Chapter Four
Troy
We’re late for our workout today. We meet with some friends a couple of mornings a week at the Belle Argo University gym, but today Adam had a doctor’s appointment. Since he’s got diabetes, his doc likes to check in with him every three to six months—a commitment I make sure he doesn’t miss.
“It’s the swimmer,” I say as we approach the desk. “You go first. She seems to like you.”
Neither of us is a BAU student. Usually it’s a straightforward thing for one of us to flirt a little, and then we slide right through without anyone noticing we didn’t scan a student ID.
There’s this one adorable and stern little redheaded sophomore who always wears a BAU Swim tank top, and she does not play around.
While Adam’s approaching the desk with maximum swagger, I check my notifications.
Prince: What does a person wear to a private school interview? I’m thinking suit and tie, like with a client
Dean: I already told you, just wear regular clothes
Prince: That means different things to different people
Michael: You might want to tell him to take all ten pounds of jewelry out of his face so he doesn’t set off a metal detector. Or scare the admissions board.
Huh. Is something going down here? Michael’s usually a lot nicer.
Ravi: Does someone know of a way I can realistically tie myself to a bed? Liam’s out of town and I’m trying to plan a good welcome home surprise
I laugh as I type in my response.
Troy: Let us know if Adam and I can help
“ID?” When I look up, the young woman at the desk is inspecting us both with one eyebrow raised.
“Heidi, you look like you’re glowing this morning. Still doing those cold plunges?” Adam practically drapes himself over the raised divider, fanning his award-winning eyelashes for all he’s worth.
“I remember you. Did you both ‘forget’ your ID again?” Based on her air quotes around the word “forget,” I don’t think she’s taking the bait.
We might have to offer to fuck her. When in doubt, it usually works.
She’s got that fresh-faced look, like she isn’t wearing makeup even though she actually is, and a bun on top of her head without a hair out of place. Bet I could bend her over that thing and muss her right up. Bang all that rule following right out of her.
“Came here to see you, actually.” Adam’s laying it on thick, reaching over the divider as if he’s about to brush his fingers over her knuckles.
It’s a good move. High success rate. Five stars.
She’s keeping her “don’t fuck with me” face on, but when her freckled cheeks catch fire, I can see we’ve got her. Doesn’t matter, though, because as we’re about to get in, the subject of our recent amusement is on his way out.
Wes Monroe’s tree-trunk thighs stride toward us alongside his brother, Fallon, though our buddy PJ is nowhere in sight. They’re encased in a respectable pair of slacks that are making me think extremely disrespectful thoughts. Wes’s thighs. Not… Well. Anyway.
The two men walking towards us seem wrapped up in a spicy debate of some kind, but it doesn’t keep Wes from flashing some side-eye. First at me, and then at Adam, where he’s flirting with the cute swimmer.
Interesting. The judgmental glare his brown eyes are broadcasting and the set of his jaw only make me want to fuck with him more.
I grab hold of Adam’s shoulder, interrupting whatever he’s saying. “Change of plans, babe. Gotta go.”
He comes along after throwing the redhead a hasty wave. “You know you’ve only made sure it’s going to be harder for us to get in the next time.”
“Tomorrow’s problem.” I gesture up ahead to where Wes and Fallon are still bickering as they head down the path toward the university’s staff parking lot. Apparently, they both teach part-time here.
“I don’t get what the issue is,” Fallon is saying. “You said you didn’t have a problem with PJ. So why won’t you come over for dinner?”
“Aside from there not being enough eye bleach in the world to wipe out the last time I walked in on you two fucking? How about all the times PJ has put a knife to my throat?”
Has he? Heh.
“Neither of those things is going to happen at dinner. You’re the one who keeps asking to hang out.”
“For coffee. Maybe lunch. Right now, I don’t have time to hang out all evening. I’m still trying to find an apartment that’s available immediately in my price range and then I have to move my shit. This isn’t about you.”
“I didn’t say it was, but, Wes?—”
“You’re the one who said you wanted me to butt out of your personal life. Now you want me to come over for dinner so I can sit across from your boyfriend, who multiple times now has threatened me with physical violence.”
There’s a hint of sullen teenager in Wes’s tone, and honestly? I’m here for it. This guy sounds like he’s on the edge of losing his shit and trying so hard not to. The idea of pressing all his buttons right now is like fucking catnip.
“Someone needs a hug,” I say to Adam, who offers a noncommittal grunt.
“He’s not seriously going to stab you,” Fallon tells Wes. They both sound exasperated. “And you’re still my brother.”
“Right. Well, that’s great, but I’ve got other shit to deal with.
Like I said. Gina wants my stuff out of the house.
I’m a few days from being homeless. Mom keeps hassling me about visiting, and I don’t know what to do about that.
She’s not hearing me when I tell her I can’t. And then the shit with the hotel…”
Oof. Why’s the frustration in his voice so damn hot? Maybe Adam and I could help him out. We could offer to let him crash on our couch and also fuck him over it. Win-win, as one of our clients likes to say.
“You could always stay with me and PJ.”
Wes runs a hand over the back of his neck, which looks flushed with red. “Thank you for the offer. I’m going to refer you back to my previous remark about you and PJ having sex.”
Fallon rolls his eyes. “Be serious.”
“I’m not mooching off my baby brother, okay? I practically raised you. I’m not taking your money.”
Fallon’s quiet for a minute. I’m thinking he’ll make another argument. Instead, he says, “Hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you considered maybe dating again?”
Pretty sure I see a twitch in Wes’s eyelid. “What’s the right way for me to take that, Fallon? Because it sounds an awful lot like you’re telling me I need to get laid.”
“Honestly, based on how tight his shoulders look, I’m inclined to agree,” Adam says next to me.
“Shh.” Sometimes Adam’s not great at whispering. Inside my head, where Wes and Fallon can’t hear me, however, I’m also inclined to agree.
“Do I need to remind you that you set me up with a male escort under the guise of a blind date, so I’d get laid?”
“Jesus. No, you do not. I’m reminded every time I see the two of you together. I’ve also apologized at least six hundred times.”
“Look, Wes. It was a dick move, but you weren’t entirely off base. You setting me up with PJ is one of the best things to happen to me.”
“That’s kind of sweet,” Adam murmurs.
“Nice to see our friends happy,” I agree.
Adam gives me a knowing look, which I avoid.
It isn’t that I’m unhappy, exactly. Sometimes things just feel…a little empty. A little like something is missing. It doesn’t help that I can still close my eyes and see my mother’s lifeless body the day I found her in the garage.
The strange explanations that didn’t make sense then or now. She couldn’t help it. She just couldn’t stay, Troy.
Is that going to happen to me someday? Is there going to be a moment when I just can’t stay?
Wes takes a deep breath. His entire body swells and then deflates with the force of it. “You say that, but you still haven’t forgiven me.”
Fallon shakes his head. “You have to admit, your motives were less than pure. Never mind the fact that you kept trying to break us up after.”
“I’ve apologized about that too. But, Fallon, you can understand why the whole situation concerned me.”
“No, Wes. I can’t.”
Oooh, our Wes doesn’t like that. He’s shuffling his feet and crossing and uncrossing his arms, all while that red flush creeps higher up the back of his neck.
I’m dying to sink my teeth into that spot behind his ear.
It seems like he’s about to continue the argument, but then he doesn’t. “You know what? Fine. I have to go anyway. I have a class to teach.”
They part ways. Fallon gets into his car, and Wes heads in the direction of the academic buildings, keeping to the sidewalks like a good boy in spite of all the students crisscrossing the grass.
He’s temporarily waylaid by a pretty young student—bobbed black hair, nose ring, and perky tits—who smiles a little too widely when she stops him to let him know she won’t be able to make it to class today on account of leaving town for her sister’s wedding.
She’s doing that cute thing where she tugs a little at her own hair, tucking it behind one ear.
Practically presents that cleavage on a platter.
Wes nods and says something I can’t hear before moving on. But Manic Pixie Coed is glancing back and licking her lips like she’s tempted to volunteer for any kind of extra credit that involves crawling under the teacher’s desk.
Looking at the way those tan slacks hug Wes’s bouncy ass, I’d be happy to do the same. Maybe Adam could suck him off while I fuck him over his own desk.
Wes Monroe would be so fun to ruin.
“Hey.” Adam flags her down. I know what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too. “Where’s, uh…”
“Mr. Monroe.” I elbow him.
“Right.” Adam gives the student a full-wattage grin. “Where’s Mr. Monroe’s next class? We kind of need to talk to him.”
She points us in the right direction, and we head off.
I nudge Adam again. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
He lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, but his smile is pure menace. “You said you like to fuck with him. So let’s fuck with him.”
Hell yeah. This is going to be fun.