by Sierra Hill
“Not one word outside this room. It would be damaging and hurtful to him. Promise with a pinky swear.”
The three of us extend our hands in our circle of trust, both girls linking their pinkies with my hands.
“Repeat after me. I will never share this with anyone for risk of life and limb, and no more Kyler’s cookies.”
This makes the tension in the room lift as they giggle but both duly agree.
Peyton is the first to pipe up. “So? Tell us, Kyler!”
“I’d already told you earlier in the semester, Pey-Pey about me sleeping with one of my professors. But at the time, it was before he was my professor.” And then I stammer a bit, backing it up so they know the timeline of events. “We met at the bar one night.”
As if they’re calculating things in their heads, trying to determine how long this has been going on, Peyton nods and pinches her lips together, shrewdly guessing where I’m going with this. She knows it happened and knows that my love life is typically a revolving door of guys. And she is also very well aware of my stance on relationships.
So she wouldn’t expect me to have done anything more with Lucas. Oh, how wrong she is.
“You used the word ‘fling’ and not a one-night stand. Have you seen him again?”
I glance down quickly, petting Pussy Cat who sits on my lap in a ball of white fur, and then lift a shoulder in a half-shrug.
“Recently, it happened again. But that’s it. No more. We’ve both agreed we can’t and it won’t.” I say this with a bluster of force, perhaps more to prove to myself rather than them that this thing between Lucas and me is over.
Liar.
Because all I can ever do is think about him – every waking moment and every night in my dreams.
“It’s Lucas Mathiasson, isn’t it?”
My head snaps to Brooklyn, who has pulled back and draws her knees up to her chin, wrapping her slender arms around her shins, a look of amazement across her face.
“How in the hell did you guess that?” I ask, wonderment in my tone, unintentionally telling her that the guess was spot on and that she’s right.
Her expression softens as she shrugs hopefully. “The library the other day. You just seemed – embarrassed. Or smitten. I’m not sure which, but it was so obvious to me that you two knew each other and you liked him. And the way he watched you walk away…it was like he was watching the sun go down and his world dimmed as you left.”
I scoff, about to refute this fact when Peyton jumps in.
“But Lucas isn’t…” she looks between me and Brooklyn, then returns to me as if she’s missed something important along the way. “He isn’t gay, is he?”
“Gay, bisexual, queer, whatever he is. All I know is he hasn’t come out for his own reasons. I’m pretty sure Garrett doesn’t have a clue.”
Brooklyn’s eyes spring wide then with panic, now realizing how much in the middle she is with this secret. I stare at her pointedly, shaking my finger at her for emphasis.
“You can’t say anything. Ever. You hear me? Lucas has his reasons for not sharing his sexuality with Garrett or anyone else and we are not going to out him, especially with his best friend. Never. Promise me, Brooklyn.”
The spark dulls in Brooklyn’s gaze, the weight of this secret turning emotionally heavy.
“What does that mean for you, Kyler?” Peyton’s sweet and nurturing voice has me turning to give her a tight smile.
“Isn’t it pretty obvious? Lucas isn’t out in the open and he’s my professor. We can’t be together, although we’ve had a tough time staying apart. But we both agreed that nothing more is going to happen between us. It’s the way it has to be.”
Although the words sound confident, they lack their usual certitude. Or maybe that’s just how I feel. Because I’ve told myself over and over again that I don’t have feelings for Lucas.
Yes, I find him incredibly attractive, sexy, deliciously quirky in his nerdy love of art. And holy hell, if he isn’t the best lover I’ve ever known. Seeing him at the front of the classroom when he’s in his element, captivating his classroom with every smile and word that he speaks, the sensual tone of his voice and the serious concentration penetrating behind his frames does the craziest things to my heart.
It’s become glaringly evident I have feelings for him, and I am incapable of moving past them. Thankfully, Lucas made his ultimatum clear and will keep us both on track.
Both girls are quietly reflecting on this bombshell of information I just dropped at their doorstep. As a child psychology major, Brooklyn is mulling it over like she’s figuring out a problematic behavior, deciding the best way to approach it, mitigating the unwanted and undesirable consequences.
And Peyton. She sits across from me looking a bit stunned, but with a soft light in her eyes. As if she’s reading something in the future that only she can see and mapping out a path for me that won’t ever exist.
Because I know how I left it with Lucas and his text was very clear.
This will never happen between us ever again.
22
Lucas
It’s well after seven p.m. and the week has gone by in a blur, slowly drawing out until it’s Friday night, and I realize just how much my social life is lacking.
The phone on my desk beckons me but I ignore the desire to do exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t do.
I will not text Kyler.
I consider calling Garrett, but the likelihood that he, Brooklyn, and Caleb are enjoying a nice Friday family night together is high and I wouldn’t want to interrupt their special time.
That leaves me with only two other options. I could finish up the written proposal on the art contest and get it into Clemons before Monday morning, which is probably the wisest course of action.
Or I could check out the dating app and see about finding an impromptu date.
There’s another option, a voice inside my head snidely urges.
Shutting that idea down, I grab for my phone and open the app. It’s specifically designed for those who are bi-sexual. Depending on your fancy, you could go out with someone of the opposite sex or the same gender.
I log in and flip through the images, continuously swiping to find anyone that might catch my interest.
Delancy. Cute, but nope. Swipe.
Quinton. Receding hairline. Nope.
Damon. Too aggressive looking.
Heidi. Too petite.
Kyler.
Holy fuck. Perfectly gorgeous Kyler stares back at me from my phone, his smile a concoction of playful and sexy. I blink to couch my surprise.
My mind goes a little Genghis Khan, defeating all the previous thoughts about giving up on this attraction over Kyler, and the sharp intake of breath when I scan his picture causes my heart to make a sudden lurch. As I scan his bio, my heart then speeds up, racing so fast it feels like it’ll rip out a hole in me that will never heal.
His bio is witty, sarcastically funny, and sexy. Just like him.
“Just looking for a good time and a big daddy dick. I’ll be your boy toy.”
My finger shakes, hovering over the button, indecision ripping through me as my finger hovers.
Hovers.
Hovers.
No, I abruptly stop myself.
You will not give into this urge. Find someone else. There are plenty out there to meet up with tonight. Someone who isn’t your student. Who won’t ruin your life if it’s ever found out you slept with him.
But somehow my finger doesn’t get the message and suddenly the swipe is right.
I sit in stunned silence at my action, staring at the phone in horror. WTF have I just done?
Before I can try to retract it, a message pops up on my phone through the app.
Kyler: Well, what do you know. I guess even nerdy academics need to get laid. You’re such a naughty daddy.
I bark out a loud noise that could be laughter or maybe relief.
God, this kid. I mean, man.
This sexy, hot man who breathes fire into my veins and into my life. Sends my sexual frustration into overdrive.
Intellect and logic war with desire and need. I teeter on the edge of sanity and reason. Or insanity and self-destruction.
Do I reply? What do I do now? Continue down this dangerous path that will never lead anywhere?
I scrub a hand through my messed up, late in the day hair, clutching it in both thought and concentration. Analyzing the risks that could possibly outweigh the inevitable reward. The reward, obviously, is being with Kyler again. Watching his hazel eyes filter with lust as his mouth drops open and he screams my name in pleasure.
Shaking my thoughts free, I set the phone back on the desk and ignore it, getting back to work like I should and acting like an adult who avoids the consequences that could only cause irreparable harm from doing what I know I shouldn’t do.
An incessant chirping and dim vibration bring dawning to my semi-conscious state. I peel my face off my desk, where I fell asleep after submitting my proposal and reading through the terms of a research grant for next semester.
My stomach growls angrily, reminding me I forgot to get dinner tonight. I lift my phone, the glow of the LED requiring me to shield my eyes momentarily as I adjust to the bright light in the darkened room. The only other light is in the corner of my office, providing only a soft white hue over my desk.
The screen fills with notification after notification, as I flip through them one-by-one with no real urgency. Until I get to the one from Kyler.
Art Boy: I’m drunk and about to make a bad decision with some guy I just met.
Art Boy: I’d rather make that bad decision with you.
I swallow thickly, rubbing my temple, and check the time of the notification. The last one came in only ten minutes ago.
Should I stop him? Do I want to be complicit in joining in on his bad decision?
Flashes of our recent night together bombard my memory. The undeniable chemistry we shared. Jealousy swirls around me like a tornado hovering low in the sky, gaining speed and momentum.
I make my life-altering decision and return his text.
Me: Tell me where to find you. I’m coming for you.
A few seconds later and an address pops up on my screen, I grab my jacket from the back of my chair, sliding my bag over my shoulder, and close the door behind me on my way out to my car.
The drive at this time of night into downtown Tempe is quick and I soon pull off the highway onto the arterial street. I pass a Dutch Brothers coffee, the line in the drive-through nearly ten cars deep, people waiting for their last fix to get them through the late Friday night’s activities.
I check the GPS which pings out a left turn ahead and turn at the light, driving one final block until the voice over the phone tells me the destination is on the right. This road is lined with restaurants, bars, and strip malls, but when I finally see the sign above the awning and the line to get in, I’m confused as to why I’m here.
It’s a gay club, for that I’m sure. Hot Knights. Kyler must’ve gone out with his friends tonight and ended up here. I guess it makes sense. From what I see of the people waiting to get in the doors, it’s a crowd of men, some dressed in drag, all there for a good time.
It leaves me with a sting of jealousy. I want to be one of them. Living life out in the open and having the ability to let loose on a Friday night. Be with those who make me happy.
Parking my car, I slowly get out, unbuttoning my shirt sleeves to roll them up to my elbow. While the heat of the summer is long gone, it’s still in the mid-seventies this time of night. I go up to the door, the bouncer giving me a brief disinterested glance and then returns his attention to the other patrons.
“Excuse me,” I ask politely, hoping to steal a moment of his time. “I’ve been called by my friend to pick him up. I need to go in and find him.”
The bouncer ushers someone inside on the other side of the rope and then turns to me, an eyebrow lifted at perhaps my attire, or maybe just my request.
“Mister, you think I’m stupid?”
I stumble back at the deep, accusatory rumble of his voice and shake my head.
“No, of course not. I’m not here to party, trust me. I just need to find someone who needs my assistance.”
Another skeptical glance my way and then he laughs. Laughs so loud everyone in a mile vicinity hears him and probably thinks its thunder.
“Right. Someone needs your assistance. Is that code for sucking dick?” He uses air quotes on the word assistance.
This guy is obviously not going to let me in, so I wave him off and walk past the line until I come to the end, stepping over the rope to wait along with everyone else. My hope is I’ll get ahold of Kyler before I get to the front of the line.
I shoot him a quick text.
Me: I’m outside the club. You coming out? I can’t get in.
I wait for what feels like hours, but it’s only a few minutes.
Art Boy: COME DANCE WITH ME!!!
What? No. I came here for the express reason of getting Kyler home safely. Not to go inside this club and do whatever Lord knows is going on in there. And I don’t dance.
Me: No, you come outside. I’m giving you ten seconds.
Art Boy: Ha, you said come. Yeah, I want you to make me come. I want you to come inside me again.
Oh shit. This is going to prove more difficult than I thought.
Drunk Kyler is definitely horny and dirty Kyler.
My lips twitch up in a smirk. I kind of like dirty Kyler. I like it a lot.
Me: Kyler, get your ass out here or I’m leaving.
I see the dots appear and disappear, the line moving an unnoticeable few inches forward. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be here. Why am I even here?
The question is answered and completely forgotten the moment I see Kyler stepping out on wobbly legs from the club’s entrance.
He’s flushed from dancing and drinking, his body movement loose from the alcohol, and his smile is gorgeously bright when he latches his gaze on to me. A smile that says he’s glad to see me.
And I realize, I’m here because of him.
No other reason but him.
23
Kyler
“It’s been fun, but I gotta bounce. My ride’s here.”
Yanking my arm out of the guy’s grip, I begin to stumble toward the front door of the club, my feet taking uneven steps forward, shifting unbalanced to the side, bumping into tables and people as I work through the maze.
Yeah, I’m a little more than tipsy.
My palm meets the glass of the door and I push it open into the dark night, Leroy sitting on his perched stool outside, managing the crowd waiting to get in.
He gives me a terse nod. “Night, Monet. Get home safe.”
I’m about to say something back when I lift my gaze to see Lucas standing not more than five feet in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest with a menacing stare slicing through me. He looks irritated, but it only heightens the level of sexy with my grumpy, naughty professor. His stature is prim and proper, but I know how quickly that exterior dissolves when he’s turned on and aroused.
I lift my arm to wave, but I suddenly find it pulled back like a whip, a tight fist gripping my wrist, as it twists me back around toward the door.
“Hey, man. You can’t just get me worked up and leave me like this, you fucking cock tease.”
My mouth goes slack as I try to shake loose from his grip, pulling to free myself from the guy’s hold. Derryk, I think he said was his name.
I stifle a laugh, even though this is no laughing matter. But dickhead Derryk has no idea what’s in store for him with Leroy coming to my aid.
“Get your hands off him!”
The fog of the booze lifts only momentarily as I realize the commanding voice isn’t Leroy’s, but Lucas’s, who has now stepped up behind me, his body wedged between us, pushing the guy back with such power that Derryk releases one hand from my grip
, using it to brace himself from falling into the wall.
However, the momentum has me being tugged along with him and I fall forward, like an upended domino toppling over. There’s no time for me to steady myself or reach for anything, as I careen toward the curb. But with the speed of a superhero, Lucas swoops in, his protective arms interlocking around my waist, and hoists me up before I fall to the ground.
My head tips back to find Lucas’s gaze narrowed on me, worry laced in his eyes, and something else I can’t quite make out.
“Good reflexes,” I joke as he pulls me to a standing position, my feet finding their foothold while Lucas secures his hold on my biceps to ensure I remain upright. “You’re like my very own Clark Kent.”
He lifts a single shoulder, his tone laced with a little sarcasm and humor. “Not just a geeky art professor, I guess.”
Closing my eyes, I hum in agreement, sucking in his masculine scent, whispering loudly. “Yeah, you’re my fucking hot professor.”
Lucas coughs uncomfortably and drops my arms, as Leroy comes to check on me after he’s kicked Derryk out of the club.
“You okay, Monet? You hurt?”
Lucas’s eyes pin me with confusion, likely curious why and how Leroy knows me and why he’s calling me by a nickname. Leroy is obviously familiar with me because I work here, but Lucas doesn’t know that. And I’m not going to tell him that. At least, not right now. Maybe not ever.
It’s not that I’m embarrassed by my choice to dance at a gay night club, but I’m afraid people will judge me and look at me with different filters if they know I’m a male erotic performer. There’s a stigma still in this industry and I don’t know how Lucas would feel about it. Would he be disgusted? Embarrassed?
Waving Leroy off, I assure him I’m fine and turn to Lucas with my apology and gratitude on my tongue. “Thank you for saving me. And being here for me.”
He gives me a plaintive smile. “Of course. Are there any more fights you need me to break up?”
A laugh dislodges from my throat and I give him a teasing swat of my hand, as we head toward his parked car.
