Gettin' Lucky in Kentucky

by Shane Morton

  “Oh, he’s not. He wanted to keep the tutoring sessions private. You will need to call or text him, and then you can schedule the meetings for the next week or so.”

  “Private tutor in a private setting. He doesn’t want anyone to know, huh?” She nodded. “Fucking, Mason. I think I might hate him already.”

  I walked out of the office and slammed the folder down onto my desk. What the fuck have I been dragged into? More importantly, why did he ask for me? Patricia acted like that wasn’t what happened, but I knew it did. There was no way she would have had me do this unless she had no choice. What in the world did Mason McKendrick want with me?

  I sighed, feeling as if I was getting in something I didn’t understand. Was his ego that big? Probably. He couldn’t stand that I didn’t like what he stood for, who he was. Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe there was something in that small interaction that intrigued him, and he wanted to slum with someone who wasn’t as important.

  Straight boys just confused me.

  I opened the folder and looked at his classes. Of course, he was a physical education major. His grades were good there, of course. I laughed as I saw that he actually took a bowling class.

  Jocks…

  Social Science and a fairly easy math class were the only gen-ed classes he had. Being a tutor for Art Appreciation was going to have a learning curve for me too. I might be gay, but I was still a country boy. I didn’t know the difference between Picasso and any other Italian painter. I really wasn’t the best person to help him, but that didn’t apparently matter.

  I saw his cell number on the paperwork and pulled out my phone.

  This is Calvin. When and where?

  I saw that he had read it, and the little bubbles appeared at the bottom, telling me that he was typing. Patience was not one of my virtues.

  Now? He replied.

  I laughed. Pretentious ass.

  Where?

  I shot back quickly.

  Library? I’m at Kerr Health. Meet u n front?

  I shook my head. Jesus… How was that a question? I might have to teach him grammar too.

  C u n 5

  I stuffed my phone in my pocket and stuffed his paperwork in my backpack. I walked into our small library and found the books for his classes and added them to an already overstuffed backpack. I had two hours until my class. That would be plenty of time with Mason, I was sure.

  I meandered over to the Wadderfeld Library, passing the Schempp Fine Arts Building that I had always thought looked more like a hospital building than a place where creative people studied. I saw him leaning against one of the square brick pillars in front of the library that helped to hold up the walkway in front.

  “Calvin,” he grinned at me as I approached him slowly. This fucking backpack was heavy. “Thanks, man. I… uh… like really appreciate this and everything. If I lose my scholarship, I would be… uh, totally fucked.”

  “I don’t know how you did this, and honestly, I don’t really care. But I am curious as to why you insisted upon me.” I sat my backpack on the ground and crossed my arms.

  “She told you? Dean Whitmer?” he asked shyly, looking uncomfortable and moving from one foot to the next as he repositioned himself against the pillar. He still looked like a GQ cover, and that wasn’t helping.

  “Nope. I just knew that for her to make me your private tutor, she felt like she didn’t have a choice, which brings us right back to where we were, doesn’t it? You guys get preferential treatment, just like I said.” I smirked at him. “I hate being right.”

  He frowned as he stared at me. The realization hitting him as to how I saw his demands. I was positive that the athletics department insisted because Mason wanted me. Why was still a question, and I would get to the bottom of it if it killed me. The fact that they were willing to boost the department’s budget with their own, only confused me even more. Patricia must have played hardball.

  “I… uh… I’m sorry about that, but after… well, it just had to be you. That’s all. You… for some reason, have gotten under my skin since we met. I mean, bumping into you today… It just felt like this was right,” he stuttered, doing his best to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make him look like even more of an asshole. He failed.

  “I also saw about another three-hundred people since I saw you. Do they also get to claim some kind of ownership to me?” I squinted at him. Now I was just being a dick. I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself. He deserved it, and I was enjoying watching him squirm. It was kind of hot.

  “Look… I just… Maybe I was reading the situation wrong…” he cast his eyes downwards. “I just… there’s something about you that makes me… I don’t know… Want to get to know you better. I… I trust you for some reason, I guess,” he raised his head and stared at me. His eyes were so clear, so blue and… I don’t know… honest. Maybe this was one of the first real things he had ever revealed to me. A glimmer of truth in all of his bullshit.

  “Okay.” I shrugged. “What’s up with the library? That seemed like an odd choice. Why not the center? You know, where I usually work.”

  “Well, I guess I am actually a little embarrassed, and I know that’s stupid. I do. It’s just, I…well, I don’t want people to think I’m dumb. You know, being a football player and all. It’s what people think already, and I’m not dumb…” he blushed. Against his dark stubble it was intoxicating. I imagined many things in the next few seconds and all of them had him bent over the library tables with my cock planted firmly inside that round bubble butt of his.

  I shook my head, trying to clear it as best I could. The idea of him naked and prone in front of me was already causing me to get a chubby and that was not a good idea.

  I hated him.

  I needed to remember that. Mason was the enemy even if he was the task I had at hand.

  “Okay… Are we going in?” I asked, trying to act cool and nonchalant. I was anything but. Being this close to him, knowing we were going to be spending a lot of time together was fucking with my head. My brain was calling him a dick and my dick was telling me to fall in lust. Too late. That’s’ been happening since the day he walked into class my freshman year.

  “Yes… Can we sit downstairs? There’s never anyone there. It’s where I usually go when I need to study and can’t do it in the dorm,” he shifted his feet again as he pushed himself off against the brick pillar. He was uncomfortable. Lying?

  “You don’t want to be seen.” I frowned again at him. “I need you to be on you’re a game if you want to pass this class. I can do it for you, but you have to take this seriously, you know?”

  He laughed, like really laughed hard. It was husky and beautiful. His voice, which was already deep, had been playing musical cacophonies in my head, but that laugh. Fuck… This was going to be hard.

  “Shall we?” he gallantly held out his arm, motioning toward the door.

  I smirked. “Fine.” I picked up my backpack and slung it over my shoulder.

  I walked through the revolving door and he held the edge of it, trapping me inside. I turned around to him and held up my middle finger, my face emotionless. It was a mask. Him doing this… It was cute. Charming even… Fuck him. He was not going to get into my head.

  He smiled and let go. I turned around and waited as he came through. I reached over and punched his arm. It wasn’t hard, but it caught him by surprise. Me too. I hurt my knuckles. Fuck those arms… They were something that sonnets should be written about.

  Mason was beautiful. I know… I’ve said that a lot. But I haven’t commented on the body that was a wonderland even clad in clothes. I couldn’t even imagine what it would look like sans shirt. It had to be the stuff of legend. His arms and shoulders stretched his t-shirt. His pecs threatened to burst through the cotton with every breath he took. When you look at his back, the t-shirt clung to his muscles, showing you just how amazing and defined his torso was. And that butt and bulge… I was in trouble. How could I help him when the only
thing I could do was imagine him naked? That was a fantasy. I had to deal in the reality of us…whatever that might be.

  “Where do you want to go, Mason? You lead the way.” I held out my arm for him this time. It was not lost on him. He grinned as he walked by me.

  “Right this way.” He led me down the stairway and into the large bottom floor where the majority of the books in circulation were located. A large table sat in the middle of the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. Mason grinned and held up a finger to his lips.

  Fuck he was adorable.

  He led me through the foyer and through the stacks of books until we got to one of the far corners of the library. It was really quiet here. A small table sat in the corner with a few chairs around it.

  He pulled out a chair and grinned at me. “Sir…”

  I sighed, trying to look annoyed. I wasn’t. This was a fantasy. A man who pulled out a chair. Women think they have the corner on chivalry… I have dreamed of it.

  I sat down in the chair and he walked around to his side of the table and sat down.

  “What are we gonna do today? I, uh… don’t have my book or anything,” he asked, scrunching his face up in apology.

  “Yeah… We aren’t there yet. Slow down, there number thirty-two. Today we are just figuring out our schedule and this paper that you have due in two weeks. You also have a quiz next week, so we will focus on studying for that. What’s your schedule besides classes and practice cause that’s in your file.” I unzipped my bag and pulled out his folder that Patricia had given me. I looked at it and whistled. “Damn… you are a busy man. You guys really practice this much?”

  “Besides a game every Saturday, we practice almost every day for four hours. That’s why all of my classes happen in the morning. We practice from two to six every day, sometimes until eight, if we aren’t doing well.” He tilted his head to the side as if this wasn’t abnormal. “Monday through Friday anyway. Saturdays are game days and if it’s an away game Friday is a travel day, depending on how far we have to go on the bus. Usually we can leave I the morning and we always come back that night. Sunday is off.”

  My jaw dropped. I did the math in my head. That was twenty hours a week, plus the game. How the fuck were they supposed to study? I shifted in my seat, the realization of what was expected of them hitting me like a ton of bricks. Then I thought of the theatre, music and art departments. They had to rehearse, to practice and do their studio time too. An artist friend of mine spent so much time in her studio painting, designing and doing all of her other art things all the time when she wasn’t in class. It wasn’t that different except for the physical aspect. Artists didn’t usually have those pecs.

  “Okay, so when do you study?” I asked, looking at his schedule and trying to find where he had free time.

  “Mornings are good in between classes, I guess. Nights are okay after seven usually. I think I would prefer to do this at night, if you don’t mind. I mean, I think I’m your only client, right? That has to be good for you too.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled at me. It was a beautiful smile. I think I said how his smile was like an aphrodisiac to me didn’t I? Well this one was lopsided and the stuff of much fantasy. Damn him.

  “Nights are fine.” I pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled some possible times on it for him. “I think this will work. I guess it won’t be that great for our social lives during the week, but it gives you time to eat and shower.” I really didn’t want him to shower. I wanted him to show up sweaty and hot. I took a deep breath. I had to screw my head on straight, Fuck… screw.

  I scooted the paper over to him and he picked it up and grinned at me. I waited for him to tell me that this was too much. His face lit up.

  “This is great. Looks like it will work. Every weekday except on away games when I have to travel of course. I… uh… I have a schedule I can bring tomorrow, if that’s okay?” he took it and put it in his pocket. “Is it okay to do it here?”

  “Sure. Why not? I live off-campus but I know you guys have to live in the dorms, and I’m sure that would be uncomfortable for you… this will be fine.” I pulled out my planner and started scribbling MASON in the nine PM slot of all my weekdays for the next few weeks. “Once we get you through mid-terms we can slow down a little. I am supposed to help you with your other courses too. I am going to assume you don’t need help with the classes in your major unless you tell me, okay?”

  “Sounds great, Coach.”

  I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. Coach… I liked the sound of it, the power I had over him.

  “Cool. I need to know what it is you want to write your paper on, so you should figure that out before tomorrow, and I guess that’s’ it. Any questions?” I asked. This was rote to me, but with Mason it felt different.

  “Yeah… You know a friend of mine… uh… Gwen?” he said, his face turning beet red. I noticed that his fingers were digging into his palms.

  “Gwen? Political science major always dyes her hair fun colors? Yep. We are friendly. I know her best friend. Why?” I realized that this meant he’d asked about me. Why would he do that? Why would he ask Gwen?

  “I just… I don’t know why I said that,” he said bashfully. “I guess I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t a complete asshole, or something. There’s more to me than the gridiron, I guess.”

  “Well, I would hope,” I snapped.

  “So tomorrow? It’s a date?” He looked at me with his eyes downcast. What in the hell. Strange words to use. Straight boys always confused me.

  “Sure… If that’s what you want to call someone who’s paid to be with you, why not.” I said, knowing full well that I was calling Gwen tomorrow when I could think straight.

  He stood up and held out his hand. I slowly reached out and took it as he helped me to my feet. Damn… He really needed to stop being a gentleman. He had no idea what it was doing to me.

  Or did he?

  Is that why he wanted me to know about Gwen? He knew I was gay… Not like that was a secret or anything, but he was using that to make me help him. To make me want to help him.

  Shit… was this flirting? If it was, he really needed a little help, but I wasn’t tutoring him on that. He would have to figure that out himself.

  I needed to get out of here.

  “See you tomorrow ,Mason,” I said as I dashed out of there leaving him behind as quickly as I could.

  As I exited the library, I took a deep breath. Mason McKendrick was confusing the hell out of me.

  Why?

  Mason is the most frustrating human being that I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. He’s so high and mighty because he’s on the fucking football team. He’s a second-string quarterback. It’s not like Mason is the big man on campus, even if he acts like it.

  Dammit. I’m spending too much time thinking about the son of a bitch. I could pretend like he’s just another student I have to tutor if he wasn’t so goddamned gorgeous. Those piercing blue eyes and that mop of dark messy hair that just begs you to run your fingers through it, is driving me fucking mad. Every time he breathes, his impressive shoulders and chest stretch the fabric on his stupid t-shirt begging me… No, demanding me to stare at him. To want to touch him.

  And that damn husky laugh…

  I’m in trouble, and there’s no way I can deny it. I promised myself that I would never go through what I did with Erik, ever again. I can’t fall in love with another straight boy. Last time almost killed me, and I still have the scars to prove it. I pull down the sleeve to hide the small ridge of discolored skin that still brings me shame.

  Mason is straight. I have to stop thinking about him, even if he does kind of flirt with me. He just does it to get a rise out of me, the hot bastard. He thinks that if he flexes his muscles and smiles at me enough, I will help him pass his stupid art class. It won’t. I’ll do my job, but he still has to pass the class himself.

  Eight

  Mason

  I have no idea what it is I am d
oing, and that has made me feel more alive than I ever have felt before. A cute gay man is sitting beside me… or in front of me, almost every day. I don’t think he likes me that much, but I think his walls fall down a little more every day.

  We have spent the last two nights talking about the Italian renaissance and the painters that have lasted the test of time. It’s heady and numbing and exciting all at the same time. Somehow, he has made it interesting, and I feel like I am slowly making sense of all the painter’s names and famous paintings that we are studying.

  I study him more than I do the books.

  When he gets frustrated with me, he bites his bottom lip. I don’t know if its to stop himself from saying what he’s thinking or just his way of thinking himself, but it has become something I look forward to.

  I want to ask him how he got the little crescent scar on his cheek. I have pondered the smooth ridges of it for hours, and I want to reach out and touch it so badly it hurts me.

  I don’t, of course.

  Sometimes he catches me looking at him, and his eyes narrow as if he is trying to decide what it means. It’s becoming to mean something, that’s for sure. I’m just not sure what yet.

  “What?” he asks, an annoyed look upon his face.

  “Nothing… I guess. I was just… It’s nothing.” I found myself caught off guard. I sounded like a moron. “I guess I was just wondering what you were like when you weren’t so serious. I mean, the first time we talked was… serious, and then the tutoring, I mean… I just wondered what it would take to make you smile?”

  “You want me to smile?” He frowned. I was failing. Yes! I wanted to shout loudly. I really want to see you smile so bad. I want to see what you look like when your face lights up. I want to hear what your life sounds like and what it does to me when I hear it. Yes. I want these things very much, and honestly, they are confusing the shit out of me!