Getting Him Back (8 page)

Whitney leaned forward to look around Makayla. “That didn’t sound like a convincing no.”

“I don’t know what we are. That was just because he’s nervous,” I said, while my stomach looped itself around my pancreas.

“I don’t blame him. The crowd will go nuts if he gives up a goal now.” Makayla was pretty damned unhelpful in the calming nerves department.

I guess the injury got our team fired up. We scored right away, then the ball never left the opponents’ end of the field until there were ten minutes left and we’d scored two more goals. The crowd sucked in a breath again as they took a corner kick, but it went right to Blake who saved the shot.

Makayla elbowed me. “Bet he’s got really good hands.”

“Shut up.” The back of my neck heated again, spreading out toward my Dumbo ears.

“Big hands. Is it true what they say about big thumbs on guys?”

“Shut. Up.” I was ridiculously pleased—and guilty. Because I was starting to wonder if that happy feeling was actually about the guy or only pride at being associated with Blake and his sexy sportstar thing.

I was still thinking about it when we headed back to Fisher, fireworks going off from the top of the stadium behind us. Another boom went off and we turned to look. Blue was the featured color, no big surprise there, but I immediately thought of how the sparks were exactly the shade of one of Wyatt’s eyes.

We turned on a path for Fisher and got grabbed by two zombies who took our human cards.

“This is all your fault.” Makayla punched me as she untied her bandanna from her arm and turned it inside out to the neon green side.

My heart was still racing from being startled. “Me?”

“You. Getting all goofy over your man, not watching where we were going.”

“Why do I have to be the lookout?” I untied my own bandanna and turned to watch one more bright blue shower of sparks.

“Because you’re like ten feet taller than I am, doofus.” She put the bandanna around her head like we were supposed to wear as zombies, then yanked it off. “No way am I going to do that until I can fix my hair around it. So, are you going to take Mr. Douchecanoe back? You should at least make him sweat for an answer.” She finally paused.

“I don’t know.” My answer scared me more than the zombies had.

Chapter 9

Saturday afternoon, I was trying not to fall asleep over my freaking calculus text.

Vectors and functions were boring enough to be a lullaby for a tweaked-out insomniac, but I was also tired from the Humans vs. Zombies event this morning. The human side had won, which meant everyone who’d turned in the past twenty-four hours got “revived.” As long as Makayla didn’t get grabbed again, I wouldn’t have to hear any more crap about the bandanna fucking with her hair.

Connor’s bed hadn’t been slept in, he’d skipped the event and he still wasn’t back, but from the thumbs-up emoji he’d sent around noon, I knew he wasn’t dead. From zombies or sex. Could a zombie have sex or would parts break off?

I jerked awake and forced myself to stare at the practice problems. Maybe if I made it about predicting the velocity of jizz? If I’d jerked off twice already, and the rate decreased by a factor of—

Someone knocked. A fleshy thud, like the side of a fist, rather than knuckles. Then the soft slap of a palm and steps moving away. Even if it was some dude in a suit trying to recruit for Campus Conservatives, it had calculus beat. I scrambled up and yanked open the door. Wyatt was just about to disappear around the corner.

“Hey,” I called after him.

“Hey.” He turned. He wore a white apron over his jeans. A big stain of orange spread over his left thigh.

We stared at each other for a minute. His side bangs were over his face as usual, but now that I knew about it, I saw glimpses of his dark eye glittering behind the white-streaked black hair.

I didn’t want him to take off for wherever he’d been going so I blurted, “Just get out of work?”

Fuck.
Brilliant conversation starter
,
Ethan.
No wonder guys were desperate to get rid of me.

He shook his head. “Quick break. What are you doing?”

“Same shit. Different day. Trying to figure out parabolas.”

Wyatt slouched a couple steps in my direction. “Uh—Blake stopped by—while I was at work.”

Blake had become the absolutely last subject I wanted to discuss with Wyatt, but I said, “Yeah?”

There was an edge of disappointment to Wyatt’s usual irritation, like he’d been super psyched about the new X-Men movie only to find out there wasn’t much guy-guy flirting in this one. “So he told me.”

Told him what? That wasn’t much to go on. I tipped my head and waited.

He snapped the rest of the words out. “He stopped by to tell me to plan on hitting the library after work. To stay out of the room. Because—”

I could figure out the rest now, thanks. Blake was planning on getting laid. What guy would say no to the new superstar hero goalkeeper? I’d known it was going to happen, and I couldn’t say it wouldn’t bug me. I’d probably want to punch something after seeing him with some other guy. But it didn’t hurt like it would have just a week ago.

Wyatt was still talking, and since it was the longest string of words I’d ever heard from him, I wanted to pay attention.

“I know you said—yesterday—didn’t mean anything. It was just—” His voice dropped to a whisper “—sex.”

“Wait. What?”

Wyatt had made what my American short story professor described as an interesting inference without textual evidence.

“Come in my room.” I grabbed his arm.

His eyebrow—brows—went up and there was that familiar smirk.

“Asshole.” I dragged him through the door, then shut it.

“I have to get back to work.”

“Give me a minute. When I said that, and my exact words were that it doesn’t
have
to mean anything, I was trying to give you an out. In case you were freaked or thought it was gross.”

“Yeah, ’cause gross shit always makes my dick hard.” He echoed my words, so at least he paid attention sometimes, but he’d missed a big chunk.

“What I said before that—”
So good.
God.
I
want to do that again.
Wanna suck you.
“—about wanting to do it again, it wasn’t only from a happy-dick high.”

He tucked the bangs behind an ear. “When did you say that?”

“Um—after I came—and you came.”
Oh hell.
“It was right before ‘wanna suck you.’” It sounded ridiculous with us standing here like this.

He swallowed, and I stepped closer. He smelled like a locker room, steam, sweat and disinfectant, but I’d dated a jock for two years and that was fine with me. I watched his face as I reached for him. He met my gaze until we were kissing. Then it was hard, against the wall by my desk, lips and tongue, mouths and breaths.
Hungry
.

Damn right, I wanted. And he wanted too. He kissed back like this was mouth-to-mouth and he was dying. And it made my dick hard so fast it ached.

He pushed me back like he had the last time. I was learning to read the very slight expressions on his face. This was a question he was afraid to ask.

I shook my head. “Whoever Blake’s bringing to the room tonight, it’s not me.” Though I was stupidly pleased Wyatt had made his cranky way over here to ask me about it.

He tipped his head toward me, but then leaned back against the wall with a sigh. “I have to get back to work.”

“Can you say you got sick?” I suggested. “Food poisoning from that disgusting vegetable soup.” I pointed to his apron.

“Can’t. Need the cash.”

“Later?” My dick and I put a lot of hope into that word.

He shook his head. “And I’m working again tomorrow,” he added before I got any more desperate. “Look. After yesterday, I know I’m...”

I waited for him to get it out. Get himself out.

“...gay.” He straightened up. “I’m not trying to blow you off.”

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows and smirk.

He didn’t play along. “But there’s some shit about me you need to know.”

“You also work as a stripper.” I wrapped my hands around his hips. Hard, sharp angles. My hands went farther, finding the firm muscles of his ass. God, it wasn’t a stripper pole I was thinking of him grinding on.

And with all those edges he had those full lips. Those soft full lips.

“I’ll talk to you later.” He pushed me back and moved around me. He paused to look down at my desk and shook his head. “And seriously, Ethan, you need to check in with Academic Support.”

After he left, I looked down at my calculus notes. I’d doodled a spunk-shooting dick. I guess it was better than a zombie with parts falling off.

Maybe I should have known it was me Blake expected to be bringing back to the room that night. That he thought his 10:00 p.m. text would have me running.

Hey, babe. Meet me behind the student center. I’ve got a bottle of that Moscato you like and the fountain does rainbow colors at night.

Just like that. No apologies. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted, and it killed me how well he knew me. Blake wasn’t the only one who could use a sure bet. I was sick to death of jerking myself off, and I didn’t know where things were going with me and Wyatt. That didn’t mean I should fuck it up before it had a chance to go anywhere. I wanted to know whatever it was about him he thought I needed to hear about. I wanted him making that raised eyebrow smirk and picking on me about calculus.

The decision to turn Blake down was easy enough to make, figuring out what to say wasn’t. Telling him what he could do with the bottle of wine would make him think I was pissed and wanted him to try harder.

Thanks for the invite. Not interested. Congrats on the game.

I so did not want to read the text that buzzed back a moment later.

WTF do you want, Ethe? You want me to beg? We had a fight. I’m sorry. Okay?

For a second, there was a familiar flash of rage and despair. A fight? He dumped me, ignored me for weeks and he called it a fight?

Then those feelings slipped out of me like water down a drain. Nothing left but a little pity for how clueless he was.

And like I told Wyatt, pity didn’t make my dick hard.

It’s fine, Blake. But it’s over.

Is this one of your tests?

I shook my head. He could do this all night, send back responses like he was saving shots on goal, and I was flat-out done.

Connor opened the door and staggered dramatically toward his bed. I tapped at my phone, took a deep breath and selected
Block this caller.
I tossed the phone on my desk.

“So,” I looked at Connor’s smug face, remembering my resolve to be a less selfish roommate, “tell me all the gory details.”

He pressed up on his elbows, brow arched.

“Um, well, not all the details, please. Like a PG-13 sketch.”

Connor dropped on his back. “Thank God there was nothing PG-13 about it. She lives off campus. Has her own room.”

“Don’t you have to be a—”

He nodded. “A junior. Older women are totally the way to go.”

I didn’t know about older women, but considering my history, I definitely had a thing for older men—at least by a year or two. There was one in particular I wanted to be sure knew I was interested and available.

By two on Sunday, I was midterm studied out and Connor had gone off to Amy’s again. I knew Wyatt was at work, but the guy had to get breaks sometime. There was a chance I’d run into Blake in that dining hall, but fuck it. My decisions no longer revolved around him.

I grabbed a tray, but didn’t get any food. I brought the tray back to the drop-off window and peered through. There was Wyatt in his apron, scraping off plates into the trash. The noise from the dishwasher was deafening. It totally made my twelve hours a week filing in the Office of Residential Life look like a trip to Disney World.

He saw me. “You again.” But there was a half smile to go with his words.

I had to yell to make myself heard over the swooshing and clanking. “I was just doing a quality check on the dishwashing.”

“Right.”

That didn’t give me much to go on. “So do you get a break ever?”

“Don’t you have midterms to study for?”

“Tomorrow’s a reading day.” I shrugged.

He sighed like what he was about to say was a major concession, loud enough to hear over the noise behind him. “I get off at nine.”

“God, I hope so.” I stuffed my tongue in my cheek.

He shook his head at me. “Go away, Ethan.” But he was really smiling now.

* * *

It was warmer than it had been the past couple of nights and I got tired of lurking outside by the loading dock and Dumpster. Mostly because I was being bitten. Not by zombies—midterms suspended play for the week—but by the last evil mosquito survivors. If I managed to get naked with Wyatt, he’d see enough spots with all my freckles. No need to add on with a bunch of mosquito bites.

I tried to duck back into the hallway, but the door was locked on this side and I had to go around. I found the entrance to those stairs. No matter what happened, they were always going to be
those
stairs, though I was trying super hard not to think of the way our breaths—not to mention the slide and slap of our dicks—had echoed in this space.

Calculus problems aside, I had jerked off twice already today, so I could act like I’d actually had sex before and not give a showing of Zero to Done in Sixty Seconds.

A few people came out of the door to the kitchen and glanced at me before heading off, either out the back door or up the stairs. It was ten after nine before Wyatt came out. He was trying to hide it, but he was surprised and a little happy to see me. Well, that’s what I was choosing to read on his almost blank face under the hoodie.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey. So you’re back.”

Like I said, surprised and happy. The dust dry tone notwithstanding.

“Yup.” I could do pleased enough for both of us.

He brushed past me on his way out the back door. I followed him to the edge of the pavement, the hill sloping down to Lake Murphy in front of us. The fountain shifted through a rainbow as I stood next to him. It was nice until a mosquito bit the back of my neck. I slapped at it.