Fever Pitch (12 page)

Baz was at the house, very much his old self. He'd been subdued in rehearsal, but now he was full of wisecracks and flirts, and his attentions included Aaron as if he hadn't nearly broken down in the middle of the union and vanished for twenty-four hours. Afraid to break the spell, Aaron didn't bring up Elijah or anything else about the toads.

Aaron would have stayed at the White House, but no one offered to let him crash, so he simply took as long as possible to return to Titus, staying in the lounge to watch
SportsCenter
with a bunch of jocks. But at one in the morning, Aaron decided to face the music and went to his room.

Elijah was still at his desk, writing in the lamplight. He glanced up when Aaron entered.

He knew. Elijah knew Aaron was gay.

He didn't seem upset by it. Surprised, maybe, but clearly he wasn't going to spout Scripture or ask Aaron to let Jesus heal him.

Come to think of it, Elijah only ever prayed when someone else was around.

As Aaron set his backpack on his desk and peeled out of his coat to hang it over his chair, Elijah watched him—which in itself was strange. Usually his roommate did whatever he could to pretend Aaron wasn't present. Now Elijah watched Aaron as if he were a lab rat.

Funny, how after all these months of longing for a connection, now Aaron only wanted to be ignored.

Later, as he lay in bed, Aaron thought maybe Elijah had been waiting for him to say something. Initially Aaron hadn't allowed subtlety to penetrate his terror, but upon reflection, maybe Elijah wouldn't have given him fire and brimstone. Maybe he would have come out himself.

If that moment had been there, by morning it was gone. Elijah had on his coat when Aaron woke, as if he'd been waiting to talk to Aaron before leaving. When he spoke, his tone was full of barbs once more.

“If you could continue keeping the queer turned off when my parents are around, that'd be a big help.” He stared at Aaron aggressively.

Aaron swallowed nervously, shifting uncomfortably beneath his comforter. “Oh—okay.”

Elijah's smile would give clowns nightmares. “Thanks so much, sweetie. Have a great day.”

They didn't speak of it, or anything else, for the rest of the month.

C
hapter Twelve

I
n the weeks after homecoming, Giles watched Baz flirt with Aaron, watched Aaron flirt back. Every time Giles crossed the common or stuck his head into the music lounge, he saw the two of them together. In his psych class, Giles overheard a hot freshman in hysterics because he thought he'd missed his chance with Baz and shouldn't have tried to play so hard to get, since obviously the way to hook him was to make moon-eyes at him the way Aaron did.

Everyone knew Aaron was gay now too. The girls still sighed over him from a distance, but now the boys made plans for how to catch him once Baz was done with him.

Giles wanted to bang his head into the wall.

“I swear before homecoming he was looking at me,” he confessed to Mina. “
At
homecoming I wanted to do something about it—and Baz swooped in. I was
literally
three minutes too late.” Giles plunked into Mina's beanbag, sick and miserable. “You're going to tell me you told me so.”

Mina stroked his hair. “Honey, I was at those rehearsals. He was definitely into you.”

Giles groaned and pulled the pillow against his face.

Mina tweaked the toe of his shoe. “Chin up. From what I hear, Baz cuts and runs. They'll sleep together a few times, and then it'll be over.”

“Not helping.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? Lie, tell you they aren't going to fuck?”

Giles's stomach lurched. He tossed the pillow aside and stared at the ceiling. “How could I be so close and still screw it up? How could he look at me like that and go out with Baz?”

“He's been looking at you like that since the end of August. He probably got tired of waiting for you to figure it out.”

“
Still
not helping.”

Mina settled onto the beanbag beside him. “I'm sorry, hon.”

Giles leaned on her shoulder, a lump growing in his throat. “I had a chance, but I did what you warned me I'd do.”

She stroked his arm, drawing him closer. “People are hard. Relationships are harder.”

Mina had an odd tone to her voice, as if she spoke from experience. Giles lifted his head and frowned at her. “Something you want to share with the class?”

It shocked him how buttoned up she got. “No. Not yet.”

Giles sat up. “Min—”

She held up her hand, silencing him. “
No.
”

Her expression was unyielding, but it was clearly a wall holding back something pretty raw. “Did—did I do something?”

If Mina had had glasses, she'd be looking at Giles over the top of them. “It's about a romantic relationship, and you think it's about you?”

Touché. “I meant—I didn't want to have fucked us up too.”

“It's…complicated.” She shook her head. “I don't know how to talk about it to myself yet.”

Whatever this was, it was no dreamy desire to feel up a hot high school guy. This was serious.
Good for you, Min.
“Do I know him at least?”

Why the hell that comment made her face cloud up again, Giles couldn't guess. “Leave it for now, okay? Let's just say I get how difficult it can be to understand you're attracted to someone. Sometimes we're in our own way more than we know, but I don't think we can beat ourselves up over it.”

“Yes, but what if we get in our own way long enough for our opportunity to pass us by? What if we miss our boat?”

She shut her eyes. “We believe in a universe that will bring us another one.”

“The thing is, right now I only want this boat.”

She cradled his head into her shoulder. “Then right now you'll have to be a little sad.”

Giles didn't cry, but his chest hurt. A lot.

Baz and Aaron hung out together more and more all the time, Baz looking at Aaron as if he were dinner, Aaron clearly wanting to be on the menu. A few weeks after homecoming, Giles saw them crossing campus, heading for the White House arm in arm, and Giles got so depressed he gave up.

He hadn't hooked up for a while, unable to give up the faint hope of
maybe
, but that night he tossed in the towel. Dusting off his Grindr app, he surfed for sex—and as luck would have it, stumbled onto Intense Twink from orientation day, or “Naughty Nate” as per his username.

Naughty Nate who was, shockingly,
pay for play
. Giles hadn't done that before. But he remembered those looks Nate had tossed out, combined them with the lurid sexual promises in text, and decided what the hell. First time for everything. If it sucked, it was only twenty bucks.

Brian was off at a friend's for a Halo marathon, so Giles invited his trick to the room. At nine on the dot a knock sounded on the door, and there stood Naughty Nate, drowning in a hoodie. No sooner did Giles open the door than the kid pushed his way inside.

“Come right in,” Giles murmured, closing the door with a shiver of apprehension. It wasn't as if he were actually scared of the guy—Giles wasn't built, but Naughty Nate was little more than a broom handle. His eyes, though. Jesus H, he could cut granite with that gaze.

Nate crossed to the window, tugging the blinds tighter before tossing his hood back. He was even more delicate up close, but he wasn't timid. He marched up to Giles and held out his hand. “Money up front.”

Oh shit. The twenty. Giles fumbled for his wallet, pulled out a Jackson and passed it over. “Here. Sorry.”

All business, Nate nodded curtly as he pocketed the cash. “No worries. Now—for specifics. You weren't clear in chat. Did you want to fuck me or get sucked off?”

The curt directness both jarred Giles and turned him on. He didn't want to fuck the guy, though—too intimate. Too much when he still pined for Aaron. “We can just frot.”

“Blow job first?”

Jesus, this was like ordering McDonald's. Giles wasn't sure he wanted to pay for a trick anymore. “Um, sure.”

“Warn me when you're close, and we'll mix it up.”

Nate fell to his knees.

For a few terrible seconds Giles worried he wouldn't be able to get it up, this was so clinical, but when Nate looked up at him with doe eyes as he closed his mouth over Giles's cock, Giles rose immediately to full mast. Nate was good. He knew where to touch, how hard to suck, when to moan. All too quickly Giles had to map violin fingerings in his head to keep himself from coming, and after less than five minutes he had to cry uncle.

As graceful as a gazelle, Nate stripped himself nude and sat on the futon, drawing his knees up to present himself, dark asshole gaping invitingly.

Fucking hell.

Giles didn't penetrate Nate, but he fucked him into the futon, gripping those bony shoulders, drinking in every moan, every cry. His voice was high—a tenor, same as Aaron. He was dark haired, so responsive…closing his eyes tight, Giles pretended this was Aaron beneath him, Aaron he fucked, Aaron who cried out and begged for more, Aaron who came like a fountain between their chests as Giles did the same.

He pretended, but when they finished and he opened his eyes to find Nate in his arms, despite getting epically laid, he felt more miserable than ever.

“You're pretty hot. Dark horse—love that.” Nate slapped Giles's flank and started to wriggle. “I gotta go, though. Another appointment in a half hour, and I want to clean up.”

“Sure.” Giles shifted to let him rise, feeling more awkward and awful by the moment.

“Chat at me later.” Nate climbed into his clothes. “I don't always do return tricks, but I like you.”

No way Giles was ever doing this again. “I'll keep it in mind, thanks.”

“One thing.” Nate tugged his shirt over his head. “Don't be friendly with me on campus. No winks or smiles, and no appointments made in any way but on the app. And whatever you do, never call me Nate. That's not my real name.”

Giles frowned. “What is it?”

His trick paused with his coat half on, then shrugged. “Elijah.”

Though things had gone well with Baz since homecoming, Aaron didn't tell Walter about him. Which got interesting when Walter figured out something was going on anyway.

“You seem happy,” Walter observed one day when they spoke on the phone.

“I am,” Aaron agreed and tried to leave it at that.

Walter didn't let him. “I'm so happy for you, hon. What turned things around? I know it's not your roommate, and your dad certainly didn't decide to be rational about your college career choices. What brought all this joy on? Did you meet someone?”

Aaron swallowed hard. “Um. Maybe.”

“Excellent. Tell me all about him.”

Aaron didn't want to. “Nothing worth telling. Just a guy from choir. He's nice.”
And sexy as hell and likes to put his hand on my ass and whisper in my ear.
“He makes me feel good.”

“I can't wait to meet him. Tonight works for us to come see you, if you're free.”

The very idea put Aaron in a panic. He was due to go out with the guys, and Baz kept hinting he hoped Aaron would be there. Like tonight maybe something could happen. “I don't know. I have a big test on Monday—probably should study.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Of course,” Walter said at last.

Walter being around while Baz—hopefully—made a move could only be disaster.

Nothing did happen that weekend, alas—only more flirting, more teasing. But the week before Thanksgiving, Aaron and the guys from the White House went out to the Shack, and everything changed.

Baz flirted with the doorman so he'd let Aaron in. Baz supplied Aaron with ample rum and Coke and dragged him repeatedly to the dance floor. Baz couldn't stay on the dance floor for long periods of time without a rest, but he made up for longevity with intensity. They danced to several songs throughout the night, including “Titanium”. They sang along at the top of their lungs, Baz groin to groin with his hands on Aaron's ass. Eventually with Baz's hand down the back of Aaron's jeans, boldly moving inside his underwear.

It was going to happen.

Except before anything could get interesting, Damien broke them up. Marius escorted Aaron home, but on the way out the door they passed Damien and Baz in a heated argument off in the corner.

“I'm sorry,” Aaron slurred when they got to the parking lot.

“You don't need to apologize for anything.” Marius steadied Aaron before resuming their hike to the house. “This is an old argument, though this time I agree with Damien.”

“I don't understand.”

Marius squeezed his shoulders. “I'll get you some coffee. And water. Lots of water.”

Aaron, however, couldn't shake the nasty feeling in his gut. “I don't want Damien to be mad at me. Or Baz. Or you.”

Marius's voice gentled. “Nobody's mad at you.”

Aaron's throat got thick. “I'm so lonely. Even with all you guys around, even though everything is good, sometimes I'm so
lonely
.”

“Which is why I'd argue you shouldn't sleep with Baz.”

Aaron started to object, to say he wasn't sleeping with Baz yet, but of course he wanted to, and he was pretty sure but for Damien it would have happened. He knew where the dance-floor flirting was going, where all of it was. Obviously everyone had known. His throat threatened to close in embarrassment.

Marius chuckled. “It's cool, man. Relax.”

“How can I? Basically I was acting like a whore.”

“You want to know how many times a chick ground on me at the bar and I followed her home my freshman year? I get it.”

“But you think it's a bad idea.”

“Baz has been my roommate since day one. I know how he operates. I get why. I don't think you're on his same page, though.”

“What do you mean?”

They were almost to the door, and Marius fiddled in his pocket for his keys. “It's your call what you do with him. Just don't think Baz is going to be a boyfriend. That's all I'm saying. I don't think he can be one, not anymore.”

There was a story there, and it reminded Aaron of the day Baz had hunted Elijah down, the day they carefully never discussed. Clearly Marius wouldn't be sharing any stories tonight. It was just as well, because once Aaron saw the saggy couch in the corner of the living room, his rum-soaked body forgot all about getting off and yearned only for sleep.

He woke in the middle of the night, mouth tasting like rotten ass, head and gut complaining loudly. After a trip to the bathroom, he meandered into the kitchen to look for water.

Baz sat at the table in a pair of boxers, hair standing on end, a mug of tea in his hand. For the first time since Aaron had known him, his sunglasses were off. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled. “Hey, you.”

Aaron rubbed his arm. Baz's eyes were pretty, but sad. “Hey.”

“You should go to bed.” This was what Baz said, but his tone urged Aaron to stay right where he was. Or better yet, come closer.

The sadness in Baz's gaze gave way to lust.

Aaron was thirsty, but he wasn't thinking about water anymore. He thought about Baz, the way Baz looked at him. The way Baz touched him. He thought about how long it had been since Hickey Lake, yet how much it still hurt and ached to think of that night. How Giles was so damn
polite
with him and nothing more.

How Baz was right here, clearly wanting to fuck.

Aaron longed to knock the night at the lake out of his head. He wanted to have sex—sex with a guy who wasn't going to be weird on him after. He wanted to get laid. He wanted to suck cock. He wanted to get licked again. God, he wanted to be fucked, straight up. He wanted it all.

He wanted to stop feeling so hollow inside, so lonely even in a room full of people.

They started with a kiss—one second Baz had a snarky grin on his face, and then his grin was gone, those soft, spicy lips teasing and tasting at Aaron's. He pulled Aaron's clothes off with startling ease. After sliding the briefs down, he held Aaron's ass in his hands. The grip, firm and commanding, made Aaron shudder.