Riptide Rentboys

by Heidi Belleau

  At last, Wes fell silent. Connor slid his hand across the table, palm up. Wes stared at it, then reached over and took it, entwining their fingers. Just like that night in his hotel room at the conference.

  “You’ve had a rough time, but it’s over now,” Connor murmured. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a remarkable young man. I’m flattered that you chose to spend one of your nights off with me.”

  Oh, God, that was the wrong thing to say, judging by the stricken look on Wes’s face. Connor wished he could take it back, but then realization dawned. “You, you mean, it wasn’t your night off?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Wes whispered, fingers tightening around Connor’s even as Connor yanked his hand free. “I didn’t want you to find out.”

  Connor slid off his stool and strode into the living room. “Who paid you?” he demanded, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “Dr. Campbell,” Wes replied, staring at his hands. “He bought me as a birthday gift for you. But when I screwed up our meeting at the party, he decided to give me another chance. I don’t know why, other than he said he thought you’d really like me.”

  Steve. Jesus, it was so fucking obvious, it might as well have marched up and bitten off his nose. He sank onto the couch, anger and humiliation twisting in his belly. Wes came over and put his hand on his shoulder, but Connor shook him off. “I think you’d better go.”

  He stayed where he was, listening to Wes go into the bedroom for his clothes. Then came the click of the front door as it shut behind him.

  Connor managed to avoid Steve for the rest of the week. Even by Friday, he was still angry enough to shove his fist down Steve’s throat. So when his number popped up on Connor’s phone, he let it go to voicemail. He was tempted to delete the message without listening to it, but something wouldn’t let him. After all, it might’ve been about work.

  “Hey, Conn, you still up for volleyball tomorrow? Dave and Jack can’t make it, so it’s just us. Be prepared for me to smoke your ass.” He snickered. “Ocean Beach, nine a.m. See you there.”

  Connor stared at the phone, pondering whether to call back and cancel. Maybe he just wouldn’t show up. But then Steve would call wondering why.

  It nagged at Connor his entire walk home. Might be best to go and have it out with him. At the beach, their colleagues wouldn’t overhear them yelling at each other. In fact—a thin smile spread across Connor’s lips—it’d be only fair to serve Steve a little payback. Literally.

  Steve had already scoped out a net by the time Connor got there. “Dude, you’re half an hour late. I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

  “Sorry. Got caught in traffic.” A blatant lie, not that he gave a shit. In fact, making Steve wait sent a perverse thrill down his spine. He dropped his backpack at one end of the net and tugged off his gray sweatshirt, peering up at the sky. Typical San Francisco beach weather—overcast and chilly, but he’d work up a sweat pretty damn quickly once they started playing.

  Steve kept his sweatshirt on, eyes narrowing predatorily as he circled around to the opposite side of the net and scooped up the ball. “What, you don’t want to warm up first?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Connor flashed him a shark-like grin. “Let’s go.”

  Playing two-handed wasn’t so much a game as a series of over-net drills. Double-touches were a given, often even triple, but Steve lobbed his first serve so gently that Connor dug the ball right to the net, ran over, and spiked it at Steve’s face with a hard shout. Unfortunately, Steve had been a defensive specialist in college and never lost his touch. He fielded the spike sans broken nose (or even a double-tap, the jerk), set himself effortlessly, and drove it right back. But he was shorter than Connor and not nearly as strong at the net—Connor had been middle hitter three seasons running in his undergrad years—so this time when Connor met him at the net, he did drive the ball into Steve’s face. Well, sort of. Bent one of Steve’s fingers, if the way he went down clutching at it was any indication.

  “Ow! What the fuck, man?” Steve held his hand up in front of his face and peered at his knuckle, wincing as he flexed it. “Pretty sure that was a fault.”

  “Fuck you, I didn’t touch the net.” When Steve just stood there holding his finger and staring at him like he’d killed his puppy or something, Connor jogged over to his bag, fished out a roll of sports tape, and tossed it at Steve’s chest. “You gonna stand there crying, or are we gonna play?”

  Steve still looked wounded—good—but he kicked the ball under the net and started taping his finger. Connor snatched it up, brushed the sand off it, jogged back to the service zone. He waited for Steve to finish babying himself, then tossed the ball high and aimed it right at Steve’s head again. He’d always been damn accurate, but fury gave him strength. The ball whizzed over so fast Steve hardly had time to get his arms beneath it. He had to chicken-wing it, then hustle into the service zone to set his own shitty pass. Ended up returning the volley from the back row, and by then Connor was waiting patiently at the net for it, where he promptly drove it right back at Steve’s face.

  Steve managed to save his nose again, but when the ball flew out of bounds, he didn’t chase after it. Just stood there with his mouth open, blinking at Connor, as it finally occurred to him that this had nothing to do with scoring points.

  “What the fuck?” Steve yelled, tossing his hands out. “You could’ve broken my nose, you fucking moron! The hell’s wrong with you?”

  “Why don’t you ask Wes?”

  Steve’s face crumpled. “Oh, shit. He told you? He swore to me he wouldn’t say anything.”

  “He didn’t.” Connor shivered, the frigid bay breeze making his sweaty skin break out in goose bumps. He trotted to the sidelines and tugged his sweatshirt over his head.

  Steve followed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. At least he had enough sense to be nervous. “Man, I was only trying to do you a favor—”

  “Really? Well, it’s good to know my best friend thinks I’m such a pathetic loser he has to pay some poor college kid to give me a blowjob.” The unmistakable flicker of guilt on Steve’s face made Connor stop short, his heart hitting the ground with a great big thump. “What, you too?”

  “I had to make sure the kid knew what he was doing, didn’t I?” When Connor’s hands curled into fists, Steve promptly fell back a step—then two. “Look, I just wanted you to relax and have a little fun. It was your birthday, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I can get my own dates, thanks.”

  “Except you don’t.” Steve planted both hands on his hips. “You stay in that fucking apartment working every night and weekend. You never go anywhere. One of these days you’re gonna wake up and discover you’re fifty years old, with nothing to show for it but a bunch of patents and awards. Last time I checked, they don’t keep you warm at night.”

  Oh, fuck this—and fuck Steve, too. “Leave me alone,” he snapped, grabbing his bag and scooping up their stray ball on his way off the court.

  Steve followed him to his car, climbing into the passenger’s seat. “Get out,” Connor snapped.

  “Well, too bad, dude. I’m not done talking yet.”

  “There’s nothing else I want to hear from you.” Connor stared out at the beach, watching couples walk by hand in hand, a hollow ache swelling inside him. “Why’d you pick him? Why Wes?”

  “Because he’s a good kid, and he needed the money. And I knew you wouldn’t fuck anybody you didn’t have a connection with. So I told him to talk to you, befriend you. I knew you two would have a good time if you just gave it a chance.” Steve sighed. “He’s half in love with you, you know. He used to come to all your lectures, sit at the back of the hall staring at you with those big blue eyes of his. Hell, he practically had little hearts floating around his head.”

  Connor’s throat went dry, a slow throb starting behind his eyes. “So naturally, you had to go and ruin it by paying him to fuck me.”

  “For what it’s worth, he turned me d
own the first time I asked him. I had to talk him into it. Besides, who says anything has to be ruined? If you’ve got feelings for the kid, then tell him, for crying out loud.”

  Was he kidding? Connor let out a bitter laugh. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It could be, if you’d just get out of your own fucking way.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder, then opened the car door and slid out. “There’s only one thing keeping you from being happy, Conn, and that’s you.”

  Connor ended up making a detour to the mall on his way home. His pulse tripped as he pulled into his building’s parking lot, climbed out of his car and headed down the hallway to knock on Wes’s door.

  Wes’s eyes widened when he saw him standing there. “Oh—hi.” They went even wider when he glimpsed the square white box in Connor’s hands. “What’s that?”

  “Since I broke your old laptop, the least I could do was replace it.” He held out the box. “It’s a MacBook Air. Small, powerful, lightweight. Reminded me of you.” He chuckled at his own corniness. “Hope you like it. A lot of students use them.”

  “Wow, thanks.” Wes took the box and turned it over in his hands, staring at it. “I don’t know what to— um, would you like to come in?”

  Deep breath. “Sure.”

  Wes had done a pretty good job cleaning up the place. Sofa bed folded up, no more blood on the floor. The coffee table was still strewn with books and papers, though. Didn’t look much different from Connor’s desk.

  “I’m glad you dropped by,” Wes said. “I, I didn’t think you’d ever speak to me again.”

  How was he supposed to respond to that? “We all make mistakes, Wes. What say we wipe the slate clean and start over, okay?”

  Wes nodded, smiling. “I’d like that.” He glanced at the box again, then over at the table, the corners of his mouth drooping. “But while I appreciate the gesture, you probably should’ve saved your money. I’ve fallen so far behind in all my classes, I don’t see how I can catch up before midterms.”

  “Did you lose all your files along with your hard drive?”

  “No, they’re backed up on the university’s remote server. I’ve just been having a hard time concentrating lately.” His cheeks went pink. “Every time I hear someone walk by outside, I think it’s him.”

  “Wes, I told you, he’s not coming back,” Connor said gently. “I looked in his wallet. I know his name and address. It would be unbelievably stupid for him to show his face around here again.”

  Wes looked a little relieved at that, but only a little. “I can’t help it. It’s become kind of a reflex.” He plopped onto the couch, setting the box on the table. “I’ve still got a few Valium left, but I don’t like taking them. I can’t stop thinking of all the things that could happen if he busted in here while I’m asleep.”

  No wonder he couldn’t concentrate. With all that stress, it was amazing he was still upright and reasonably coherent. Connor sat down next to him, maintaining a safe distance. This time Wes didn’t flinch or scoot away. “You’ve been through a lot. Maybe you should go talk to a professional.”

  “I can’t afford a shrink.”

  “You don’t need to. You’ve got access to campus health services, remember?”

  “Why do you think I haven’t gone already?” He started fidgeting. “They’ll take one look at me and start asking where I got all these fucking bruises. If I tell them the truth, they’ll kick my ass out of school. If I make up some story . . . well, I’m the world’s worst liar. Either way, they’ll probably call the cops and I’ll be screwed.”

  Connor was about to explain patient privacy laws, but he bit his tongue. Much as it pained him to see Wes in such turmoil, forcing him to seek help before he was ready wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good. But that didn’t mean Connor couldn’t be a friend to him, for as long as he needed it.

  “My offer from the other day still stands. If you need to talk, I’m here,” he said. “And if you need tutoring to get through your midterms, I hear one of the physics department heads lives right down the hall.”

  Wes shot him an incredulous glance. “You’re serious?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re a brilliant student, Wes. I’m not about to let you flunk out a semester and a half before you get your degree.” He got up, stepping toward the door. “Come on over once you’ve got your new laptop set up, and we’ll have a study session. Okay?”

  “Okay. And thanks. I appreciate you taking the time. I’m sure you must have more important things to do.”

  Wes’s grateful smile sent a surge of euphoria through Connor’s chest. He would’ve found it disturbing if it hadn’t felt so damn good.

  Wes showed up about an hour later with a shaky smile, a couple of thick books, and his new laptop. “I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna regret offering to help me,” he said, sinking onto the couch. “I’m only taking three classes this semester, but I’m three or four chapters behind in all of them.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take it one step at a time.” Connor went over to the fridge to get them both some bottled water, then sat down next to him. He was tempted to sit closer, but no—better to let Wes set the pace. “We’ll review the material you remember before we move on. How’s that sound?”

  Wes nodded and opened his laptop. “Fine by me.”

  He seemed to have a nearly eidetic memory. To Connor’s admiration and astonishment, he had no problem recalling concepts his classes had covered weeks ago. He also picked up new material quicker than anyone Connor had ever tutored. By the end of the evening, they’d made significant progress. Wes had even loosened up a little, sitting closer to him, their shoulders touching as they hunched over his new computer.

  Closing in on midnight, Connor was about to call it quits when he realized Wes had slumped against him, softly snoring. He looked so fragile and adorable, his thick, dark lashes fluttering on pale cheeks. Poor kid was so exhausted he didn’t even move when Connor tried to shake him awake. Well, no reason he couldn’t stay over. Connor eased him back, slipping a throw pillow behind his head, then pulled off his sneakers before covering him with the afghan. He stood there gazing at him for a long moment before heading off to his own empty bed.

  They carried on in pretty much the same vein the next night, and the night after that. On the fourth night, Connor figured they might as well have dinner beforehand, so he heated up some organic vegetable soup. It was ready by the time Wes knocked on the door. Connor waved him over to the counter and set a steaming bowlful in front of him.

  “You didn’t need to do this,” Wes protested, though it didn’t stop him from scooping up his spoon. “I’m capable of feeding myself.”

  “Well, you obviously haven’t, because you’re still skin and bones,” Connor said, sliding onto the neighboring stool. “Dig in. Can’t study on an empty stomach.”

  They fell into the habit of eating together every night—usually soup or a protein shake, something easy for Wes to swallow—while they unwound and talked about their days. Wes’s enthusiasm never failed to put a smile on Connor’s face. What a relief seeing him come back to life after everything he’d been through. Wes insisted on helping him clean up after, but Connor’s kitchen was so tiny they couldn’t help bumping into each other. That familiar hot flush crawled up from Connor’s collar every time their eyes met.

  More often than not, Wes conked out on the couch by the end of the evening. Connor simply covered him up and let him sleep, grateful to see those dark circles under his eyes disappearing. It did Connor’s heart good, knowing Wes felt comfortable enough in his home to let himself relax.

  The night before Wes’s first midterm, he showed up with a bag of groceries and a huge grin. “You’ve fixed me enough meals, it’s about time I returned the favor.” He marched into the kitchen and emptied the bag, pulling out a package of whole-grain pasta, plump tomatoes, yellow onions, and fresh basil.

  Connor blinked, taking it all in. “I had no idea you could cook.”

&nb
sp; “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Wes replied with a wink, then shooed him away. “Go on, I got this.”

  Connor went over to his desk and tried to work, but it was nearly impossible with Wes humming as he chopped vegetables—and the delectable aroma of fresh pasta sauce wafting through the air. His stomach had twisted itself in knots by the time Wes announced dinner was served.

  “D’you have a bottle of wine we could open?” Wes asked, dishing up the pasta. “The checker at the grocery store didn’t fall for my fake ID.”

  Tempting, but Connor wasn’t falling for it, either. “Not tonight. We’ve still got plenty of studying left to do. Besides, you don’t want to show up for your midterms with a hangover.”

  “You’re no fun,” Wes groused with a mock roll of his eyes, his lips quirking up at the same time.

  It was damn good pasta, cooked just right, with a thick, tasty sauce. Wes wolfed it down as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks—well, not solid food, anyway. Connor studied him for a minute or two before he realized what else was different about him tonight: he wasn’t wearing that damn turtleneck anymore. Connor’s gaze slowly drifted to the pale, smooth patch of skin at the V-neck of Wes’s white T-shirt, until Wes noticed him staring. Stifling a groan, Connor glued his eyes to his plate and kept eating.

  Wes gave him a call after his first midterm. “I did okay. At least a B, I think.”

  The obvious relief in his voice made Connor smile. “It’ll be an A, mark my words. So when’s your next exam again?”

  “I’ve got one in an hour, and one tomorrow morning. Then I’m done, thank God.”