Fever Pitch (4 page)

Stupid fantasy. But Aaron had gotten all the way under Giles's skin. He let himself indulge.

This lapse, of course, was a mistake.

As the high of orgasm wore off, Aaron's face shuttered. The cute boy Giles hoped was different bore the same wooden expression as so many of the others. Shock. Shame. Fear.

A recoil-fuck after all.

Unwilling to watch the mask go all the way up on his pretty trick, Giles rolled off Aaron, cleaned himself with the edge of the blanket and arched his hips to put his jeans to rights. Still, Giles had embraced his inner idiot, and he had to try a bit more, in case. “You okay?”

Talk to me. Be with me. Let me in more than your ass.

Aaron nodded stiffly, visibly shutting down. “Yeah.”

Swallowing a sigh, Giles climbed to his feet. “I might have some wet wipes in the car.”

He didn't, and Aaron wouldn't need them. This was, of course, an excuse to leave, a chance for Aaron to wrap himself back up in his closet, to pull up his jeans and find a way to pretend he hadn't bent over and begged Giles to fuck him. Now that the hormones were appeased, it was the time for rationalizations and compartmentalizing.

Giles had served his purpose. He had nothing more do but drive Aaron home.

Aaron had undone Giles's defenses so much, though, that as he pulled up to Aaron's house, Giles couldn't stop hoping he was wrong. Even if they never made out again, he didn't want to say goodbye to Aaron.
Give me one sign, and I'll give you ten different ways to stay in contact with me. Ask me to kidnap you tomorrow so you don't have to go to Eden Prairie, and I will. Ask me to come visit you. Ask me anything, give me one, tiny, baby reason, and I'll give you anything you want.

Aaron didn't. He never so much as looked Giles in the eye, barely grunting a farewell before double-timing it to his front door, not once glancing over his shoulder.

Giles watched the front porch light turn off, shrouding the driveway and his hopes in shadow.

“Happy birthday,” he told Aaron's darkened front door, then backed out onto the street, leaving his boyfriend fantasies behind him in the dust.

Aaron stumbled blindly through the house, heading straight for his bathroom. After peeling out of his clothes, he turned on the water and stepped into the tub. As soon as the spray hit his face, he started to cry.

He wept all the way through his shower, sniffling as he toweled off after and climbed into a pair of boxers, but when he tunneled under his sheets and pressed his face into the down of his pillow—there he sobbed. He was not sad so much as he was overwhelmed, as if something huge and heavy inside him had burst free.

Aaron had let Giles do that to him. Giles had made him say it, admit it, and he'd done it all. That was him. That was Aaron Seavers, the part of him that had winked at Tanner, that Tanner had rejected. The part of him that Giles had not.

Gay.
That had been very gay.

The magnitude of that, the truth and realness of it all, swamped him again, and he sobbed so much he had to drag his wastebasket closer in case he threw up.

He never did, though, and in fact once those shuddering waves of shock had passed, Aaron felt better. He was a bit wild, as if his belly throbbed raw without skin, but he wasn't so overwhelmed by his vulnerability. If anything, he felt motivated by it. Happy.

Giles. Oh God, thank you, Giles.
He was so high at that moment he wanted to call him. Except he didn't have a number. Or a last name.
Shit.
Giles had said, but Aaron had been too drunk to remember.

A man possessed, Aaron thumbed through his yearbook. Five hundred damn people in his class, and he scanned them all, each page, each face, until, thank you
God
, at the end of the
M
s, there he was. Giles Mulder.

Aaron couldn't find his phone number—there were twenty Mulders in the online phone book and thirty in the paper one in the kitchen—but Aaron was too scared to be that bold anyway. He'd have to be indirect. Googling led him to Facebook, though Aaron had to make an account because he didn't have one. Opening up a private message dialog box within the friend request, he got ready to compose a message.

Aaron couldn't think of a single, solitary word to say.

He tried for an hour, starting several different notes before deleting them,
almost
sending one that said simply, “Hi,” but bailing on that too.

Maybe he shouldn't do this. Maybe the lake hadn't meant anything to Giles. Maybe if Aaron connected afterward, it would be awkward.

Maybe—his heart tightened—maybe Giles would laugh.

He told himself that last fear was totally off, that no way a guy who'd kissed him like that would mock him, but he couldn't be sure because he
had
been wrong before.

As Aaron tried to sleep, a new emptiness bloomed inside him, a sense of loss he could not shake. It ate at him until five in the morning, when it burned through the bottom of his heart and seeped into his bloodstream. He dreamed of it, his subconscious filling out the blanks.
I have to find a way to connect with Giles.
Waking or sleeping, that thought became the center of Aaron's world.

When he woke, he had an idea.

It was so crazed and mad and perfect he could only stare at the ceiling for several seconds. After getting out of bed, he threw the stack of brochures on his sheets and pawed feverishly for the one he was looking for.

In the end he found it in the recycling bin on the back porch. He read it cover to cover, making notes. He put on his studio headphones, blared his Favorites playlist, and worked as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. He went to the website, double-checking himself, choosing all the right words and phrases he knew his father would insist on. Though he took a break to eat lunch with his mom, he resumed his notes immediately after, cramming for the most important exam he'd ever take.

When his father arrived at three, Aaron came out to greet him, the brochure and his pile of research clutched in a steady hand.

“I found my college.” He handed the brochure to his father.

Jim Seavers glanced at it with a dubious expression, but when he read the name, he raised his eyebrows in mild interest. “Not bad. A bit pedestrian, but adequate.” His steel-blue gaze lifted to hold Aaron's. “Why did you choose it, Aaron?”

“It has an excellent teacher-to-student ratio, and all the teaching professors have full doctorate degrees, not just masters. It's ranked number twenty-two in its class by
U.S. News & World Report
. It's only an hour away and is under thirty thousand a year, which is hard to find in a decent private liberal arts college these days. It has several outstanding academic fields, including pre-med and pre-law.”

Jim stared at his son for several seconds before giving Aaron his first real smile in years.

“Well done. I'm surprised but impressed. We'll fill out the application tomorrow morning and submit it. Shouldn't be a problem getting you through the hoops if it does turn out they're a bit full, as one of my partners did his undergraduate degree there and could help us grease the right palms.” Jim tossed the stack of careful research aside. “Saint Timothy it is.”

The hollow space inside Aaron unknotted, easing into hope.

C
hapter Four

U
nfortunately Aaron's thoroughness in his case for Saint Timothy somehow solidified Jim Seavers's belief that Aaron's focus in college would be pre-law. Jim filled out Aaron's course schedule online, declaring Aaron's major as a double Business and English. His father's managing didn't end there, though. Instead of spending the summer hiding out in the condo as he'd planned, trying to finally compose a Facebook message to Giles or at least simply ask to be added as a friend, Aaron all but lived at his dad's law firm, organizing the file room.

“You need to get your feet wet,” Jim said every morning as he dragged Aaron out of bed. “Get in there and get a feel for law, for what the discipline will demand of you. You have a lot of catching up to do. There's a chance you could actually make something of yourself with this path.”

Aaron planned to change his major to undecided and move himself to nothing but gen ed courses once he was on the ground, his father too distracted by work to notice. From what he'd been able to learn by being at the firm so much, his dad was likely to go off to the California office soon for anything from two to six months.

The good thing was Aaron
had
gotten into Saint Timothy. His grades were solid, and they liked his entrance essays so well they gave him a scholarship. Despite the late hour, Aaron got three thousand a year shaved off as some kind of renewable coupon so long as he kept a 3.5 GPA. His dorm was Titus, which apparently was some Bible name, and his roommate was Elijah Prince.

Aaron's email exchanges with his roommate were weird. Aaron tried his best to connect, asking questions about Elijah's interests, his hometown, anything he could think of, but Elijah's answers were short and…a little creepy.

I'm from South Dakota. I enjoy spending time with my family and my church group. I don't know what I'll major in yet. I'm still praying about it.

Aaron twitched at the idea of his roommate praying about his major—Aaron and his mom were slight scandals in Oak Grove for not going to church, but honestly, religion gave Aaron the heebie-jeebies. He started to worry Saint Timothy was more religious than he was ready for. They had a big thing on the website about being open to all faiths, but did that include none?

Good God, what if his roommate wanted to pray
with him
?

As July wore on and August crept around the corner, Aaron worried whether or not he'd done the right thing, going to Saint Timothy. He feared his roommate's weirdness was a sign of greater obstacles to come. He'd chosen his source of secondary education based on sex at a lake with a guy he'd only just met, a guy who might be disgusted to see him again. How had he ever thought this would end well?

As orientation drew closer, Aaron's anxiety ramped up so high he could barely function. He stopped eating except when his father bullied him into it, and at the office he hid in the corner of the basement storage room whenever someone wasn't checking up on him. He curled up with his phone, listened to music and played digital solitaire with a fever that did little to bleed off the desperation in his heart.

This was how Aaron met Walter Lucas.

Walter was an intern from the University of Minnesota. He had a brightness and focus Aaron envied. The two of them had spoken occasionally at the coffeemaker, and once Aaron had helped him organize a set of briefs in the conference room, but otherwise Walter was nothing more than another guy in the office.

This changed the day Walter came downstairs and Aaron didn't get up to pretend he was working. Aaron had been so absorbed in his game while Florence crooned to him through his noise-canceling headphones that he hadn't realized he was being observed until Walter stood over him, head cocked to one side as he took in Aaron with a critical eye.

Aaron guiltily pulled off his headphones and tucked his phone away. “Sorry. I was taking a break. Can I help you with something?”

Walter studied Aaron a few more seconds. “I'm about to make a run for lunch because my fiancé had to bail on our date. Would you like to come along?”

Aaron wouldn't, but he couldn't think of an excuse to give. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever. I figure we'll haunt the skywalks until something looks good.” Smiling, Walter extended a hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

The law office was in a converted bank building in downtown Minneapolis, the main atrium now a common area between six different businesses, connected to the rat's maze of the Minneapolis Skyway System. Aaron could barely find his way to the parking garage without his dad, but Walter navigated the internal passages with ease, chatting up Aaron as they went.

“So you're off to college next month, right? To the place Bob went—where is it again?”

Aaron wrapped his arms around himself, colder than ever despite the heat of the bridge. “Saint Timothy.”

“Yes, that's it. Bob keeps telling me you're in for great times.”

Aaron hoped so. “Where did you go to school?”

“Northwestern, Hope University and the University of Minnesota St. Paul. I'm heading into the law school at the U of M in September.”

Great, so Walter was handsome, put together
and
brilliant. “How many degrees do you have?”

“Not even one until they hand me my diploma at the end of the month. After I did a month at Northwestern, I dropped out to help my mom, went to Hope for two years, then moved up here for the rest of undergrad. I'm hoping to stick to one place for grad school.”

Well, Aaron didn't feel
quite
so bad at not being able to pick a college now. “I didn't know you could switch around like that.”

“I don't think it's generally advised. I've spent the past few summers filling in blanks, and I had to go on overload both semesters at the U of M.”

Aaron liked Walter. “So you're getting married? When?”

Walter groaned. “God, that's the million-dollar question. I wanted October, because who doesn't love fall, but Kelly said there's no way he's having a wedding in the middle of midterms. My guess is we'll end up in June with the other eight million anniversaries.”

Aaron tripped when he thought he'd heard Walter refer to Kelly as
he
. “Your fiancé is still in college too?”

“Yeah, he'll be a junior this fall.” Walter waggled eyebrows at him suggestively. “You leaving behind a string of brokenhearted high school girls, or are you doing the thing where you try to bridge the gap between high school and college?” When Aaron experienced a brief paralysis, thinking of Giles on the shores of Hickey Lake, Walter laughed and patted him on the back, his touch lingering ever so slightly in a not-straight way, like he'd welcomed Aaron into a club. “
Ha.
I thought so. But you're not out to your dad, so I'll keep mum.”

Aaron stopped walking. “How—?”

Walter leaned against a nearby railing. “You're newly out to
yourself
. Makes more sense, actually.”

They stood in the middle of a small mall area, three levels of open balcony next to them. Walter kept his voice down so their conversation was muffled by the piped-in music and din of the crowd.

“Gaydar isn't about what you're wearing or how limp your wrists are. It's how you cruise, which is why sometimes women get it and straight men
never
do. A straight guy will meet your eye, but he'll make a quick decision on whether or not you're higher on the food chain than he is, and he'll dominate or defer as appropriate. He'll do that without thinking because we're talking total reptilian brain here.”

“But gay men…don't do that?”

“Oh no, we do—but we give a second glance to cruise. Older men and guys who grew up in Homophobic Assholeland cruise so fast you almost miss it. In our generation, there's two camps. My tribe grew up in suburban settings where gay-straight alliances were standard fare and overt homophobia was greeted with the same disdain as racism—we're a little braver when we cruise. But some guys our age come from conservative backgrounds. Not necessarily told they're bad but still aware they're
other
. They leave the nest eager and starry-eyed, and they're green as lettuce. At college in your first year you'll get a bit of both, guys just off the truck and guys like me who
love
fresh produce and hone in for a sample. Well, not anymore, but that was how I rolled.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I guess I should say there's a third camp: the guys from Homophobic Assholeland with Homophobic Asshole parents. They're…their own breed, and it's seldom pretty. But to answer your question, I suspected you were gay because you cruised me.”

“I did?” Aaron drew back, embarrassed, but Walter only laughed.

“Hon, don't. I'm flattered. It was fast, and it was mostly you clocking me, going,
hot guy in the building
. For the record, I did the same thing to you. I may be monogamous now, but it doesn't mean I don't admire a nice view.”

Aaron blushed. “Thanks?”

“You bet your ass thanks. God, I'd have had you flat on your back, pants at your knees within an hour.”

Aaron's cheeks became a furnace that possibly raised the temperature of the atrium five degrees.

Walter laughed. “Sorry, I'll behave.” He nodded to the food court. “Let's go eat. I'm starving. Chipotle okay?”

Aaron followed Walter in a kind of fog, trying to process everything until suddenly it was his turn to order. When he got to the cash register he didn't realize Walter had paid for both their meals until it was too late.

“Please. Kelly would swat me right now if he saw how freaked out I've made you. The least I can do is pay for your lunch.” Walter indicated a table in the corner. “Let's sit and talk.”

At first it wasn't bad, Walter asking what he did for fun, commiserating over Florence and Keane, arguing over the audio quality of Bose vs. Beats headphones. But all too soon Walter went for the subject they kept dancing around.

“You were upset about something in the file room.”

Aaron fixed his gaze on his napkin, worrying the edge into ragged strips with his fingers. “I'm nervous about going to college.”

He waited for Walter to give platitudes, to tell him everyone was nervous and Aaron would be fine.

Walter arched an eyebrow. “Why am I thinking this has something to do with a guy?”

Aaron dropped his napkin. “Why—why—what—?”

Walter leaned forward and touched Aaron's arm. “Hey—it's okay. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But if you do want, I'd love to listen.”

To Aaron's surprise, he found he
did
want to talk. Except he didn't just tell Walter about Giles. He told him
everything
.

He told Walter about Tanner.

“We were friends since grade school, and in middle school we started a band together with a couple other guys. Tanner and I wrote all the music. I composed, he did the lyrics. I think it probably sucked, but we had a good time. I'd taken a lot of theory too, and I taught myself from the Internet. He did too. It was our thing we did together. Then…I don't know when exactly, but things started changing. Tanner and I had always been close, but we started to feel
really
close. We touched a lot. Sometimes I thought he wanted to kiss me, but nothing ever happened.”

When Aaron paused too long, Walter spoke. “Until one day something did.”

Aaron couldn't meet Walter's gaze. “It was a slumber party. We got into his dad's liquor cabinet. The other two boys fell asleep, but Tanner and I stayed awake. He kissed me, and we went to his room. Made out a little.” He paused, remembering the bittersweet moment. “It was amazing, beautiful, everything I'd ever wanted, but all of a sudden he got up, freaked out and told me to go home. He hasn't spoken to me since.”

Walter's mouth thinned into a line. “Yeah, there are plenty of guys like that. Tanner's gay, or at least bi or flexible, and he's not sure it's okay to be a baby-bit queer. Orientation is not a line in the sand, and that's the next big wave coming: generations of young people facing their childhood same-sex friends and considering them potential lovers because it's not total social death to do so anymore. It's not always going to be pretty, either. Tanner wants this but is flipped out over it, and you made him face something he didn't want to.”

“But he started it. I wouldn't ever have—”

Walter stroked Aaron's hand. “I know, hon. In his head, though, all you had to do is exist.”

Aaron's chest hurt. “That's not fair.”

“No, it isn't. Honestly, a lot of misery comes from only half the country thinking it's okay to love whoever you want. Sure, I can legally marry Kelly in Minnesota, and the Feds will recognize it too, but now the bigots are even angrier. Until they die off and gay is just another way to be, guys like you and Tanner don't only go through the hell of adolescent attraction, you do it with a gun at your head.”

That was exactly how it felt. “Me and Tanner, but not you?”

“Please. I was born fierce.” Walter took Aaron's hand, squeezing it briefly. “I'm sorry that was your first experience, Aaron. I hope your second one is better.”

Aaron became very interested in his burrito wrapper. “Well…actually, I've had a second one already.” He swallowed hard and looked up at Walter.

Walter gazed back, patient and kind. “A bit better, this one?”

“Yeah. But I was an idiot and didn't get his number, and I can't work up the courage to send him a note online.” He drew a deep breath before confessing the rest. “He's the reason I decided to go to Saint Timothy.”

Walter's smile made Aaron feel like he'd been folded into somebody's arms. “Tell me about this guy.”