“You’re not mad that Spencer and I …” Ross glances back at me with a brow raised. “Aren’t you in love with him?”
He shrugs his shoulders as the last boy scrambles into class, and Mr. Murphy turns around to survey his students. It hasn’t escaped my attention that I confronted him about Jenica on the last day of school before spring break. He basically ran away from me and slammed a door in my face.
Our eyes meet from across the room, but Mr. Murphy just forces one of his stupid smiles on me, and I frown as he gets into today’s lesson.
“Spencer was just that sort of elusive bad boy type that I knew I could never have. He was safe to lust after because he could never happen.” Ross looks me over and sighs, shaking his head. “Now, with you … it could definitely happen.”
“What could happen?” I whisper, clutching the sides of my desk, my heart thumping wildly away in my chest. Ross looks at me with this sly, cryptic sort of expression that turns into a knowing smirk.
“Girl, don’t make me answer a question you already know. My question to you is: what are you going to do with those gorgeous twins of yours?”
“The twins? Mine?” I choke out, but I already know I have a bit of a problem here.
It’s not just Spencer that I like, but … Micah and Tobias, too.
Either I’m just a greedy romance addict or else, there’s something here I need to explore.
Now how the hell do I talk to the guys about that?
The coursework at Adamson Academy is broken into semesters, but during the second half of the last semester, all juniors are required to take a three day health, safety, and home economics seminar.
“This is ridiculous,” I murmur as the twins argue over who's going to help me into my apron. Yes, my apron. We're all wearing them, like a sea of glittering 1950s housewives or something.
“Based on the number of wrinkled blazers and slacks I see here today,” Mr. Johansen begins, adjusting his coke-bottle glasses as he meanders through the class, “you all are in serious need of learning how to use an iron.” He pauses to give me a look, squinting dramatically. “Particularly you, Mr. Carson.”
“Yeah, Mr. Carson,” the twins wheedle, each taking one half of the apron ties and pulling them tight. “Especially you.”
“I know how to use an iron,” I grumble as Mark Grandam snorts at his station next to us.
“How about a course on learning how to hire good help? My family pays people to do this stuff for us.” Several of the boys snicker, and Church frowns. He's the richest guy in school, too, and if he’s annoyed at the comment, well, that just tells you what a stupid douche-canoe Mark is. Makes me like Church just that much more though.
“A man who cannot take care of himself is less than an infant,” Mr. Johansen says, and Spencer grins, flipping Mark off. The football player jock frowns, nostrils flaring, but he doesn't say anything. He knows he'd get his ass kicked by the Student Council if he did.
“Prick,” Spencer mumbles, shaking his head and flipping silver hair off his forehead in a way that makes me want to give off this stupidly goofy smile.
“Now, with you … it could definitely happen.”
Like, what the hell does that mean, Ross?! He is seriously failing me in the gay bestie department. I mean, probably because he still hates me and all that.
“Let's beat him up,” Spencer suggests, and the twins grunt in agreement.
“I believe a more subtle approach to the situation would be prudent,” Church says, rolling up his sleeves, taking a sip of his coffee and then staring down at the ironing board for a moment like he’s trying to decipher ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.
“Oh for crap's sake,” I murmur, pushing him aside and grabbing the iron. I check the tag on the garment we're supposed to be practicing on, fill the iron's reservoir with water, and then turn it to its lowest setting. With my left palm, I smooth out all the wrinkles, and then get to work. I'm finished before Mr. Johansen even starts giving out his idiot-proof instructions to the class. “There. All done. Can we talk about the murder mystery situation now?”
“Holy crap, Chuck, that was impressive,” Spencer says, blinking at me. “Are all poor people good at stuff like this?” I just stare at him, one brow twitching.
“I swear to god, I'm going to punch you in the balls.” I push my glasses up my nose, noticing the way Ranger's studying Mark. The dark-haired VP of the Student Council is looking at the guy with narrowed sapphire eyes, his mouth in a flat line. “What?” I ask, and he blinks like he's coming to, turning his attention back to me.
“Don't you think if you knew about a suicide at school, and your best friend was missing, you'd be … I don't know, a little more despondent?”
“Mark is guilty,” the twins say, picking up our list of tasks for the day. The first was to iron the garments on the rack behind us, the second is to bake a cake from scratch (hah, we got that one in the bag) … I grab the list from them because I can't remember what other useless things we're supposed to be doing today.
Ah, okay, polishing silver (um, old-fashioned much?), using vinegar and baking soda to clean the dorm bathroom, and … I pause and swallow hard, the lump getting stuck in my throat.
“Are you okay, Chuck?” Tobias asks, leaning down to look into my face. He glances from me to the paper in my hand and then points at the line in question. “Is it the practice putting a condom on part that's getting you? Or the STD board games part?”
“Let me see that,” Spencer snaps, pulling the paper from my hand and looking down at it. “Oh, shit. There really is a whole sex segment, isn't there? Didn't we already go over this stuff in junior high? It's a little late to go over it now, isn't it?”
“Please stop talking,” I whisper as Church whisks away the shirt I just ironed and hangs it up. He places the next garment down in front of me, and I attack it with zeal and vigor. Anything to not talk about condoms.
“Just because someone's already had sex, it doesn't mean they can't learn something new about it,” Tobias retorts, and my cheeks flames. I try one last time to pray to the god of opening-up-dark-holes-to-crawl-into, but my calls once again fall on deaf ears. Clearly, the universe hates me. “Like, maybe tips and tricks for a new partner.”
“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Spencer asks, and I slam the iron down on the ironing board. All five boys turn to look at me. Ross is supposed to be part of our group, but instead he's sneaking texts with his new online Internet buddy in the corner.
“This is exactly why I didn't want anyone to know,” I whisper, exhaling sharply and glancing up and over at the twins and Spencer. “Guys get weird around girls; you all know it. You're supposed to be friends.” I look at Micah and he frowns hard. “We thought Spencer was dead. And yeah, we slept together. I like him. I like you guys, too.” My cheeks flush, and I run my tongue over my lower lip. “But there are more important things than who's sleeping with who. Let's try to remember that.”
“You're right,” Tobias says with a heavy sigh, leaning his hip up against the countertop. He and Micah exchange looks. “We're sorry,” they grumble together, crossing their arms over their chests.
Spencer flicks his tie over one shoulder and gives me this sort of pouty look. Goddamn it, and I love it, too.
“Sorry Chuck,” he says, and Ranger scowls, pushing off the side of the counter with his boot and standing up straight. He whips his blazer off and tosses it over Ross' head.
“Let's get this over with, and then decide which creepy asshole we want to stalk today.” Ranger whips mixing bowls out on the counter like an experienced dealer handing out cards at a poker table. “Tobias, Micah, wet ingredients. I'll handle the dry.”
“We prefer wet anyway,” they say together, and I blush, pushing the iron into the shirt even harder.
“Take care with that,” Church says, reaching around me and putting his long, elegant fingers on the back of my hand. I pause, and my throat gets temporarily tight. Wait, wait, wait, what?!
I inhale, and that lilac and rosemary scent fills my nostrils, making me bristle. I am so not crushing on Church, too, am I? That's ridiculous. Totally ridiculous. And then he talks again, and I realize I must've just been imagining it all. “You could use a good grade in this class more than any of us, Mr. Bottom Ten Percent.”
“I'm only in the bottom twenty percent now!” I shout, and the whole class goes silent and then starts to snicker as I flush and press the steam button on the side of the iron.
“That's technically the top eighty percent, right?” Spencer asks, grinning at me, and leaning on the counter in front of me. Our eyes meet, but I pull my gaze away to focus on my work.
Church is right: I really could use this grade.
One mistake here, and Dad really might send me away for good.
I’m not ready to say goodbye to Spencer, the twins, or even Ranger and Church just yet.
No fucking way.
“Place the condom on the penis, leaving room in the tip for the collection of semen.”
“Oh my god, I'm gonna die.” I slap a hand over my mouth and stare down at the cucumber in front of me. Everyone else got a banana, but nooooo, crusty old Mr. Cruschek ran out and took his lemon cucumber out of his lunch box to give me. His lemon cucumber. Those are round, by the way. “It's not even the right shape.” I mumble this from behind my hand because, to be quite frank, my embarrassment levels are off the fucking charts.
I'm sitting in a class full of dudes, with a lubed condom in one hand, a tiny round lemon cucumber in front of me, and the gorgeous guys of the Adamson All-Boys Academy Student Council sitting around me. That, and I fucked their sergeant-at-arms just days prior. It's a little much.
“Oh come on, Chuck, buck up,” Spencer says, sliding his condom on the fruit much easier than he got it on the other night. He was nervous, too, I think, but looking at the guy, with his tie flipped over one shoulder and his cocky slouch, it's hard to imagine him feeling nervous about anything. “Here.” Spencer unrolls the condom, ties the top, and then dangles it in front of my face. “Keeps the cum inside.”
“Gee, thanks for that,” I choke out as he pushes his banana my way.
“You can have mine,” he offers, smiling brightly. I glare at him like I'd enjoy stabbing him in the neck with the pair of scissors on Mr. Cruschek's desk. “What's with the look?”
“Maybe sh—” Ranger starts and then pauses, face paling considerably. His nostrils flare and he narrows his sapphire eyes on Spencer. “Maybe he doesn't feel comfortable performing sexual acts with the three of you drooling on the opposite side of the table. Is it any wonder Chuck didn't mention … his idiosyncrasies sooner?” Ranger takes my banana, unrolls the condom along its yellow length, and then hands it back to me. He raises his hand. “Mr. Cruschek, we're all done here.”
Our ancient, shambling sex-ed teacher comes our way as Spencer takes a new condom and somehow manages to fit it over the lumpy lemon cucumber shape.
“Excellent, excellent,” Mr. Cruschek says, squinting at us. I'm not sure if he could see a condom-wrapped skyscraper if it were two feet in front of his face. “All perfect scores.” He scribbles something down on his iPad, and then looks up sharply when Ross' phone bings from under the table. “Mr. James, are you posting Insta-Chat photos of this online? Sex education is not just a game for social media.”
“Huh?” Ross asks, as I swallow down a snort of laughter, folding my hands nicely on the tabletop and then finding my eyes drawn to the side. Church looks bored as hell, one elbow on the table, the fingers of his other hand tracing delicately down the length of his condom-wrapped fruit.
He smiles and winks when he sees me looking, and I flick my eyes ahead of me to where Micah is eating the damn thing.
“You mean Instagram and Snapchat, right?” Ross asks, and Mr. Cruschek snorts, dropping a stack of papers on the table in front of us.
“I’m writing you up for insubordination,” he grumbles, shuffling off as Ross gapes and flips him off behind his back.
“That old fart probably hasn't been laid in years,” he grumbles, sliding his condom on expertly, and then wrinkling his nose as he wipes his fingers off on a paper towel. “I bet his dick looks less like that lemon cucumber and more like a shriveled pickle.”
“Goddamn, Ross, the imagery,” Spencer groans, putting his hands over his ears. “Keep that shit to yourself.”
“Sad, but true,” Ross quips, shimmying his shoulders and then standing up and tossing his shiny blond hair. “I'm off to the little gay boy's room to ‘shit rainbows’.” He sneers this last part at Spencer who returns the gesture by flipping him off. “If you'll excuse me a moment.”
Ross takes off, sashaying down the aisle. Mark Grandam scowls as he passes and Ross blows him a kiss.
“I'm sensing serious homophobia vibes from that guy,” I grumble, and Tobias snorts, ruffling up his red-orange hair with his fingers. The way it falls across his forehead makes me feels sort of … melt-y inside. Yeah, melt-y, sorry I'm not more poetic, okay? You’re not seriously doing this are you, crushing on the twins when you’ve got a thing with Spencer?
But yeah, I am. I’m doing it. Ugh.
“I'm sensing serious murder vibes,” Micah grumbles around his banana, turning around to look at Mark. He raises a hand in greeting and then lifts his eyebrows when Mark sneers and turns away. “Huh. He's certainly copping a much bigger attitude than he used to.” Micah turns back to the group. “Let's kick the shit out of him.”
“No, no more bullying,” I mumble as I push the lubed up banana way from me. “Subtlety is the name of our game.”
We all pause as the door opens and Mr. Murphy walks in, his usual smile in place. I swear to god his eyes flick over to mine before he turns away. I expected some weirdness between us after the Jenica thing, but he's been his usual chipper self.
It's suspicious as hell.
“Let's stalk him after class,” I murmur, and Church makes a tsk-tsk sound under his breath.
“After Culinary Club,” he corrects, and I roll my eyes.
“How could I possibly forget. What are we making today: funeral brownies? Murder cookies? Noose pretzels with mustard dipping sauce?”
“That's not a terrible idea,” Church agrees, still smiling, and then he reaches out to grab one of the papers. “Now, what should we make our board game about: herpes or chlamydia?”
“Spencer has both: ask him,” the twins point at their friend, and my eyes widen.
“I do not,” he snaps, slapping their hands away. I notice Mr. Murphy watching us. As soon as he sees me looking his way, he turns back to Mr. Cruschek, but there it was, a glint of fear in his eyes.
Maybe he knows we're onto him?
“If you do, I'll cut your balls off,” I murmur, licking my lower lip and watching as Mr. Murphy exits the classroom. Oh yeah, that guy is suspicious as fuck. Nobody's that nice in real life. No fucking way.
We start on our project, creating this stupidly simple board game that highlights the dangers of herpes. It's real, um, enlightening. It takes the rest of the day to finish, breaking for lunch in the middle.
Afterward, on our way out of the classroom, I feel Spencer step up close behind me. He slides his fingers in my back pocket and leans in, his breath stirring my hair.
“For later,” he whispers, and when I reach back to see what he's done, I find several condoms in my pants. My cheeks heat up, and I swallow hard. But we're not the only ones stealing condoms.
“Now where on earth did I put the rest of these?” Mr. Cruschek is murmuring, shaking out an empty Trojan box. Oops?
“For later, my ass,” I grumble, and Spencer grins at me.
“If that's where you want it …” he says, and I smack him. Hard. But he's muscular, and sexy, and it feels too good to be a punishment.
Damn it.
I really do like the guy, don't I?
After class, we gather in the kitchen for Culinary Club, and I actually have to hide my head in the pantry for
a brief moment to hide a few happy tears. I never thought I'd get to see another day like this ever again, with Spencer sitting on the edge of one of the countertops and sticking his finger in Ranger's frosting (sounds dirtier than it is), and hearing Spencer's sweet blood-curdling scream as Ranger stabs him with a fork and he bleeds all over said frosting.
Pure bliss.
Afterward, as we file out of the room, Spencer pens me in next to the door.
“What are you doing?” I ask, turning and catching his beautiful turquoise gaze. My heart thunders, but I manage to hold my composure.
“Remember what I said yesterday? We're talking, Chuck. Whether you like it or not.” He pauses, licks his lips, and glances away. I turn and find the twins in the window, watching us.
Great.
A captive audience.
A captive audience made up of super-hot identical twins, the gorgeous golden boy president, and his tatted up VP.
“Even if you just want to be friends,” Spencer continues, turning back to look at me again. The intensity in his eyes is staggering, like a tropical storm, one that I want to strip naked for and dance in the rain. Shit. “That's okay. Just … tell me.”
“What are the alternatives?” I ask, because I hadn't really let myself get that far. Frankly, I'm still recovering from his near-death experience.
“Be my … boyfriend,” Spencer says, flashing that fox grin of his. He leans in toward me, like he did that day when he pinned me against the tree and kissed the shit out of me. His lips trace along the side of my neck, and I shiver. My eyes close of their own accord. “I know I'm a bit of a dick, but give me a chance, Chuck.”
“You tried to beat me up,” I murmur, and Spencer grins.
“Don't lie: I saw that bully romance book in your room. Who doesn't love a good enemies-to-lovers romance? Besides, you had it coming, you dickhead.”
“Screw you,” I murmur back, flushing from head to toe.
The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy #2) Page 9