Poster Boy

by Anne Tenino

  Brad’s mouth twisted up in an unamused smile. “She was my girlfriend first.”

  Jock felt his eyes widen, and tried to get them to be cool about it. They ignored him.

  “Yeah.” Brad scratched again. “She’s good to talk to, but there’s tons of stuff I couldn’t tell her about—she wouldn’t’ve known the answers even if I’d wanted to ask her. Uh, so I guess I’m saying, if you want someone to talk to and Collin’s not a—”

  “Have you ever been with anyone but Sebastian?” Jock squeezed his eyes shut, trying to unsee what he’d just asked or something useful like that. “Sorry, dude.”

  Brad laughed. “No worries. Yeah, I’ve been with another guy, but . . . shit. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you some other time.” Brad gripped Jock’s shoulder when Jock started to say he didn’t need to know. “Seriously, I’ll tell you some other time, like, when it’s just you and me. It might help or something. I dunno.” Brad dropped his hand and straightened, glancing around the room.

  Jock did the same, standing silently next to Brad a few seconds and letting the air pressure equalize or whatever needed to happen after a conversation like that. He studied Ashley, over talking with Kyle and Tank, trying to figure out if he’d ever have been able to date a girl. He’d never had to even fake it, because hockey kept him so busy he didn’t have time, or so he’d claimed. He’d slept with a few, just to be sure and to bolster his secret. But if he’d stayed at Avalon and tried to keep his closet door shut, how long would he have been able to go without finding a beard?

  “Hey Brad, are you going to introduce me to your friend?” someone asked, and from the way heat flashed all over Jock’s body, he knew who it was before turning to see. And of course there stood the guy he’d half-hoped it wasn’t.

  Brad smirked. “Sure, Toby. This is Jock.” He caught Jock’s eye a second, but Jock got totally distracted from whatever silent communication Brad was trying to make when Toby stuck out his hand, holding it inches from Jock’s belly, waiting for him to shake it.

  It took him a second—he had to fight the urge to wipe any potential sweatiness off on his thigh first—before he put his palm against Toby’s and entered into a whole new kind of silent communication. A touch that soaked into his skin and spread nervous energy up his arm. “Um, hey,” he managed. Toby was shorter than him, about at Jock’s chin, but his shoulders were broader than Jock had expected.

  Toby didn’t shake. Instead he held Jock’s hand, fingertips sliding up past the ball of Jock’s thumb to his inner wrist. Tapping out secret messages where Jock was especially sensitive. “Nice to meet you.”

  Jock lifted his eyes, looking into Toby’s deep brown ones, connecting the two of them together like before, but with the added charge of skin-against-skin and Toby’s voice still echoing in his ear. Jock swallowed. “You too.”

  Brad coughed. Well, or laughed. Jock dropped Toby’s hand immediately and shoved his in his pocket. Grinning, Brad hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Um, hey, I better check and see if the guys in the living room need anything.”

  Fuck. “You don’t need to—”

  “Go right ahead, we’ll be fine here,” Toby said, smiling.

  Well, that had been a pleasant thrill. Touching Jock had lived up to all of Toby’s hopes for an instant lust connection. It had been quite a while since he’d had this sort of immediate, bodily reaction to someone, and the thought of what could happen later nearly had him salivating.

  Assuming Jock was into it. But why wouldn’t he be? He was male, it was sex, and he was clearly interested judging from the heat of their eye contact earlier.

  Except the guy was utterly tongue-tied. He couldn’t meet Toby’s gaze for more than a second or two at a time, and he seemed almost scared. This’ll be a challenge, Toby’s libido whispered, rubbing its hands in anticipation—it did love the innocent young things. Toby reined himself in, ignoring the warm currents of attraction circulating in his belly and groin, fed by his proximity to this tall, built blond boy. Not blond, light brown.

  He could do this. Ease this guy’s nerves now, and then later he could work them up again. Begin with small talk. He racked his brain for an innocuous conversation starter. All he could think of was what Sebastian had said about the guy, and none of that would ease either of their nerves.

  Oh, except, “I understand you’re Collin’s roommate at TAG.”

  Jock nodded, and was that a slight eye roll? Perplexing.

  Possibly a subject change would yield more of a response. “So you’re new to Calapooya? You started at the beginning of winter term?” What would he ask next, What’s your major? If the guy didn’t take the bait soon, Toby might be reduced to commenting on his size. Jock didn’t stoop to hide his height, and his shoulders were straight and thrown back naturally, showing off a hell of an expanse of chest. His pecs filled out his T-shirt, but it wasn’t tight everywhere, not a check-me shirt, just a shirt. Toby’d kill to peel it off the kid. With his tongue.

  Focus. Something was off. Years of doing the hookup dance with various guys told him that, but Toby couldn’t figure it out. He felt as if Jock was one of those optical illusions psychology professors tortured students with—was he looking at an old woman’s profile or a young woman turning her head away? He couldn’t get Jock’s body language to make sense, not until the guy tilted his chin, highlighting how tense the muscles in his neck were. Then the picture resolved itself. Jock wasn’t simply nervous, he was wary. Toby took a step back under the guise of leaning against the kitchen table and turned so they weren’t exactly facing each other. The response was immediate—Jock’s shoulders relaxed and his expression loosened up.

  “I started winter term a week late,” he finally responded to the question Toby had forgotten he’d asked. He crossed his arms and focused on something to his right. “I had to leave my last school sort of unexpectedly.”

  Oh, I know. Sympathy twanged one of his heartstrings. “Yeah, I might have heard something about that.”

  Jock gave him a sidelong look, one side of his mouth twisting up. “I bet you did.” His smile grew—not into anything truly amused, but more in recognition of the humor in Toby’s cautious response.

  Progress. “So, what do you think so far?”

  “Of Calapooya College, or of Theta Alpha Gamma?” Jock focused on his feet, nudging the linoleum with the toe of his sneaker.

  “Both, or either. Whichever you feel like answering.” He’d thought Jock was about to really loosen up, drop his defensive posture, turn to Toby, but something in what Toby had said had the opposite effect. Jock’s face went blank and he dropped his head further, jaw clenching.

  “S’all right,” he said to the floor.

  Toby had an urge to tilt Jock’s chin up with his fingers, but he knew that would only make the guy more skittish. He didn’t want to spook the kid, plus it would be much more satisfying to coax a welcoming, unguarded response from Jock through earning his trust. All the hottest hookups began with trust. And an off-the-charts lust connection.

  Toby’s charm almost failed him, but a new conversational gambit presented itself just in time. One of the straight fratbros wandered into the kitchen. Jock’s attention was caught by the dude, and for a split second, Toby thought he was about to be dissed—that Jock would latch onto his TAG brother as an excuse to get out of this awkward tête-à-tête. But instead, Jock’s lips tightened up and he shifted, turning more toward Toby and away from the beer-seeking frat boy.

  Ah-hah. “Sometimes I find myself hanging out with all these TAG guys and I wonder what rabbit hole I fell down.”

  A short laugh burst out of Jock, and he grinned. Verrry nice dimple in that cheek. Just one? But by the time he’d turned fully toward Toby, the dimple had died down. Toby’d have to conduct some more research to determine the presence of other sexy-cute features on Jock’s person.

  “Yeah, Theta Alpha Gamma has to be the weirdest frat on the planet. I mean, I only started college in the fall,” Jock said
, shrugging one shoulder self-consciously. “But I was in a frat for a couple months at Avalon College—that’s where I went fall term—and it wasn’t anything like this. TAG’s like one of those old sitcoms they show on cable, with the canned laughter and the really cheesy jokes delivered by people with lower than average intelligence.” When he’d finished, Jock looked as surprised as Toby felt at how much he’d said.

  Had to keep the ball rolling though. “You’re Tank’s little brother, correct? You two must be close if you joined the frat.”

  “I guess.” Jock leaned closer, speaking out the side of his mouth while scoping out the room. “He’s making me bananas.”

  Toby moved in toward Jock, well within the “friend” boundary, but more because he felt pulled there than by design. “If my brother lived within a few hundred miles of me, I’d kill myself. Or preferably him.”

  “Is he older?” Jock turned his head, his pale blue eyes meeting Toby’s again, and in spite of the mundanity of their chitchat, Toby could feel that overwhelming attraction that had drawn him from across the room. A physical craving to get even closer.

  When they hooked up, it would be fucking incendiary. If. If we hook up.

  “Nate’s my twin, but he was born first, so I suppose the answer is yes.”

  Jock’s face went slack in surprise, then he got that brow-tightening curious look people did when they wanted to ask but weren’t sure they should.

  Toby smirked. “We aren’t identical.”

  “Oh, so he’s not . . .”

  “He’s not gay.”

  The nerves resurfaced. Maybe it was the simple mention of “gay,” but Jock straightened upright fully, using their half-a-foot height difference to distance himself. He nodded, glancing around the room for a few silent seconds. Toby decided to see what Jock would do, if he would come up with something to say. Eventually he did. “I like my brother, but since all this shit happened, he’s acting like I’m, I dunno, his virginal little sister. He keeps trying to protect me. It’s wearing me out.” He dropped his arms, shoving his hands into his jeans.

  And how virginal are we? was on the tip of Toby’s tongue, but it was beyond obvious Jock wasn’t that kind of flirty, casual hookup material. A guy like this took finesse. He was young and newly out. Just a fledgling gay.

  My favorite. Toby’s lungs seized up at the prospect, then shuddered in a breath. “I have a similar situation with my brother. God knows why he thinks I need his guidance,” Toby said unthinkingly, focused on the physical, caught up in the renewed, eddying undercurrents of sex flowing through him.

  “Your brother thinks you’re virginal?” Jock asked, dazzling Toby with his grin. Yes, two dimples, one in each cheek. “We might’ve just met, but even I can tell you’re into sins of the flesh.”

  A laugh welled out of him, catching Toby unaware. “Um, no, he’s not delusional, just meddling.” He smiled, once more revising his estimation of the jock, Jock, in front of him. Definitely some kind of optical illusion, one that Toby couldn’t decipher yet, but he was motivated to try even harder. The kid had everything—he was inexperienced, struggling, and had a great personality. “I’m the poor grad student while he’s the well-paid career wonk. Apparently that entitles him to tell me how I’m wasting money. But not just money—the government’s money.” When Jock’s forehead wrinkled up, Toby explained. “He thinks my tuition is covered by grants and loans. I haven’t had the heart to tell him it’s mostly fellowships, and since Calapooya is a private school, it’s mostly private money.” He leaned closer, stretching up toward Jock to stage whisper, “Nate’s a Republican.”

  “That’s, like, a sin against the grad student belief system, isn’t it? You win, your brother sucks worse.”

  “I win,” Toby repeated, watching Jock’s lips curl up into an answering smile. He had Tom of Finland fantasy lips—full and pouty, but with very male angles. This kid was just smoking hot, and he was staring into Toby’s eyes, smile melting into something more intent and pupils widening. Toby reached out for him, running a hand along Jock’s forearm, downy hair giving way under his fingers. Jock’s lips parted, and Toby could hear the breath he took. Or maybe that was the air he’d sucked into his own lungs.

  Then suddenly Jock jerked away from Toby’s touch and glanced around the room, face paling. As if they’d been caught doing something wrong and all eyes were on them. From that little touch?

  It had gone completely silent, but not because everyone was staring at them. No, everyone was staring at the door, where the man of the hour was standing next to his shiny new boyfriend—Collin and Eric. The ensuing silence was broken after a few seconds by Collin pulling out the awkward turtle maneuver—stacking his hands on top of each other and twirling his thumbs—and then the happy couple began making the rounds. Toby wasn’t that interested—he’d already met Eric, and this weird trend toward domestic bliss among his friends was starting to irk him. He shook it off and refocused on Jock, hoping to pick up where they’d left off.

  But judging by Jock’s expression, that wasn’t going to happen, not right away. “Shit,” the guy muttered.

  “You don’t want to see Collin?” Toby inched forward, keeping their space intimate and conversation low in spite of Jock’s mood change. Hoping to recapture the previous connection.

  Jock shrugged, mouth turning down. “It’s not that, it’s just everyone keeps checking on me. Like, they’re all making sure I’m not about to freak or something. Any second he’s gonna come over here and, like, inspect me.” He sighed. “I guess it’s better than Tank riding my ass.”

  “They’re just worried, right?” He said it automatically, on sympathetic autopilot, but the words brought him up short and made him rethink. “I’d be annoyed too.” Okay, that he meant.

  “Thanks,” Jock muttered. He was studying the floor again, drawing designs on it with the toe of his sneaker. His hands were shoved so far into his jeans pockets Toby thought they might be around his knees. He was the epitome of abject teenage angst.

  This kid is so young.

  Jock could be his Brad. Just like Sebastian had—a smoking gay-naive frat boy who worshiped him the way Brad did Sebastian. Not necessarily the loving, sappy part, but that way he physically perked up when Sebastian glanced at him with that smile he only ever gave Brad. Seriously, that expression was sex on airwaves. Toby could almost get a contact hard-on from it.

  “Hey,” Collin said, coming up on Toby’s right side, new boyfriend in tow. “What are you guys talking about?”

  The stiff falseness of Collin’s smile made Toby’s stomach sink. “Oh, hey,” he returned, giving his friend the expressional equivalent of hanging a sock on a doorknob.

  Collin’s glance flickered to Jock and back to Toby, his brows rising into his hairline. “This is Eric,” Collin said, stepping into the space between Toby and Jock and turning to look at his beau. “You remember Toby, probably.”

  Toby smiled and held out his hand to shake. “Yeah, we’ve met. Sorta.” He smirked at Eric, and the dude smiled back, tipping his chin in acknowledgment, because what could he say? He’d been so hot for Collin that night at the Slaughterhouse he’d never even seen Toby.

  “And this is Jock, my new roommate.” Collin said, looking at his boyfriend. “He’s Tank’s little brother.” Yet clearly, he was addressing Toby. Jock had called that right—Collin did his self-appointed cock-blocking like a pro, separating them physically and warning them off with looks and repeated mentions of Tank.

  Toby wasn’t ready to retreat though. At least not until Tank showed up and glowered at him. Backing off for the time being began to look like a good idea—Tank communicated his unwillingness to converse further with Toby through a series of grunts and growls. Toby didn’t speak fratbro hubris, but the meaning was very clear. And the guy didn’t get that nickname for being small and weak.

  At Tank’s arrival, Jock had subsided back into his mostly uncommunicative self, almost shrinking. These guys were freaking stifling hi
m. Forget hooking up; the kid couldn’t even socialize without Collin and Tank wanting to chaperone, could he?

  “Soooo,” he said, rocking back on his heels, trying not to look too scornful. “I guess I should be moving along too, huh?”

  “Uh-huh,” Tank vocalized, nodding. He’d lowered his brows so far they almost obscured his nose.

  Saying something snarky would definitely be inappropriate. Toby bared his teeth at Tank—who said smiles were friendly?—and gave his farewell. “I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression and thereby besmirch your little brother’s reputation or anything.”

  Tank gaped while Jock snorted laughter, jerking his head up, dimples flashing, bright eyes meeting Toby’s for one last potent shot to his libido. Toby had the momentary sense of standing on the edge of a cliff, swaying, about to fall over if he didn’t catch his balance, but then it passed. He steadied himself, winked at Jock, and sauntered off.

  Tank cajoled Jock into the living room again—apparently he only wanted his little brother in the kitchen if no one was going to be attracted to him. No big, he might need a break from the flirting and stuff, because for a minute there he was pretty sure his skin was going to overheat and sweat would start steaming off of him.

  He didn’t want to be that fucking obvious. They may all figure he and Toby would hook up, but he’d like everyone to pretend they didn’t, thanks.

  But as soon as he wandered into the living room, Danny twisted around on the couch, saying, “So, saw you talking to that friend of Sebastian’s. Uh, you know, you can bring him back to your room and no one will freak or anything.”

  No fucking way was he going to give the guys a clue about his sex life. He didn’t need them weighing in, or even knowing if he got any. If he went back into the kitchen to find Toby now, all the guys on the couch would know why—they were all peering at him, eyes wide. Like curious baby owls or something.

  So instead he grabbed his jacket and walked back to the frat. The temporary frat—the fire at TAG House had caused too much structural damage for the building to be occupied, so the guys had been forced to move into the third floor of a vacant dormitory on campus. Jock had fallen into the welcoming bosom of Theta Alpha Gamma just three days later. He was tempted to say the fire and bomb were omens of his arrival, but everyone always thought it was all about them, and it never was. Probably the same applied to him.