Frat Boy and Toppy (4 page)

“And what’s with that, dude? You hate history.”

“I still gotta pass it, Kyle. If I don’t keep up the GPA, I lose the scholarship.”

“Yeah, but you usually write some lame-ass paper on Monday night. You’ve been working on that one for, like, five hours and it’s freaking Saturday. You get high enough grades in your other classes to even it all out.” Kyle refrained from mentioning most of those classes were health, PE, and “family and consumer sciences.” Home ec, in other words.

Brad shrugged.
Whatever
. “I want it to be good.” The fuck was a
stoa
again? Kyle stood silently next to him for so long Brad had to look up again. “What?”

“All you need’s a C. Why do you care if it’s good?”

Dammit
. Brad looked back down at his paper again, quickly. “Just do,” he muttered, flipping through his book like he was looking up something very important.

Kyle sighed and walked a couple steps away to flop down on his bed. “The guys are starting a betting pool, Brad.”

“Why do I care?”

“It’s about you. They’re taking bets on how long you can go without getting laid, and why you stopped chasing tail.”

“Huh.”

“Tank bet you’re secretly engaged.”

Brad laughed. “Yeah? He’s gonna lose.”

“Ricky bet two hundred bucks that you’re secretly engaged with a baby on the way.” Brad could tell by the sound of Kyle’s voice he was smiling over that one.

Brad sighed. “No one ever claimed Ricky was smart. What are the odds?”

“Shit, I don’t know. I never understood how that worked.”

“So who bet I have an STD?”

Kyle didn’t answer. Which was sort of an answer in itself. “Hope you didn’t put a lot of money on that, bro,” Brad murmured without looking around.

Kyle huffed a breath out. “Collin laid twenty on you being gay.” He started laughing.

Brad froze up for just a second. Kyle’s laughter didn’t change, so he must not have noticed. Brad forced a big grin and turned around. He even managed a chuckle or two. “Hope he didn’t need that twenty.”

He was going to have to keep an eye on Collin.

Brad got a C+ on his paper about Sparta. Sebastian didn’t even look at him when he handed it back.

The next week, Brad bought a paper online.

The following Tuesday, two days early, Sebastian walked in and straight up to Brad, handing his paper back while Prof Whitehall was yakking away. Sebastian barely looked at him when he dropped it in front of Brad. It had a sticky note on it. Once Brad got over seeing Sebastian walk straight toward him, and then checking out his ass as Sebastian walked away, he read the note.

2:30 p.m., my office, rm 232a Allen

Whose office? Prof Whitehall’s? Brad broke out in a cold sweat and leaned over to hiss into Kyle’s ear, “Where’s Whitehall’s office?”

Kyle was starting to get used to Brad’s weird new quirks. He barely glanced at Brad before writing “History Dept.” on the margin of his notepaper. Brad nudged him and raised his eyebrows. Kyle rolled his eyes and wrote “236 Allen Hall.”

So, not Professor Whitehall’s office, then. That must mean . . . Sebastian’s office? Brad took a deep breath. This time the sweat broke out on his hands. That “Hot for Teacher” song started playing in his head. About a million images flashed through his mind, a lot of them involving him on his knees. His stomach balled up in a knot and all his blood rushed south.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Please
.

Class got out at 11:00. He wasn’t able to eat lunch, didn’t even try. Instead, he went back to the frat and fretted. He didn’t have a lot of prior experience with fretting. What did Sebastian want? Could it be the same thing Brad wanted? He finally left his room in a haze and his baggiest pair of jeans at two o’clock.

This must be what it felt like when you were fourteen and had your first crush. Except he was twenty-one, and he’d never felt this way at fourteen. Even then he’d seen girls as mostly status symbols. A necessary evil. He’d been the star running back in a small-town high school. He’d had an image to maintain. His coach had made it very clear he expected that from him.

Brad stood in front of the short hallway to the #232 offices. “A” was the first one on his right. There were four more doors: one more on the right side, two on the left and one at the end. The hallway wasn’t well-lit, but he could pretty clearly see the door to 232A was propped open.

Voices drifted out of the open doorway. For just a second, his mind went to that porn video he’d seen over the weekend, where the teachers “punished” that student by tying him down and fucking him over a desk. All of them. An academic gangbang.

Brad swallowed. This wouldn’t be like that. Maybe Sebastian had noticed Brad watching him (how could he not?). Maybe he was crazy attracted to Brad, and he was fishing to see if Brad could maybe swing that way.

Oh, he could so fucking swing that way. He’d bend over the desk right now if Sebastian asked him to.

“I have a kind of important meeting.” Sebastian’s voice, drifting down the hall.

Brad’s heart thumped a couple of times, reminding him it needed some oxygen.
That’s me
. He started walking toward the door, listening for more. He didn’t hear anything else but Sebastian’s voice, murmuring. What did he have to say to his officemate in such a quiet voice?

Then Brad was standing in the doorway, clearing his throat. He wasn’t doing it to attract Sebastian’s attention. He needed to clear it. It was dry as a desert. Sebastian turned toward him at the sound and smiled.

Brad thought he might faint.
Man up, dude.

“Hey, Brad,” Sebastian said, walking his way and smiling that smile.

Brad swallowed. “Hey,” he croaked. Sebastian cocked his head a second, studying him. He stopped a couple feet in front of Brad, still looking at him like he was trying to figure something out. “Um, hey, I thought the office was going to be free, but it looks like it’s not. I’d kinda like to talk to you in private, so . . .” Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him.

Could this actually be about what Brad wanted it to be about? Like, a hook-up? “Private’s good,” Brad blurted. Then felt himself go red.

“Yeah,” Sebastian agreed immediately. He looked like he was trying not to smile. “Yeah, so I think we can probably find a semi-deserted coffee shop on Sixth Avenue, and probably get a table with enough privacy to talk there.”

The
bow-chicka-bow-bow
soundtrack in Brad’s head stopped playing. Either the dude was way kinkier than Brad was ready for, or this wasn’t going to be about sex.

That’s when it hit Brad’s testosterone-addled brain what else this meeting might be about.

“So. Brad. You probably have an idea what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“No,” he said, unthinkingly. He was watching Sebastian’s hands stir and stir and stir and stir his cappuccino. He didn’t drink those kinds of drinks, so he wasn’t sure if this was normal. Did fancy coffee need more stirring?

The stirring stopped. “No?” Sebastian’s voice sounded kinda hard.

Brad looked up from his hands into Sebastian’s eyes. They were so brown. Kind of soft, deep brown. Except at the moment they looked a little bit pissed. He dumbly shook his head. Even though, yeah, he was pretty sure he
did
know what this was about. He’d fucked up good.

Sebastian took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. “Okay, let’s start here. You’re on an athletic scholarship, yeah? And another one from your frat?”

Oh, had Sebastian been checking him out? His heart did some sort of fluttery thing. “Yeah. Not that big a deal. I mean, we’re only a smaller Division II school, so it’s not like I’m some great player or anything . . .” His voice sort of gave up under Sebastian’s intense look.

“And you need those scholarships, right?”

“Well, uh . . .” He ran a hand through his hair and looked out the window.
Shit.
“Yeah. I mean, my parents never could have sent me to a private school otherwise. Not without a lot of debt, you know. I’m the second of five and . . .” He gave up again. He’d made the mistake of looking back at Sebastian and the guy so totally was just waiting for him to shut up. He looked down, not wanting to see that in Sebastian’s eyes. But Sebastian’s next words snapped Brad’s head back up.

“Okay, so bottom line is, if you want to keep your scholarships, you have to rewrite this paper by 8 a.m. Thursday. Otherwise I have to show the one you bought online to Ari.”

Brad’s mind seized on the one unimportant detail. “Ari?” he croaked.

“Professor Whitehall,” Sebastian snapped. Then he leaned forward, even more intense. “Frankly, I shouldn’t even be giving you this chance. Athletes are always skating by and it makes me sick. But I’ve given other students one chance, so you get one, too. You’ve never done it before, and I’m told it’s the end of the football season and that’s a high-pressure time for you. You’re Goddamned lucky I’m feeling generous.”

Brad knew he was bright red. He hung his head. “I know,” he whispered. “Sorry.” He debated telling Sebastian football season had ended two months ago, but he wasn’t sure he’d get it out.
Way to impress him
.

“That wasn’t exactly the reaction I expected.”

Lost in his own crawling ball of shame, Brad was so startled he almost flinched when Sebastian spoke. He glanced up, not raising his head.

Sebastian had his chin in his hand, looking at him. “You aren’t really the stereotypical jock frat boy you look like, are you?”

Brad cleared his throat and thought about his generally uncaring attitude toward people’s feelings and his beer-swilling, womanizing, asshole friends. “Uh, yeah. Actually I kinda am.” Maybe Sebastian expected him to get mad. He dug way down deep for some mad but came up empty.

He had plenty of “loser” on tap, though.

Sebastian seemed to be smothering a smile behind his hand. Like maybe he was laughing at Brad, but didn’t want him to know. Well, at least he’d made an effort. Brad shrugged, feeling his ears go hot again. He looked back down at his hands.

“What do you want to do once you graduate?”

He shrugged again. Mostly he just wanted the fuck out of this coffee shop. About thirty seconds ago. Sebastian waited him out. Brad sighed and glanced up from under his brow at Sebastian. He looked like he was thinking. He always looked like he was thinking. “Something with sports, I guess.” Brad shifted. He really, really needed out of this chair.

Sebastian picked up his drink. Somehow, while they’d been sitting there, it had deflated. It just looked like coffee with milk in it now. Some foam clinging to the sides of the cup. Sebastian swirled his coffee while Brad watched his hand. Seemed like maybe he had a thing for hands. He watched Sebastian throw back his head and chug the coffee. The whole thing, like it was a shot or something. Baring his neck. Fuck, he even had a sexy neck.

Who knew? He was a neck-man, too.

Hell, he was just a Sebastian-man.

Sebastian set the empty mug down and looked at Brad. “Just have it to my office by 8 a.m. Thursday, okay? Get Kyle to help you if you need it, he’s pretty good at history.
Help
you, not write it for you.”

Brad cleared his throat. “’Kay.”

Sebastian gave him a tight smile and stood up, walking out of the cafe without looking back. Which might have been good, since even now Brad found Sebastian’s ass mesmerizing.

Brad blew out a breath and slumped back once Sebastian was out the door. The chair that he’d been dying to get out of two minutes ago wouldn’t let him go now.

It was after he’d knocked his skull into the back of the chair a couple of times that it occurred to Brad to wonder how Sebastian knew he was friends with Kyle. He sat up in surprise. Suddenly the chair was willing to release him.

Ashley, however, was not. He hadn’t noticed her there. Had he really been that focused on Sebastian? Probably. Didn’t matter, because she was marching toward him like one of those mythical bird-women. What were they called? Harpies.

“Brad,” she said, nodding curtly, her hands planted on her hips. She looked pretty . . . militant. “I’d like to talk to you, if you have a minute.”