Getting Him Back (6 page)

We had to drop Whitney off at Joppa Hall for her intro to psych class. We’d ruled out taking the El over the ravine because while the covered walkway was a safe zone, too many zombies would be covering the entrance at this time of day. We’d have to go the long way.

Under my hand, a text buzzed.

“Aren’t you popular?” Makayla said, her sarcasm completely blunted by her obvious glee.

I tried to keep my face bland as I snuck a look at the text and almost blew it by pumping my fist. Blake again.

Never thought you’d go for a nerd game like that.

I could practically hear the pout. He didn’t care about the game. He cared that I hadn’t texted back.

I tapped two shortcuts. Busy and Later
.

* * *

We lost Whitney ten yards from Joppa. Coming from the perimeter road, we’d forgotten the trees near the buildings. A dozen zombies poured out of the woods.

“Make a run for Perry?” Makayla jerked a thumb at the building behind us and nailed one of the zombies in the stomach with a sock bomb.

It was a straight sprint across the grass. No skateboarders or rollerbladers to dodge.

“Can’t.” Whitney shook her head and stuffed her remaining socks into Makayla’s hands. “I’ve been late three times already and I’m wearing heels.” Whitney hurled herself toward the horde. “Save yourselves.”

It might have been a touching scene in a movie, self-sacrifice and all, but then she handed off her human card to who I noticed was the cutest guy in the pack. She picked up a couple of socks and tossed them back toward us. Then in an impressive Sir Ian McKellen imitation she threw her arms wide. “Fly, you fools.”

We gathered up the socks and ran for our lives. After they dropped me off at Res Life for work, I tugged out my phone. I had three more messages from Blake that I’d missed while dodging zombies and laughing.

Hey.

Half an hour later: Ethan????

Then ten minutes after that: So, I was thinking maybe we could hang out and catch up sometime.

I so should have paid Wyatt for the tutoring. I was still behind in calculus, but he’d totally come through on the Blake advice.

I stared at the screen for a second, thinking of all the times I wished he’d text, or call, or bother to find out where my dorm room was.

I ducked behind a filing cabinet and tapped out: Too busy to suck you off right now. Good luck with that.

It seemed like I’d barely hit Send when my phone buzzed with his answer.

What the fuck is wrong with you? I was trying to be nice.

Yeah right.

Blake wasn’t done. Five minutes later I got: Fuck you, Ethan. You’re the one who chased me here.

I almost fought back, spat out every bit of hurt “chasing him here” had gotten me. But this was Blake working through his shit. I’d ruin everything if I didn’t stick to the plan now.

After dinner, I backdated a bunch of entries for my ed soc journal, pretended to read my bio book and finally nudged my calculus text toward me like it was made of explosives. The expression on my parents’ faces if I failed a class would probably be explosive enough.

Maybe I
should
get Wyatt to tutor me. He seemed to know his shit. He’d been dead-on about Blake.

* * *

The next morning my phone text alert went off before my alarm and I swiped it open without thinking.

Blake.

You were right. I was a jerk yesterday.

Just yesterday? I rolled my eyes midmessage.

I would like to talk to you. Actually talk, that’s all.

I flopped around on the bed, teeth clenched to keep from shouting
yes
in time with the fist I pumped in the air.

I knew he only needed to get his head out of his ass. I owed Wyatt a great big thank-you, but a fruit basket didn’t seem like his thing. He was fond of hoodies though.

I raced through my shower but took a few extra seconds to scrape my jaw smooth, even though I was determined not to do any kissing. Just talking. I’d have to sprint across campus to get to the dining hall under Butler Student Center. It was closest to Kilpatrick, where all the jocks ate.

I’d still have time to make it to calculus if I busted ass. Bonus, the sprint kept me from being zombie chow.

The student center was on a hill—like most everything here. I kept getting confused when I took stairs down to the basement but the back half of the lower level had doors to go outside. Even though I knew that was the case with the student center, I didn’t see any windows or doors leading to the October sunshine in this dining hall. Wood-paneled walls, fraternity paddles over the serving line, banners claiming championships. It was dark and loud like a bar.

Just stepping inside I had a sensation of dread in my stomach. Like high school, pre-Blake. The feeling that everyone had their groups and outsiders were not welcome. I felt extra stupid with my neon orange human bandanna tied around the sleeve of my henley. No one here seemed to be playing the game.

I peered into the gloom wondering if the school thought an extra lightbulb would threaten the dining hall’s masculinity.

I didn’t see Blake right away, but I saw Wyatt. He was at a long table by himself, back pressed against the wall, textbook open next to his tray. His backpack occupied the seat next to him. Since I’d made a quick stop in the campus store, the timing was perfect. I headed for his table.

A few steps in I saw Blake, right in my path. He was at a table crowded with his team, I guessed, based on them all wearing matching blue-and-gold jerseys. The expression on his face was half knew-you’d-come-looking-for-me-expectant, half don’t-embarrass-me-in-front-of-the-guys-dread. I nodded at him and kept right on walking.
Was that nonclingy enough
,
dickhead?

I slid into the seat opposite Wyatt. It was hot in here, but he still had his hood up.

He glanced up and then went back to his book. “What the hell do you want?”

Given how weird he’d been when he left two weeks ago, I wasn’t expecting a hug, but I suspected that his greeting had more to do with how crappy it was to eat alone than me showing up at his table.

“To say thank you.”

“What for? You’re not over there on lover boy’s lap so I can’t have been much help.”

I followed his gaze over to Blake’s table. One of the guys had a girl in his lap. I recognized him from the media I’d seen last year. He was their star goalkeeper. Blake was his backup. I’d never sat on Blake’s lap—or he on mine. I couldn’t even picture it working—unless I finally got my dick up his ass.

But I didn’t want to talk to Wyatt about Blake anymore. “You told me the truth and I needed to hear it. So thanks.” I plopped the eco-friendly paper bag from the campus store on the table in front of him.

“What’s that?”

“A thank-you present.”

He pushed it toward me. “Keep it.”

“I got it for you.” Since he didn’t seem like he was going to open it anytime soon, I said, “It’s a hoodie. In Coborn Cougar colors. Say that three times fast.”

He looked in the top of the bag. “Get your money back.”

“It’s also a kind of an apology present. You told me the truth after I—” I tripped over the word
lied.
“—manipulated you so I could ask about Blake.” Shit. That actually sounded worse.

“I don’t need it.”

“Well, it turns out I really do need help with calculus. I need you to tutor me for real. I’d still—” There was no way
pay you for it
didn’t sound dirty. “—pay the same rate.”

Wyatt pulled away from the wall, turning to face me. The right side of his face was darker than ever in the shadows. “What are you stuck on?”

Everything.
“Velocity. And parabolas. They’re killing me.”

Wyatt stuffed his book into his backpack and studied my face for a second before saying, “Here’s what you do. Library, second floor.”

I nodded. I’d miss the semiflirting if we were in public, but I could meet him there. It would be better than trying to figure it out myself.

Wyatt leaned toward me. “Go there, any day between eight and six. The academic success counselors will hook you up with a tutor, and you can stop yanking my chain.”

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed the tray, leaving me and the paper bag with his hooded sweatshirt alone at the table.

Chapter 7

I sat stunned for a second.
I
was jerking
his
chain? The back of my neck burned until I started to sweat from the all the ways my filthy mind wanted me to jerk him. Swallowing hard, I grabbed the paper bag and went after him.

Wyatt was already shoving his tray in the return slot next to the exit. If he hadn’t bothered, I might not have caught him before he disappeared through a door next to the elevator. I hadn’t noticed that door was there before.

I grabbed it before it shut behind him and followed him into a hall that cut through the middle of the basement of the student center.

He turned. “Christ, what is
with
you?”

“With me? Why are you so pissed-off?”

Wyatt’s voice went from furious to flat. “For all you know I’m always like this.”

“No.” I was so certain I shook my head too. “No, you’re not.”

Wyatt was sarcastic and funny and he teased, but he wasn’t mean.

He slumped against a wall, dropping his head back against it. His hood slipped back. “I should have known. You don’t know how to quit when you’re ahead. And I can’t....” He rolled his head against the wall. “Go back to your boyfriend. He’s all thirsty for your dick again.”

There was something in the way he sneered that, not disgust, but—

“Are you jealous?” I asked, grabbing his sleeve. “Do you
like
him?”

“No.” He jerked free and stomped away down the hall.

His
no
didn’t sound like a lie, but there was something he wasn’t saying.

“What is this place?” My long legs caught up to him easily.

“Service access to the kitchen, dining hall and campus shop.” He jerked his thumb at a wide elevator door.

“How do you know about it?”

“Because I work in the kitchen. Washing dishes and trays. Forty hours a week. So I don’t have time to play your tutoring-slash-make-Blake-jealous game.”

At the end of the hall was a door to the outside. I thought Wyatt would head for that, but he turned and started up a narrow flight of stairs. Even as skinny as I was two of us couldn’t fit on a stair at the same time.

“Why would me hanging out with you make Blake jealous?” I called after him. “Unless you’re gay.”

He stopped on the top stair. He didn’t turn around, but his shoulders hunched down.

I joined him on a landing barely three feet square and stepped around him until we were face-to-face. I’d kind of always known about myself, and my parents had said they’d figured it out by the time I got up enough nerve to mention it back in eighth grade. But even if gays could get married in any state, even if your parents were all
whatever
about it, realizing you were queer wasn’t easy.

I thought he’d be hiding, but he wasn’t. His jaw was tight, but he looked straight at me. For the first time I saw his left eye, chocolate brown, a disorienting dark when his other one was so pale.

Heterochromia.
The word popped into my head. I’d found the whole thing about genetics in bio to be cool, but I really remembered it because I’d seen
X
-
Men:
First Class
about a million times. What can I say? The guys in that movie are hot and they flirt with each other. Wyatt probably wore the hoodie and his hair like that so people didn’t bug him about it. It was a little surprising at first, made me want to take his picture so I could study him, but with that suggestion hanging between us—
Unless you’re gay
—I found myself more obsessed with his lips and the way they had that full pout in the middle.

His jaw was a little dark with stubble, it would scrape mine if I—

“How do you know for sure?” His voice was thick and his throat bobbed on a swallow.

That bob chased away any idea I’d had about teasing with a
Well
,
what kind of porn do you like?
Because his face was open, and he was looking at me like I could give him the answer.

So I did.

I put a hand on the back of his neck, under his thick soft hair and pulled his mouth to mine.

I
felt
it when our lips touched. Something like a static shock, and his breath hit me with a surprised rush. I took advantage of that to make it a real kiss. No tongue, but parted lips and movement. That jolt zinged around my nerves, and my breath sped up.

Wyatt got his hand between us and pushed me away. Before I could say anything, his fingers gripped my shirt and he dragged me back. His mouth opened. I accepted the invitation with a little slide of my tongue, but that didn’t seem to be enough for him because he chased my tongue back with his, driving into my mouth. The slide of sensation, the taste, the sharpness of his angles pressed against mine, poured heat down my body, flooding my dick.

He shoved me back as hard as he’d kissed me, but there wasn’t a lot of space for me to go. My backpack hit the wall.

He put a hand to his mouth. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“Pity?” I grabbed his hand and put it on my crotch. “Pity doesn’t make my dick hard.”

His fingers closed around me. Hot palm through denim, the ouch—damn it—rasp of my zipper. He made a tentative stroke, watching my face.

I reached for him, found the hard shaft angling left from his fly. I smiled. “Well, there you go. You’re gay enough to get hard from kissing a guy and touching dick.”

There was a half smile and his tongue appeared between his lips. Fuck, he was sexy like that. Almost shy under that punk-edgy hair. I never knew shy turned me on. It was still surprising when I looked at his eyes, but I’d gotten used to one hiding under the hair so it wasn’t as weird as it could have been.

“What?” he said it like a challenge.

I regretted staring since it had made his tongue retreat and told him the truth. Actually, I didn’t say anything, I backed him into the wall and started kissing him again. Hard, the way he liked it. The way I liked it. When your lips feel bruised against teeth and you can’t catch your breath because there’s a tongue deep in your mouth and there’s nothing to think about but
him
.