Out in the Open

by A. J. Truman

  Ethan shook his head no.

  “What about high school? What did people call you in high school?”

  “Just Ethan.” Or nothing at all. But Ethan refused to get into that with him. He already hated how Greg’s face had softened with pity that he didn’t have a nickname. He was Ethan. That was enough.

  Greg scratched at the light scruff under his chin. It framed the angles of his jaw perfectly, a model of facial symmetry. He clapped his hands together, and his wide grin crinkled his eyes shut. Ethan shushed him. They were still in an office they weren’t supposed to be in.

  “I got it,” Greg said. “Folly. Since your last name is Follett.”

  “Folly? I’d like a redo.”

  “No do-overs. C’mon, it’s great.”

  Ethan worked hard to resist Greg’s charm, which wasn’t that hard with a name like Folly. Folly meant foolishness, and Ethan was a hemisphere away from being foolish. Wasn’t he?

  “I don’t want everyone calling me Folly.”

  “Everyone won’t. Just me,” Greg said, and that did it for Ethan. He couldn’t ignore the light shiver that statement sent up his spine. Nobody had ever given him a nickname, and now it was another secret he got to share to Greg.

  Folly, it is.

  Greg stood up, took one of the pens on the desk, stuck it behind his ear, and walked to the door. Nobody stared at them in the hallway. Things were business as usual on the second floor of Bamberger Hall.

  “Tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself just now. It was so fucking hot,” Greg said when they got outside.

  Ethan nodded in agreement.

  “No. I want to hear you say it.” Greg turned serious, and it reminded Ethan of that intense look on his face. “If you didn’t enjoy yourself, I want to hear it.”

  He knew what they did was wrong. Legally wrong. Morally questionable. But it cracked open a part of Ethan, just a sliver. Maybe that’s where the buzz from last night came. Ethan Follett was past uncharted territory. He was off the map.

  “You’re not saying anything,” Greg said.

  “Because I enjoyed it,” he mumbled.

  Greg clapped his hands together. “All right!”

  “We can try it again.” Ethan stepped closer and bore his eyes directly into Greg’s. His rush of excitement was counteracted by a wave of terror. “But, Greg, we can’t get caught. We can’t. This is not something I do ever, and if my friends found out or my family…”

  Or Preston? Ethan hoped that the more experience he got with Greg, the more relaxed he would be with Preston, relaxed enough to suavely push Blake out of the picture. Greg was just his top secret training guide.

  Greg laughed off Ethan’s worry. “Relax, Folly.”

  CHAPTER thirteen

  Ethan had a fuckbuddy. Kind of. Technically.

  Ethan thought he had a fuckbuddy. He wasn’t sure if this counted. He and Greg weren’t buddies, and a blowjob didn’t count as fucking. Friends with benefits. No, friends with an arrangement sounded classier. They could be piano players for all anyone knew. Ethan would be prepared for their next rendezvous, whenever it was. Greg called the shots. He was the arranger.

  He thought about this while he waited in line for coffee. He usually got it at the student union, but he was up early with thoughts of his sexy double life on the brain. Ethan took a leisurely stroll on the lakefront to the coffee shop in mid-campus, which housed the graduate schools, a no man’s land for undergrads. There was nothing wrong with change.

  “I’ll have a grande mocha java. No whipped cream. One-percent milk,” he told the barista.

  “Make that two.” Greg strolled up to his side. “Thanks, Folly.”

  Ethan did a double-take, looking behind him at the line he’d helped Greg cut. He faced a wall of scowls. The barista waited for his confirmation of the order.

  “Make that two,” Ethan said, turning red. Greg gave him a ten-dollar bill. “You don’t have to do that.”

  Greg shrugged. “Might as well buy you coffee since I already gave you the cream yesterday.”

  Ethan whipped his head around, praying that nobody had heard him. His head heated up like the machine that was making their drinks.

  “Relax,” Greg told him.

  They waited. Ethan wasn’t sure what to say.

  “So what are you doing up here?”

  “Trying something new,” Ethan said. He checked his watch. “You realize it’s eight-forty in the morning. Do you have class, or are you still up from last night?”

  “Funny.” Greg had on a navy blue polo and jeans, which was like a tuxedo compared to his normal outfits. “I have class.”

  “You have a nine o’clock class? Which one?”

  “Just a distribution requirement.”

  “Around here? Does your major require you take a graduate-level course?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  The barista called out their drinks. Greg took a seat at a table, while Ethan pretended to fiddle at the condiments station. He wasn’t sure if he should sit with Greg. Despite all they’d done in private (well, private-ish), Ethan didn’t know if they were friendly enough to sit together and small talk over coffee. Rather than make things even more awkward, Ethan chose to sit outside on the grass and enjoy a last gasp of summer.

  “It was nice running into you,” Ethan said. “I’m going to drink this outside.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll join you.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Ethan clutched his cup, the hot liquid burning his hand.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah,” Ethan said quickly before he made this more awkward.

  Φ

  Ethan listened to Greg regale him with tales of terrible classes, ones even worse than their Constitutional Law class. He was pleasantly surprised that Greg could have a conversation that didn’t start with, “So I was wasted at this party…” A warm breeze brushed through Greg’s hair as they watched boats go by on the river.

  Ethan leaned forward in disbelief. “Your professor was asleep?”

  “Yep. Right at his desk. Not a care in the world.” Greg cracked a smile that put the sun to shame. “The joys of tenure.”

  “I guess he figured you guys were busy taking the final.”

  “When I went up to hand in my exam, I slammed it on the desk. He shot up and almost fell out of his chair. There was this line of drool from his mouth to his arm.”

  “Gross!” Ethan laughed. “So was there ever a class that you did enjoy?”

  “There’s a couple.”

  “Such as?” Ethan prompted. Greg always knew when to pull back just when he wanted more.

  “Intro to Sociology freshman year. That professor was awesome. He used to work in the Chicago Public School system, working to improve it. He told us about all these studies he’d conducted and all these insights he’d found. Of course, CPS is still a mess, but at least he tried. It was really fascinating.” Greg’s face lit up; Ethan had never seen him so engaged. He liked that Greg was capable of caring about something non-alcoholic or sexual.

  “I’ve always heard good things about that class. Are you a sociology major?”

  “I can’t believe all we’ve gone through and we never asked each other’s majors.” Greg took a sip of his drink. “I’m pre-law.”

  “Really?”

  Greg shrugged and stayed quiet.

  “But you hate Constitutional Law. Have you taken other pre-law classes?”

  “Yep.”

  “And they’re better?”

  Greg seesawed his head.

  “If you don’t like pre-law, then why are you majoring in it?”

  Greg’s expression became sterner. “I’m already this far along. I can’t switch.”

  “I thought about being a pre-law major, but my dad wouldn’t let me. He said that I should major in something I’m interested in, then I’ll just apply to law school. But maybe pre-law is the way to go if I want that early experience.”

  “No,” Greg s
aid, cutting him off. “He’s right.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you have it right.”

  “I don’t.” All signs of jovial Greg were gone. He turned the cup in his hands.

  “What made you decide to major in pre-law?”

  “Is this how you are with all guys?” Greg asked, no segue, no mercy.

  “Talkative?” Ethan asked with a coy smile.

  “Interrogating.”

  Ethan was taken aback and had to look away to the river for a moment. He had never been called that in his life. Sometimes, he feared he didn’t ask enough questions and that was why more guys didn’t talk to him.

  “I ask questions. I’m curious.”

  “You sound like you’re cross-examining me on the witness stand. It’s not a conversation. It’s an interview.”

  “I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “I know you are. You’re curious about a lot of things. I like that about you. It’s cool. I’ve never felt so wise.”

  Ethan tried to hold back a blush. Why was he blushing over what was probably a backhanded compliment? The insults rolled off Ethan easily; he was used to them. Not compliments. Maybe, he thought, each compliment was another small sign of approval. Ethan hated that he wanted to feel cool around Greg, but it was the truth. Greg was cool. Effortlessly cool.

  “You’re letting your curiosity turn you into a zealous interviewer. That’s not chitchat, and it definitely isn’t flirting.”

  “I wasn’t flirting with you!” Ethan said defensively. Although maybe it was a touch true.

  “I know that. But have you tried to flirt with guys before? Has this same thing happened?”

  The revelation struck Ethan. “Preston,” he said.

  Ethan remembered their conversation at the party. He’d been so excited, but it had been a total one-sided interview. No wonder Preston had let himself get pulled away by Blake. Ethan assumed people liked talking about themselves in public; he hadn’t mastered how to break the surface.

  “I’m assuming things didn’t work out?” Greg asked, and Ethan thought he saw his jaw clench.

  “He has a new boyfriend. They met playing beer pong.”

  “You dodged a bullet,” Greg said. “Trust me. Guys who meet their significant others over beer pong usually are douchebags.”

  Ethan hoped so. He couldn’t understand why Preston would want to date a guy like Blake. Preston was thoughtful and soulful and intelligent. Blake was loud. Really loud. Ethan could never compete with that.

  They took a drink of their coffees, and Ethan found himself genuinely enjoying this morning. Why couldn’t he have these types of conversations with Jessica and the rest of them? He had known them longer, spent loads more time with them. Yet Ethan realized there was a barrier that he hadn’t overcome. Perhaps Greg was just really good at conversation. He could talk to anyone. Ethan and his friends were a different bunch.

  “Tell me a story,” Greg said. Again, no segue, no context. But Ethan liked it. It kept him on his toes, and he appreciated that he didn’t know what would come out of Greg’s mouth next.

  “What kind of story?”

  “No interviews. No questions. I want to hear a story about you.” Greg laid back on the grass, and the top of his jeans sagged down, giving Ethan a nice glimpse of skin. He loved knowing what lay under those jeans.

  Ethan didn’t say anything for a moment. He waited for Greg to jump to the next topic, sans segue, but it never came. He searched within himself for a story to tell, but his life wasn’t filled with many tall tales. He doubted any of them would impress Greg.

  “I’m guessing you want to hear about me getting wasted, right?” Ethan said with a self-conscious chuckle.

  “Tell me a story about you.” That’s all Greg said. Ethan hadn’t realized Greg could be just as annoying silent as he could while he was talking.

  “I got drunk during freshman orientation week, my second night on campus. Ever. I heard about a house party from an upperclassman advisor. I drank one-and-a-half beers, and then I found my way onto the student shuttle where some girls helped me find my dorm. I think I also sang an Adele song on there.”

  “Ha!” Greg let out a hearty laugh. “Which song? ‘Rolling in the Deep’?”

  “No. That’s too cliché. I think it was ‘Rumor Has It.’” Ethan smiled, too. He’d broken through Greg’s shield of seriousness, if only for a second. “When I got back to my dorm, I wobbled down the hall and met a lot of my dormmates for the first time. I opened the door to my room and passed out on the threshold.”

  “Passed out? After a beer?”

  “And a half! I didn’t black out. I just sat against the door and watched people walk by. Then this girl offered to make me a PB&J and get me a glass of water to help absorb the alcohol.”

  “Of a beer…”

  “I had never drank before!” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Alcoholic.”

  Greg half-smiled, showing his dimple off. It encouraged Ethan to keep going.

  “That wasn’t even the worst of it,” he said. “I had my sandwich and water, and I ate it in the hallway and said hi to all passersby. Then I went into the suite where a bunch of kids were talking, sat down next to Jeremy Marker, and proceeded to put my feet in his face.”

  And that’s where Greg nearly spat out his drink. He laughed so hard it turned into a giggle that turned his face red. “Jeremy Marker? Wide receiver on Browerton’s football team? Three-hundred-pound machine Marker who can knock five-hundred-pound guys to the ground?”

  Ethan nodded yes and hid his head in his hands.

  “You stuck your drunk feet in his face?”

  “I very much did.”

  “Wow. And you’re still alive.”

  “I am. Luckily, Jessica pulled me off and brought me back to my room. The next day, kids told me that Jeremy was three seconds away from beating the shit out of me.”

  “I believe it.” Greg giggled again, reaching a high pitch that only came from a true, can’t-stop-yourself laugh. “I assume this Jessica girl is now your designated feet holder.”

  “No need. I haven’t gotten drunk since.” Ethan didn’t include the LGBT party, mostly because he chose to pretend that night ever existed.

  “Really?” Greg asked.

  “It’s not my thing. And she reamed me out pretty good for that night, for letting myself succumb to college peer pressure so easily. She still brings it up from time to time.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a friend.”

  “I don’t have much to compare it to.” Ethan shut his eyes, wishing he could take back that statement. Not that it wasn’t true, but he didn’t need his friend with an arrangement knowing how uncool he was. Ethan tried to make a joke out of it. “As you can probably guess, I wasn’t very popular in high school.”

  “I never guessed that,” Greg said matter-of-factly, which made Ethan feel slightly better.

  “That’s a story for a different time,” Ethan said. “Or not.”

  How did he always find himself chatting so much with Greg? The guy was too easy to talk to. Just another way he was dangerous for Ethan.

  “Your turn,” Ethan said. He picked at the grass. “Tell me a story.” But he didn’t sound as cool and convincing as Greg.

  “About me getting drunk? Where to begin?”

  The words charged out of Ethan. “Have you ever been with a guy before? Before me, I mean.”

  Greg looked down at the grass. “Yes.”

  Yes? The answer shocked him more than he realized, but he tried to play it cool. “And how long ago was this?”

  Greg seemed to freeze up and close off. His clenched jaw returned, the ceremonial closing of the gates.

  “You ask too many questions, Folly.”

  “Well, you don’t give enough answers.”

  “It’s better that way.” Greg gulped down the last of his drink. “What’s up, buddy?” He jumped up and stepped over Ethan.

  Sahil sauntered up to them. “Dude, what are yo
u doing up so early?”

  “Chillin.’” They did some slap/fistbump/handshake. Sahil’s eyes darted from Greg to Ethan. Did things look a little too chummy?

  “We were just talking about that dipshit law professor,” Greg said, waving away their conversation as totally school-related, completely benign.

  “I’m so glad I never majored in pre-law,” Sahil said.

  “You’re smart.” Greg nodded at Ethan, but he seemed distant now. Their conversation could’ve been a dream, that’s how far away it felt. “See you around, Ethan.”

  Ethan waved goodbye. They were friends with an arrangement, just not actual friends.

  CHAPTER fourteen

  Ethan and Greg met up several times over the next few weeks, and their arrangement became easier to arrange. After Con Law was a given. On Thursday, they absconded to an empty classroom in Carver Hall, the education building. Ethan wondered if Greg had scoped out the joint beforehand since he seemed to know which classroom and corridor would be empty. Carver’s new architecture and sleek design were a sharp contrast to the hundred-year-old halls where Ethan had most of his classes. Connected TVs and tablet stations dotted the building.

  “Whoa, this classroom has a smartboard!” Ethan noted mid-hand job.

  “Yeah, all the classrooms in here do,” Greg pointed out in between stifled moans. His body began to shake in tiny quivers that Ethan knew signaled he was on the precipice of coming.

  “I’m surprised the education department has such souped-up facilities considering how little teachers make overall.” Ethan got on his knees and took Greg’s thick length in his mouth and knew exactly how to swirl his tongue to send Greg over the edge.

  “Well, it’s because—hold on…oh shit…” He panted wildly, and Ethan felt his whole body spasm before climaxing. Greg slumped forward, his nuts wrung dry.

  “Shit,” Greg heaved. “It’s like your mouth just can’t get enough.”

  Ethan admired his flushed cheeks and glistening forehead and beamed with pride. He loved that he had that power over Greg, over anybody.

  Greg wiped his dick off on his boxer briefs and got himself situated. He sat on the teacher’s desk and turned on the smartboard. “The education department received a huge endowment not too long ago.”