Callback (Evergreen University #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

LUCA

So, I’m pretty sure my roomie is into dudes.

Or… well… I’m pretty sure a dude is into him.

In Zandy? Yeah, in Zandy. Like… right now.

I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s having sex on the other side of the door, and I can hear him loud and clear from the bathroom where I’m standing with my forehead pressed against the wooden frame like a total creeper.

A creeper who has never been interested in sex, but now my cock is standing at attention and I don’t even have a towel to hide it because I accidentally left it on my bed.

“Stop that,” I mouth at my dick, like that will somehow help the situation.

I’m not shocked when it doesn’t wilt on command, but I still glare down the line of my body like it will make a difference.

Outside the door, I can hear the low grunts tearing out of Zandy’s chest while the scary blond guy who barged into our room before is muttering absolute filth under his breath.

The words whore and slut come out of his mouth like pet names, and Zander seems to love it.

It’s just weird that I do too.

There’s something about them together. I couldn’t put my finger on it before, but it made my entire body tingle. And now…

Well, now I can’t help but wonder how good it must feel to be in that position… to be so mindless with want that the world falls away except for the feeling of someone taking you apart.

My head drops to the door and I swallow down the groan trying to tear its way up my throat. I’ve never wanted to be taken apart before—in fact, I’ve made it a point to keep myself so tightly wound up and in control that no one has ever touched me.

At least… no one I asked…

My fingers feather over my stomach, the soft sensation of the pads tickling against my skin distracting me from the dark thoughts that try to crawl up my chest. That was the past, and that wasn’t my decision. And…

And it’s hard to think about anything but the low, whining sound coming from the other side of the door, the distinct and unmistakable slapping of skin against skin. My fingers clench, nails dragging bluntly across my nipple and making my cock jump again.

Gosh, this is really, really wrong. Like… “I might have to apologize to Zandy later” wrong. But it’s happening now, and a part of me is pretty sure that if I open the door and interrupt them, my roomie’s scary boyfriend will either kick my ass or make me watch.

I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t survive either option.

When another low groan of “You sound so pretty when you beg, Dimples” comes from the other side of the door, I can’t help it anymore. My hand drops from my chest and squeezes the base of my cock, and I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood so I don’t make a sound.

It’s not like I haven’t touched myself before—I was the only one who did touch me. But that was perfunctory, almost a thing I did because it was something you did. Only every now and then, and only when I was really stressed.

This was different. This was wrong, and weird and…

I’d never really put thought into what I liked, what I wanted, because I’d spent most of my life pretty sure I didn’t want anything but to keep to myself, to get my degree, to do good… and…

Well, dang it.

Apparently guys getting held down and railed hard did it for me?

It wasn’t a possibility I’d considered before, but it’s one I can’t really ignore now as my fingers squeeze the base of my cock again before stroking upward in a slow pull that tingles like sin against my skin.

It’s wrong and weird and it feels like I’m violating Zander’s trust, but I can’t help it.

It’s survival, self-preservation. It’s… heat burning beneath my skin that feels like I’m going to implode if I don’t do something soon.

So I start stroking myself in earnest. I take exactly twenty seconds to realize I’m keeping up with the rhythmic sounds of the bed creaking on the other side of the door, that I’m making the same little punched out “uh uh uh” groans under my breath that Zander is while Scary McBlondface rails him.

It’s like I’m possessed; I can’t stop myself. I don’t even want to stop myself.

I’m pretty sure if I try, I’ll die. I just press my head against the door and work my fingers along the length of my dick in time with the sounds coming from the other room, and I clench my jaw to make sure that I don’t make any noise to give away what I’m doing.

I don’t think I’m going to last as long as Zander. I can already feel my entire body tingling. He’s getting owned out there, and the noises he’s making really make it seem like he’s not in his own head, like he’s not in his right mind.

Like he’s flying.

He sounds so…

Free.

And then Kerian is demanding that he come, and it’s like he’s talking to me too because my body can’t resist. I jolt alive with pleasure as my dick twitches in my hand, and I scramble to make sure I catch the burst of cum as it shoots from my tip and makes my legs go weak.

I don’t realize I’m sliding down the doorframe until I’m on my knees, body trembling and clenching, cock still pulsing little aftershocks of pleasure that I desperately try to keep contained.

Wrong.

Wrong… this is all wrong… but I’ve never felt anything so good.

I’ve never been so… needy.

I’ve never wanted like this.

Kerian and Zandy’s low voices spilling through the door don’t reach my ears anymore—my head is fuzzed out, half addled with pleasure and half drunk on a thought that’s creeping its way into my mind.

I can’t.

I definitely shouldn’t.

I bring my clean hand up to stroke my bare chest, and the little tingles that had been so pleasurable earlier suddenly feel like tiny stabs of longing etching their way beneath my skin. Oh God… I’m probably in trouble.

I’m curious now.

Curious about how it would feel if someone held me down the way I imagined Kerian held Zandy down.

Curious about what it would feel like if I could just let myself go, get out of my own head. Even for a few minutes…

I want it.

The problem is… I’ve never had it before, and I have no idea where in the world I’m supposed to go to get it.

“Luca?” My eyes don’t lift from my phone screen, even though some part of me recognizes my name is being said. When a hand slaps against my shoulder, my head snaps up.

“Hm?”

“Were you listening to me at all?”

There’s a pause where I could confess my sins—my mind is so wrapped up in the memories of the night before, the way Zander had looked sex rumpled and totally fucked out when I finally came out of the bathroom… the sounds he made still echoing in my head… but…

“Yeah, I was.” My gaze tracks up to Dylan. He’s the TA in my psychology class, but we’re on friendly enough terms to meet up sometimes for lunch. His dark stare is obviously unconvinced.

“So you’ll do it?”

Do what? Dang it… now if I don’t keep up with the “of course I was listening” charade, he’s going to ask what had me so distracted, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to lie convincingly, so…

“Yeah, no problem.” I probably would have agreed to whatever it was anyway. I know myself well enough to know that I don’t have the ability to tell people no when they ask me favors.

“Awesome. Listen, Professor Levine can be a total hard-ass, but it’ll look great on your resume. I promised Professor Quinton that I’d help him find someone, and you’re perfect.” He pushes a paper at my chest before I have a chance to protest, and beams at me.

Professor Levine.

I… have no idea who that is. When my eyes sweep down to the paper, I realize it’s a syllabus for a theater class, with a sticky note attached to the top. I pause at the words.

“You know I’m not actually qualified to be his teaching assistant, right?”

“Special circumstances. Professor Levine’s TA had to transfer in the middle of the semester, and he mostly needs someone to help him keep his schedule and office organized. I promise, he’s probably too much of a control freak to ask you to teach class or anything like that.”

The very thought makes me shudder—theater is not a class I have ever taken on purpose. I did what I needed to for general education credits and never looked back.

I don’t like public speaking.

Or being in front of people.

Or performing. Or…

“I—”

“You’re seriously a lifesaver. Everyone is really busy with it being halfway through the semester.” I was too, but I guess that didn’t count. “And Professor Levine has a bit of a… reputation.”

Hard-ass. Right.

Still…

My eyes glanced at the paper—the syllabus didn’t seem that complicated.

It was just an intro class. They were mostly studying plays, working on the structure of writing their own performance, reading a few books…

and a teaching assistant position, even if it wasn’t official, would look great on my resume.

“Okay.” I blow out a breath, trying to do some mental gymnastics for exactly how I’m going to fit these new responsibilities into my already busy schedule, but I know I can figure it out. “When do I start?”

“I already told him you’d start next Wednesday.” Dylan stands, brushing a few crumbs from lunch off his lap and ruffling my dark hair while what he said clicks into place. He already told him. Because apparently I’m a sure thing. “Thanks, Luca. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Sure,” I answer weakly, offering a smile that I don’t actually feel.

Lifesaver.

Pushover.

I have a feeling the words come hand in hand whenever people talk about me.

As soon as Dylan leaves, my eyes drop back to my phone… I’ve been staring at the blank search engine for a good half hour. Now that he’s gone and I’m going to have even more responsibilities with my new position after this week, I realize that it’s kind of now or never.

My fingers are shaking when I type in the words “gay clubs near me.”

A few names flash across the screen, and my eyes catch on the top result.

Mask.

“God…” I lock the screen before I work up the nerve to click on the results.

Yeah, I’m confused.

And yeah, I can’t even look at Zander without blushing now. I need to figure some things out… I just don’t know if going to a gay club is the answer.

There’s a chance if I go, no one is going to want me. There’s a chance that if I go, I’m going to hate it and realize that no, I don’t enjoy flirting, I don’t want a relationship… I just apparently have a fetish for voyeurism.

The thought makes me cringe.

I just know that if I don’t follow through with this, if I don’t figure it out, the idea is always going to be there in my head. My brain is a chaotic enough place as it is… and the pounding beat of “do this now before your entire world falls apart” is playing a symphony I can’t ignore.