tendon there. I jump, and the blood throbs in my crotch. Why does it have to feel so good?
“Sebastian.” Putting my hands to his strong shoulders, I push him back. It’s difficult. He’s a strong, solid guy, and distracted. “We can’t do this.”
“We’re already doing this.” The words are deep, with a clarity despite his drunkenness. They sing through my blood and resonate in my bones.
“Not anymore.” Despite my body’s protest, I push him back another step. He stumbles, a look of confusion twisting his expression. He stares at me, as if waiting for the punchline.
And then the strangest thing happens. I can almost see the wheels in his head turning, going back in time to every interaction we’ve ever had. The confident mask, the arrogance, melts away. He looks uncertain. “Did you not like the kiss?”
Briefly, I close my eyes. “The kiss was fine.”
“Fine?” The word wavers.
Now I feel like a jerk. “All right, it was good. Great. It was amazing.” My eyes pop open. “Is that want you want to hear?” The thing is, it’s not what I felt. Not even close. What I should have said was explosive. Life-altering.
His smile flashes, then dies. Serious eyes. “You don’t like me.”
Maybe what I said to him about being an asshole hit home, because I’m glimpsing low self-esteem. Strange, to see it on Sebastian Dumont, Notre Dame’s soccer star. “No, Sebastian. That’s not it.”
“You told me I was an asshole.”
“I did. And you are. But you’re not an asshole all the time. I think there’s a nice guy underneath.”
“Then what is it? Why don’t you want to kiss me?” His gaze dips to where my dick strains against my pants. “Obviously you enjoyed it.” It looks like he might reach out and cup me, and I swear to God if that happens, I might go back on my word and let him drag me back to that lov
ely, drowning sensation of lips and tongue. He doesn’t, thankfully.
There are too many reasons why kissing him is a bad idea.
“First,” I say, my voice not as steady as I’d hoped it would be, “I’m your tutor. There’s a distinct power imbalance to this relationship. We have a working, professional relationship.”
He scoffs, which, for some reason, makes a lick of anger course through me. “You’re not my professor. You’re my tutor. There’s a difference.”
I bite my lip against that. Maybe he has a point, but I’m still not comfortable with the arrangement. This is academia. Blurred lines can lead to consequences down the line. I’m not willing to risk my degree or research over it.
“What’s the second reason?” he asks, his eyes dark on mine. One of his eyebrows lifts. It’s like he knows my reasoning doesn’t have the legs to stand on.
I go with something that has nothing to do with our working relationship. “We run in two different social circles.” Sports and math are polar opposite interests and passions. We’re too different. Sebastian: arrogant down to his toes, very much in the university spotlight, not to mention paid very well to be here, I’m assuming. Then there’s me: introvert, would rather be anywhere but the spotlight, struggling to squeak by on a grad student’s stipend. Sebastian is used to getting anything he wants. I, on the other hand, work my ass off just to get crumbs. I’m happy enough with crumbs for now, but someday soon, I’ll have to break out and make some complicated research discovery if I ever want to be known in my field like the greats. It seems an impossible task.
He shrugs at that. “So you’re a nerd. So what?”
I can’t help it—I laugh. This guy has either the worst or best ability to give someone a compliment while also insulting them. “When would I ever hang out with you? I wouldn’t. The only reason we met in the first place was because of tutoring.”
“But you said you liked coming to the game.”
“It’s wasn’t bad.”
“You’d like my brother if you got to know him.”
“I’ve already met Kellan.”
Sebastian (The Dumonts Book 1) Page 7