Out in the Open

by A. J. Truman

  “Interesting,” Preston said with an exaggerated nod. Ethan wondered what they would all say about him later. It might be the only time when he was the topic of conversation.

  “I was wondering where you were,” Jessica said. “I knocked on your door before we went to breakfast.”

  “You should’ve texted.” Like with the movies. Or not. Ethan’s breath caught in his chest.

  Jessica’s face pinched into a pinpoint. “I can smell the beer on you.”

  “We played flip cup. It was fun.”

  “How’d you do?” Preston asked, and it sounded like he actually wanted to know.

  “I did really well. My team only won twice, but I feel like in that game, there are no losers.”

  Preston chuckled at that. Little did he know that quiet Ethan Follett was a tailgating, flip-cupping, sixty-nine-ing co-ed. Ethan was too scared to look in Jessica’s direction, but when he did, her reaction sucked the air out of every room in the dorm. He’d seen her upset before—she was a very passionate debater—but never had that look been focused on him.

  “Well, I wanted to make sure Lorna got back safely. And she did! So my work here is done.”

  Ethan gave them a salute before leaving, which he instantly regretted, then later realized was sort of a cool sendoff.

  Φ

  Ethan treated himself to a lazy Saturday. The exhaustion was a force greater than gravity on his bones. Drinking took a lot out of him, and he’d only sat down to talk to Greg in the tent. Lying down on his bed felt sooooo good, and he didn’t want to get out. He spent the sunny afternoon watching movies on his computer and sleeping.

  Ethan had a fantastic nap that lasted three hours. He woke up in time for dinner and cried tears of joy when he saw the dining hall was serving chimichangas. He’d never been this hungry. Then he realized that he’d eaten nothing solid that day.

  He walked back to his room. He hadn’t received any text messages from Jessica and wondered where he stood with her. She seemed like someone who could cut you out of her life in a heartbeat. Lorna was with her sisters tonight, so that left Ethan watching another movie. Despite what Greg said, he couldn’t give his friends up, not when his social life was perpetually on the verge of nonexistence.

  Ethan fell asleep again during the movie. He didn’t know what time it was when he woke up. Or rather, when he was woken back up by his phone.

  He had a text. From Greg.

  What are you up to? Having a fun Saturday night?

  Ethan pored over every letter of every word multiple times as warmth zipped through him. He checked the time. 11:46. Greg texted him on a Saturday night!

  What am I going to write back? His response had to be pithy and flirty and fun, three things at which Ethan sucked.

  He needed backup. He texted Lorna:

  Help! Greg sent me a flirty text message. What do I say back?

  He paced around his room. Maybe he should tell Greg he was recuperating. Or say that he was at a party. Or be mysterious. His phone rang, and he jumped.

  “You called!”

  “Yes! This is big,” Lorna said. He heard some faint noise in the background.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m watching a movie at the house.”

  Ethan felt better that he wasn’t the only person watching a movie on a Saturday night. “What do I write back?”

  “What were you thinking?” she asked.

  “Maybe, ‘Yeah. Having fun relaxing. How about you?’ How’s that?”

  “That’s terrible,” she deadpanned.

  “Should I say I’m at a party?”

  “Say that you’re leaving a party. Let him know that you were social, but will now be by yourself.”

  Ethan jumped onto his bed and bounced back and forth. He had built-up energy desperate to get out. “So I’ll write, ‘Just leaving a party. Can’t wait to crash. What a day!’”

  “No. That’ll make him think that you’re going to bed and don’t want to be interrupted. Leave it at, ‘Leaving a friend’s party. Heading back to my dorm.’ It’s open-ended, and his response will tell you what he’s thinking.”

  So Ethan texted her suggestion verbatim. He hid his phone under his pillow and walked a lap through his dorm, traversing every suite and the first-floor lounge. He had to keep his mind off his phone as best he could.

  He checked the time on the clock in the lobby. Eight minutes had passed. Was that enough time to wait for a response? Ethan didn’t know the protocol. He dreaded returning to his room to find no response, but that got outweighed by the potential of a text from Greg waiting for him!

  Ethan galloped up the stairs as fast as he could, but still taking way too long. He held out hope. Hope that Greg wanted to see him. Hope that Greg was horny enough to respond immediately.

  He yanked open the door to the stairwell, plowed into the hall, and almost bumped into Jessica knocking on his door.

  “Hey.” She seemed more pleasant than this afternoon, but a pall was still cast over her eyes. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  You mean do I still smell like beer?

  “I’m good. I don’t need a PB&J.” Ethan placed his hand on the doorknob. He wanted to turn it and check his phone. If he were better at math, he would calculate the odds of a message waiting for him.

  Jessica blocked his entry. “Listen, I know tailgating and parties seem fun, but they’re empty entertainment. They’re just filled with lemmings getting other lemmings to drink as much as possible. Getting wasted shouldn’t be the end-all, be-all of college.”

  Ethan crossed his arms across his chest. “Yes, I got a little drunk at the tailgate, but I had a good time. I met some cool people. I don’t see the problem.”

  He thought he heard a dull buzz coming from his room. His phone vibrating with a text from Greg? So close, yet so far.

  “You know Preston and Blake met playing beer pong at that LGBT party, right? Did you also give them this talk?”

  Jessica shook her head. Her body clenched, like she wanted to say more but held back, which was so unlike her. Jessica never missed an opportunity to get her point across.

  “Ethan, this isn’t you.”

  “How would you know?”

  He reached behind her and opened his door. He didn’t want to close it in her face, and fortunately, she was gone before it came to that. A chill zapped through Ethan. He wasn’t one for friend drama. He had always played the good guy and never tried to rock the boat. But a smile drifted onto his lips this time. Jessica made it seem like Lorna and Sahil were the scourge of society. If only she’d been at that tailgate today, she would realize how fun and friendly everyone was and—

  GREG TEXTED BACK.

  Ethan gripped his phone so hard he almost dented the sides.

  I’m nearby. Up for some late night hanging out? ;)

  Ethan spun around his room. He stood on his chair and leapt onto his bed. He’d never been this happy. But his joy faded when he reread the message.

  He remembered their code. Greg didn’t want to hang out. He wanted to “hang out,” i.e. hook up. Ethan thought they’d made a connection at the tailgate and the concert hall. Greg had told him about his frat brother, about his dad. Ethan had revealed his high school past. He thought they had crossed a threshold. He was wrong. They were friends with an arrangement, and nothing more.

  Sure. Buzz me when you’re downstairs.

  Little did Greg know that he did a different idea in store.

  Φ

  “Hey stranger.”

  Greg waited outside for Ethan. He had on a yellow polo that popped against his tanned skin. Ethan did a mini-swoon when he saw him not in sweats. This was practically formalwear for Greg Sanderson. Ethan opened the front door, but Greg didn’t budge.

  “Come with me.” Greg nodded behind him. They walked around the dorm to a wall next to the stairwell exit that was partially hidden by a pine tree. Greg put his hands on Ethan’s hips. No kiss, of course.

  �
��Still recovering from this morning?” he asked Ethan. Beer lacquered his breath.

  “It was funny running into you,” Ethan said, wondering if Greg would press the issue. But he also knew that wasn’t Greg’s style.

  “Yeah. I’m glad you came out. You need some excitement in your life. Well, excitement that doesn’t involve jerking off strange men in the library stacks.” Greg laughed; Ethan humored him with a smile.

  “It was a good time.”

  “You seemed like you were having a blast. I had to do a double-take to make sure it was you playing flip cup.” Greg went into a brief daze remembering the moment. “You were so into it. Totally free.”

  And then moments like that made Ethan mushy all over again, when Greg showed that he cared. Ethan’s heart beat for Greg; he wished it didn’t, but it did.

  Greg rubbed his hands over Ethan’s chest, then farther south. “Uh-oh.”

  “Sorry,” Ethan said half-heartedly.

  “You’re gonna make me work for it, huh?” Greg took Ethan’s hand and placed it over his own bulging erection. This was when Ethan should’ve pulled away, told him that he wasn’t Greg’s whore anymore. But he couldn’t slam that door.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Ethan shook his head.

  “You sure? We don’t have to.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Ethan tried his best to get into the moment. He and Greg looked into each other’s eyes. Moonlight glowed behind Greg’s chiseled jawline, and he exhaled a pleasurable sigh. Ethan felt so close, yet so far. He had pangs of desire and nerves rumble through him, but this time it wasn’t an orgasm. It was something deeper, more terrifying.

  And then he couldn’t stop himself. Ethan leaned forward and kissed Greg right on the lips. Adrenaline surged through him, like he’d punched through a window. Another wave of energy inundated him when he realized that Greg wasn’t pulling away.

  Greg kissed him back.

  Harder.

  His soft, warm lips pressed against Ethan’s. His tongue pried open Ethan’s teeth and slid into his mouth. Ethan stood at full attention now, ready to poke a hole in his pants. His body was a unit of solidarity living in this moment.

  Greg’s hands went to Ethan’s neck, and Ethan’s hands circled Greg’s waist. Body heat radiated through his core. He was afraid to pull away, afraid of what happened next. But it finally happened. They had to come up for air.

  Neither of them said anything. They just smiled at each other.

  Greg leaned against the tree. His mind seemed to be reeling with its own million-mile thoughts. Ethan kept silent. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. He didn’t even know what the moment was.

  He ran his fingers through Greg’s hair. He’d always wanted to do that.

  They looked at each other once again. Ethan didn’t want to break this perfect silence.

  And then, for possibly the first time ever, Greg Sanderson blushed. “Well then.”

  CHAPTER twenty

  Ethan was not able to simply walk around campus. No. His feet refused to take calm, regular steps.

  He had to jump.

  His body had to stop every few steps and jump. He couldn’t contain the energy bouncing around inside him like kids in a moonwalk. He had to release the valve and let it out.

  I made out with Greg Sanderson! He likes me!

  Well, he hadn’t stated it that way exactly. “I’m still figuring shit out,” he had told Ethan outside his dorm.

  “I get it,” Ethan had said, even though in his mind, there wasn’t much to get. They’d made out. It had been shooting-stars amazing. Greg obviously had feelings for him. End of story.

  “I’m going to need some time.” Greg had cupped Ethan’s cheek for a second before dropping his hand. He hadn’t specified how much time he needed, but Ethan assumed a few days. At least until Tuesday when they had Con Law. He couldn’t imagine Greg wanting to stay away any longer. Ethan doubted he had that type of willpower.

  Ethan passed the library on this lazy Sunday, and his heart swelled up. The sun shone brighter. His eyes saw clearer. He believed that Greg would figure out what he needed and that, soon, they would be a couple. Maybe Greg would invite him home for Thanksgiving. Ethan knew he was getting ahead of himself, but still.

  He jumped.

  Φ

  If Ethan was jumping on Sunday, by Tuesday morning, his legs were practically pogo sticks. He boinged from his Spanish class to Con Law. Pins and needles took over his entire body as he approached Bamberger Hall.

  But Ethan’s high eroded when he didn’t see Greg sitting next to him. His seat was empty and stayed empty as Professor Sharpe coughed through his lecture. He texted Greg to find out where he was, but got no response. Ethan’s thought process went from no big deal (Oh, he’s sleeping) to major freak-out (What if he’s in the hospital? How would I ever know?).

  Greg wandered in during the last ten minutes of class. Ethan smoothed down his hair and shirt. He had ditched khakis for class, but he had spent a few extra minutes in front of the bathroom mirror this morning.

  “Hey,” Greg said.

  “You’re super-late.”

  “I just came to pick up my test, which he’s not doing until the end of class.”

  “Makes sense.” But Ethan wondered why he hadn’t just come for the whole class. Ethan was there.

  “What are you doing after this?”

  Ethan acted as nonchalant as possible. “I don’t know. I don’t really have plans.”

  “Maybe we could do a little shopping.”

  Not the answer he expected. “Um, okay.”

  “Trust me,” Greg said with his smirk. “It’s a good type of shopping.”

  “Okay.” Perhaps they were going to do actual shopping. It would be a new activity for them: going somewhere where they not only remained dressed, but accumulated more clothes.

  Greg slouched in his chair and put his arm on the armrest they shared. Ethan casually rested his arm next to Greg’s. And then nothing happened. Ethan counted down the moments, waiting for Greg to make contact. A stroke of his arm. Interlocking fingers. Something. They were right next to each other, and nobody was looking.

  Ethan brushed Greg’s thumb with his pinky. Greg sat there, taking it, not doing anything back. Ethan tried to get Greg to look at him, but no dice.

  Greg moved his hand away. “The TAs are handing out exams up front,” he said and bolted out of his seat.

  Ethan watched him bounce down the stairs. He joined the crush of his classmates at the front.

  “Follett!” the female TA called out. Ethan shot his hand up and pushed through the jam of classmates.

  “How’d you do?” Greg asked Ethan as they walked out together. See, we’re walking out together, Ethan reminded himself. We’re fine.

  “A-minus,” Ethan replied with a shrug of faux-modesty. “You?”

  “Not an A-minus.”

  “Bad?”

  Greg handed over his exam. A huge C in blood-red ink was scrawled on top. Ethan must’ve gotten graded by the female TA because his grade was written in swirly cursive.

  “I’m sorry.” Ethan handed back his test.

  Greg heaved out a breath. Ethan wasn’t sure where they were going, but he trusted Greg had a plan. As always. “I hate this class.”

  “You always have,” Ethan said. “I think there’s still time to drop it.”

  “But it’s too late to switch into another class. I’d have to forfeit the credits, which means I may not graduate in four years.”

  “That wouldn’t be terrible.”

  “You seem to have a very warped definition of the word terrible. Listen, Folly: I have to graduate in four years. I have to take this stupid class. And that’s that.”

  Greg crumpled the test up in his fist. He held it over a trash can, but some greater force within him pulled his hand back.

  “I hate this class.” Greg kept walking.

  Ethan rubbed his arm in support, but received nothing ba
ck. He understood, though. Greg apparently had bigger things on his mind. Deciding whether to touch Ethan’s pinky was not his top priority this morning.

  “Well, we’ll do some shopping and feel better,” Ethan said, eager to take Greg’s mind off school and onto more important matters. Like Ethan. And kissing. Definitely more kissing.

  “Damn right we will.”

  Φ

  Ethan was confused. He carried around a pile of jeans and shirts and sweaters in his arms. A pair of argyle socks were tucked under his chin. They sauntered around local clothing store East Coast/West Coast, which sold “edgy” clothes for well-behaved suburbanites. At each display they passed, Greg picked out something for Ethan to try on. Ethan didn’t fault his taste in clothes, but when Greg had said they were going shopping, he hadn’t known they were trying on everything in the store.

  A salesperson approached them with the fire of a potential big sale burning brightly in her eyes. “Shall I start a dressing room for you?”

  “Yes, please,” Greg said. “My friend hasn’t been shopping in two years. He needs to get with the times.”

  “It’s a good thing he has you to help him out,” she said. The salesperson led them to the dressing rooms and hung up all of Ethan’s selections. He took in the thick array of clothes, none of which he had any intention of buying. “My name is Trina if you need anything.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll busy for a while,” Ethan said, nodding at all the crap Greg made him pick out.

  “I get it!” Trina said, extra-cheery. She probably didn’t expect this on a Tuesday morning. “Well, if you need anything—a different size or color—just come find me.”

  “Perfect.” Greg laid on his smile thick. Trina blushed a little and left. Greg watched her go back to the front of the store. “Let’s get you a new wardrobe.”

  Ethan glanced back at all the clothes. He didn’t want a new wardrobe. He wanted to talk with Greg. Saturday night gave him a whole new set of questions, and he craved answers. “Are you serious with this?”

  “Fuck no.” Greg swooped into his dressing room and locked the door. He pulled Ethan close to him.

  Ethan stared into his eyes, fireworks going off in his head. But the magical moment got interrupted when Greg shoved Ethan’s hand down his warm-up pants. Greg was raring to go.