Fever Pitch (21 page)

Aaron kissed his way down the side of Giles's face. “Let's go to your house. I want to explore this prostate some more. Take notes in case Colton calls.” When Giles laughed and slid his hands around Aaron's ass, Aaron spread his legs and closed them over Giles's knee. “Maybe we should leave him a voicemail.”

This time Giles's laugh caught at the edge of his throat.
I love you so much.

He couldn't speak, though, so he told Aaron with his kiss.

C
hapter Twenty

S
aint Timothy was on what they called a 4-1-4 plan: four courses in the fall, one course during the J-term in January, and then another four courses from February until May. When Aaron's dad had signed up his courses, his J-term class had been Principles of Sociology, with a half course clerking Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons at a local law firm.

Now, though Aaron had yet to formally declare music performance, he took the sophomore-level conducting course, and as a member of Ambassadors his half course was intensive ICCA competition rehearsal. He audited a similar one for Salvo, so he basically had two full courses. The conducting course was brutal, and the rehearsal schedule for the a cappella groups was five times more intensive than any clerking position would have been. Though they couldn't perform with Salvo for ICCA, Giles and Aaron arranged all the numbers and helped with every rehearsal. Damien pushed them to not only make the notes ring out but to
perform
, milking the audience for everything he could get out of them.

Most nights Aaron fell into his bed, sleeping like the dead until his alarm told him it was time for him to go to his conducting class. Aaron was having the time of his life.

His roommate? Not so much.

Something serious must have gone down over break, because Elijah wasn't simply jumpy and moody now. He looked
sick
. He'd taken up smoking, for one—never in the room, but he reeked of it whenever Aaron passed him. He'd always been thin, but now he was gaunt and shaky, and he dropped things a lot. His parents appeared every Friday afternoon like clockwork, and their disdain for their son was even more open now.

Aaron continued to
keep his gay quiet
when the Princes were around, but the glances they gave him made it clear they knew all about him. Emily and Reece gave him similar glares. They too were constantly underfoot, and when they left, Elijah usually curled up in his bed, looking like someone had raked him naked over spikes but somehow sealed all the wounds.

Elijah didn't acknowledge Aaron had spoken whenever he asked what was wrong, and Aaron found every reason possible not to be in the room, because simply
being
there was uncomfortable.

One day Elijah came home when Aaron was there with Giles, and things went from uncomfortable to painfully intense.

By and large Giles had no reason to come to Aaron's room—if they wanted to hang out, they met at Giles and Brian's dorm. That day, however, Aaron had a killer assignment, and despite Giles's insistence that they had four computers in their room, Aaron wanted his own laptop and the notes he'd left on his desk. Giles came with him. They were on their way out when Elijah came home.

Elijah took one look at Giles and backed up into the hall, pale as a sheet. When Aaron turned to Giles to see what the hell that was about, he found his boyfriend mirroring his roommate's expression.

Aaron was utterly confused. “What the hell is going on here?”

Neither one of them spoke. Elijah looked rougher than usual—still pale, still shaky, still smelling of smoke. He had red-rimmed eyes and gripped the strap of his backpack on his shoulder as if it were the lifeline holding him to earth. He seemed…hurt.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, the familiar snarky-nasty turned on. “Giles. You never call. You never write.”

Eyes wide, Aaron turned to his boyfriend, who stared up at the ceiling.

What the actual fuck.

With a smirk, Elijah crossed to his desk, patting Aaron on the shoulder as he passed. “You boys go have fun. Don't play in the street, always use condoms.”

Aaron grabbed Giles's arm and dragged him into the hall.

As soon as Aaron shut the door, Giles started talking at ninety miles an hour. “Aaron—it was a long time ago, and it was weird and I never did it again—”

“Wait—
what
?” Eyes wide, Aaron stared at the door to his room with new eyes. “Are you fucking telling me—
Elijah
?”

Giles looked ready to cry. “It was a bad night—you were off with Baz, I knew you were fucking him, and it made me crazy—”

Aaron clamped a hand over Giles's mouth, his heart flipping over in a soft, fuzzy way. “Stop. When I was with Baz? You… Me being with Baz made you crazy?”

“It was me jealous, that's all. I thought of you the whole time.”

The hall was full of guys, some of them bruisers, but Aaron didn't care. He pressed a hard, euphoric kiss on Giles's mouth. Taking his hand, Aaron led him to the alcove under the stairs where he usually called Walter.

Giles babbled the entire way. “I had no idea he was your roommate. I'm so sorry. Please don't be angry.”

“I'm not angry.” Aaron led Giles to the floor, sat across from him and took his hands in his own. “I'm not angry. Okay? I promise.”

Giles let out a shaky breath.

Aaron stroked the back of Giles's hands with his thumbs. “I'm surprised, is all. I was never entirely sure Elijah was gay.”

“Trust me. He's gay.” Giles pulled a hand back to run it through his hair. “I met him on Grindr. He basically used it as his pimp.” Giles blushed hotly. “He…charged me. I paid him for sex.”

Aaron's eyes about bugged out of his head. “You
what
?”

“I'm not proud of it, but I'm not going to lie to you. I don't want to tell you one thing and have him tell you something else. I was
really
low. I'd wanted to talk to you at homecoming, but I couldn't get to you before Baz. I got all kinds of depressed when you were dating.”

Oh, Giles.
“We never dated.”

“You sure looked like you did. It made me nuts. I hadn't cruised in a long time, kind of…hoping, but that night I couldn't take it. I met Elijah online—he used a different name, but it was him. Brian was out, so I took Elijah to my room. He blew me, we frotted. I gave him a twenty. He told me to call him again, but I never did because it felt lousy after. And during, to be honest.”

“It's okay. Seriously—it's okay.” Aaron shook his head. “Bible beater by day, gigolo by night. Now chain-smoker.”

“He looks…kind of bad. Has he been sick?”

Aaron threw up his hands. “I wouldn't know. I can't so much as smile at him without getting my head bitten off. I'll be the last person to ever know what's wrong in his life.”

“You're really not mad?”

“Really not mad.” Aaron brushed a kiss on Giles's lips. “Also, since we're playing confessional—I had sex
one time
with Baz. And it was as awful as your night with Elijah.”

Giles looked hopeful—but doubtful. “Come on.
Once?
” A smile played at the edge of his lips. “Awful—seriously?”

“Yes. Once, and it was horrible. It told me everything I needed to know, and I got out.” Aaron rose to his feet, pulling Giles up with him. “Forget Baz, and forget Elijah. I have a conducting assignment to do.” He winced. “Except,
shit
. I forgot my laptop in my room.”

“I told you. We have plenty of computers.” Giles tugged him toward the stairs. “Let's go get your homework done so we can have make-up sex.”

Aaron let himself be led away, but as they crossed the common he glanced back at his dorm.

No, he'd never understand his roommate, and he had no delusion they'd ever be anything remotely like friends. But sometimes Aaron worried about him.

B
y the middle of January, Salvo was on track to be as popular if not more so than the Ambassadors.

Already girls were asking when the tryouts for the fall would be, and they went out of their way to be nice to Giles, ready to grease the palm of one of the student managers. But it wasn't only Salvo and the wannabe Salvo members changing their tune about him. The whole music department regarded Giles and Aaron as the next dynamic music duo, and he enjoyed celebrity status wherever he went, a kind of elevation well beyond what he'd envied in Aaron and the Ambassadors at the beginning of the year. Somehow over the course of two months, his life had radically altered, and while it was good, it had come way too fast. Giles wasn't sure he'd ever catch up with himself.

The Ambassadors also welcomed Giles. Some of that was bleed from being Aaron's boyfriend, but some of it was because they'd made it clear to the whole college, especially the regents, they considered Salvo their fully equal sister organization.

As a manager for Salvo, Giles got swept in what briefly became an intense political standoff. Though Salvo had been entered in the ICCA quarterfinals along with the Ambassadors, the regents didn't approve funding for their travel expenses as they always did for the Ambassadors. The Ambassadors declared, upon hearing this, they wouldn't attend quarterfinals. As they'd come within spitting distance of winning the finals the year before, and this before Aaron and his golden pipes had appeared on the scene, the regents, who used all things Ambassador to raise money, balked. But the Ambassadors wouldn't budge, not until Salvo's full funding, all the way to finals if appropriate, was approved.

The regents caved. Now, in addition to the fame he'd already experienced, Giles was one of the nearly martyred folk heroes. He had to leave an extra ten minutes before anything just to allow for the people who would stop him in the hall to talk to him. Sometimes they invited him to parties. Sometimes they asked him questions—some of those were legit, some were clearly invented so they could talk to him.

Nothing like this had ever happened to Giles before in his life. It weirded him the hell out.

He complained to Brian.

“I don't get it. What do they think talking to me is going to change? If I were cute, that'd be different.”

Brian shrugged. “You're successful. People always assume success is a virus. They're trying to catch it from you.”

“Yes, but they act like my leper sores have all fallen away and we're all pretending I never had them. I remember them. They're still there in my head.”

“Beauty is in everything. They've finally seen yours. Accept it. Embrace it.” Brian swatted him playfully on the leg. “Stop putting yourself down. Just because dick doesn't do it for me doesn't mean I can't understand why Aaron digs you.”

“Please. Let me emphatically state I am not a catch.”

Brian, camped out in their beanbag chair, nested deeper into the beans and put his hands behind his head. “I'll allow you don't have the whole dark-Bieber thing going on your honey does, but you aren't some pockmarked freak, either. I think you're not playing to your type. You're lithe and elegant, and when you use that, you don't come off half bad. You could rock a tight black shirt and eye makeup.”

“Even with guyliner I wouldn't be as pretty as Aaron, not by half.”

“So what? Who ever said only pretty people can hook up with pretty people? And why does pretty have to be about meeting a certain mold?”

They'd wandered off point somehow. “It's not about being pretty or not. It's that everyone is looking at me all the time now. Makes me feel naked.”

“Give them something else to stare at, then.” Brian shrugged. “Or don't. But yeah, one way or another you need to find a way to not let other people's attention, good or bad, ruin your life.”

While Giles appreciated this sentiment, he had no idea how to actualize it. When he realized he was thinking shit like
how do I actualize not letting other people's attention ruin my life
, he shut off all thought.

One day in late January, right before the quarterfinals, Giles was in the White House when Baz came home. The main floor had turned into Salvo/Ambassador Grand Central, and Giles had been in there for two hours with Aaron and Karen, trying to perfect the bridge of their performance number. Everyone else had gone off for sandwiches, but Giles elected to hang back and enjoy the silence for a few minutes. That was when Baz came in.

Giles wanted to hate him, but it wasn't possible. As he spent more and more time in the White House, Giles watched Baz quietly take care of all his friends, making sure there were groceries, always keeping one eye on people, making sure they weren't too down.

Today it was Baz who seemed down. After dropping his keys on the counter, Baz slouched wearily into the chair opposite Giles. “Yo, what's up?” Reaching for the plaid glasses case on the table, he swapped the sunglasses he was wearing for…another pair of sunglasses. Giles had seen him do that before, but it always seemed like a gimmick. Somehow this time it didn't.

Giles watched the exchange with a frown but didn't comment on it. “Waiting for everyone to get back before we dig into the next planning round. Karen and Damien had this idea for a joint number we could do for the end-of-year concert. Something so that no matter who goes forward in the competition, we can show the regents Salvo and the Ambassadors are a united front. I'm not exactly sure why we're practicing now, but whatever.”

“Strike while the iron is hot. If you guys finally cave and let me sing ‘Titanium', I'll enlist my mom for the fight.”

“I really think that one needs orchestra behind it to work.”

“Then put in orchestra.” Baz snuck his thumb and index fingers beneath the band of his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, wincing. It wasn't a standout gesture on its own, but it went on too long, and when he put his hand down again, Giles saw lines of tension around the other man's mouth. Only for a moment, though. Then Baz had his wry smile in place. “Aaron seems a lot happier these days, so good job, Giles.”

Giles wanted to be defensive, but Baz had all but written
I will not poach your man
on the walls of the White House. “I'm not sure I did much.”

The smile spread a little wider. “Don't be so Minnesota. You're good for him. Own that shit.”