Chapter 19 #3
“A bit?” Bryce snorted. “Honey, your ‘I’m straight’ mantra had all the conviction of a kid with chocolate smeared all over his face denying he ate the last cookie.”
“Looks like it’s time for you to recant saying, ‘I can appreciate that Harley has an attractive face without wanting to sit on it,’” Jagger teased.
Senna refocused the conversation. “What changed?”
I glanced at Harley, drawing strength from his presence beside me. “Everything? Nothing? I don’t know. It just sort of happened.”
“What he means,” Harley said, his hand finding mine, “is that he finally stopped denying what was right in front of him. Me, obviously.”
“Ha, I fucking knew it!” Jagger exclaimed, slapping his knee. “Pay up, assholes. I called this years ago.”
To my horror, our friends began digging out their wallets.
“You guys bet on us, too?” I asked, incredulous.
Fenway laughed. “Too? Did your family also have a betting pool?”
I huffed with annoyance. “Yes.”
“Why would we be any different?” Senna teased, handing Jagger a twenty. “We had one going on when you’d finally crack. I had last Christmas, so I’m out twenty bucks.”
Gage passed over his cash. “I had ‘never’ because I thought Ryker was too stubborn. Way to prove me wrong, buddy.”
There was something surreal about watching my friends argue about the technicalities of their bets rather than expressing any shock about my relationship with Harley.
“You’re not surprised?” I asked.
“What’s there to be surprised about? And hey, look at it this way. Now that you’re finally getting laid regularly, maybe you’ll be less grumpy,” Jagger added with a wink.
The tension in my shoulders melted away, replaced by a dizzying rush of affection for the ridiculous people who apparently knew me better than I knew myself. “Thanks, guys. It means a lot.”
“Don’t get all mushy on us now,” Senna warned, raising her beer in a toast. “But since we’re having a moment, here’s to Ryker and Harley, for finally figuring out what the rest of us have known forever.”
“To Ryker and Harley!” they chorused, lifting their drinks high.
Harley’s arm slipped around my waist, pulling me close. “See?” he murmured against my ear. “Told you it would be fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” I admitted, unable to suppress a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” he said, planting a quick kiss to my temple that made our friends whoop and holler.
For all my worrying, it turned out the hardest part wasn’t telling them; it was getting them to stop teasing us long enough to change the subject.
But Jagger could always be counted on to derail a conversation. “Now, who wants to hear about the yoga instructor who could do things with his body that should be physically impossible?”
“Oh, here we go,” Fenway groaned, settling back with his beer.
Just like that, the spotlight shifted away from Harley and me. Jagger launched into a vivid retelling of another one of his spring break hookups, complete with hand gestures that made Gage cover his eyes in mock horror.
“He could literally bend himself in half backward,” Jagger insisted, attempting to demonstrate and nearly spilling his drink. “And when he got on his knees—”
“Did you at least learn his name this time?” Senna interrupted, reaching for another cookie.
Jagger waved dismissively. “Names are overrated. I think it started with an M? Mahalo? Mondo? Mungo? Whatever, I saved him in my phone as ‘Yoga Daddy,’ and that’s all that matters.”
Gage's grin was rueful. “You’re an absolute disaster.”
“A disaster who got laid six times in one weekend,” Jagger corrected with a smirk. “Quality and quantity, my friend.”
Bryce scoffed. “Amateur. While you were playing Twister with your bendy boy, I was enjoying a threesome with the cocktologists who run that swanky new bar downtown.”
Fenway said, “Bullshit,” through a cough. “There’s no way.”
“I have the matching hickeys and their business card to prove it,” Bryce countered, pulling out his phone. “Want to see the pictures?”
“No!” Gage and I exclaimed in unison.
Jagger gestured to see the photos. Bryce passed his phone over so Jagger could flip through them. His expression clearly said he appreciated what he saw. “What a pleasant surprise to discover they’re called cocktologists because of their cocktail-making abilities and also their huge cocks.”
“I still say a cocktologist sounds like someone who psychoanalyzes depressed cocks,” Senna joked.
Laughter erupted as Bryce exaggerated the details to comical heights.
I settled back into the couch, letting the familiar chaos of our friend group buzz around me like a comforting, slightly unhinged hive. Everything felt normal. Nothing fundamental had changed, despite the bombshell we’d dropped.
Harley rejoined the conversation. “Did you at least get free drinks out of the arrangement?”
Bryce beamed with smug satisfaction. “Of course. I’m such a good fuck, I earned a lifetime VIP pass and fifty percent off all specialty cocktails.”
“Now, that’s how you hook up strategically,” Senna nodded approvingly. “Speaking of strategic moves, did you hear about the new adjunct professor they just hired to start teaching this fall for the Fashion Merchandising department?”
She lowered her voice conspiratorially as she continued. “My cousin works in the department’s office, and she said he’s sexy as fuck. Like, model-turned-professor hot.”
Bryce’s head snapped up so fast I was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. “Excuse me? There’s a hot new professor coming to my department, and nobody told me? Spill the tea. Give me a name. Now.”
“Professor Bennett. He’s teaching Advanced Fashion Marketing Strategies and the Fashion Merchandising Practicum next semester.”
“Those are both required for my major,” Bryce said, his eyes widening with delight. “This must be the universe rewarding me for all my good deeds.”
Fenway snorted. “What good deeds? Last month, you told a freshman his pants made him look like a deflated balloon animal.”
“That was a good deed,” Bryce insisted. “He needed to hear it before he embarrassed himself further. I’m practically a fashion humanitarian.”
“Anyway,” Senna continued, “he’s in his early thirties, never married, and according to my cousin, has the kind of jawline that could cut glass.”
Bryce dramatically fanned himself. “Stop, I can only get so excited in public.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Gage warned. “He’s a new hire, so he’ll be extra careful about crossing any lines.”
“Lines are made to be crossed,” Bryce countered with a dismissive wave. “Especially when they stand between me and a hot professor with a glass-cutting jawline.”
“Seriously, Bryce,” Gage added. “The guy’s career would be over before it starts if you go after him. Is that worth another notch on your bedpost?”
“Bold of you to assume I still track my conquests with a bedpost. I ran out of room on that thing in high school. Now, I have a spreadsheet, color-coded by profession and performance rating.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, you do.”
“What? I’m a Fashion Merchandising major. Organization and aesthetic presentation are literally part of my curriculum. And I’ve been looking to add a professor to my data set for research purposes.”
“Research purposes,” Harley repeated, using air quotes. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“The pursuit of knowledge takes many forms. Some more horizontal than others.”
Fenway, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. “If you’re serious about this professor, you might want to rethink your usual approach.”
“What’s wrong with my usual approach?” Bryce demanded.
“You mean besides opening with ‘Either you’re going to fuck me on this desk or gag me while I suck your dick’ to seduce a guy?” Senna joked.
His cheeky grin made everyone laugh. “That line has an eighty-seven percent success rate, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, with drunk frat boys and visiting businessmen,” Jagger argued. “A new professor is going to need a bit more finesse.”
“Fine.” Bryce sighed dramatically. “I’ll use my subtle approach. I’ll even wait until the second class before I make my move.”
“Such restraint,” I commented dryly. “Truly impressive.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Bryce said with a confident smirk. “By midterms, Professor Bennett will be giving my D an A+.”
Gage shook his head. “This is going to be a disaster.”
“Or the greatest love story ever told,” Senna countered. “Only time will tell.”
“Who said anything about love?” Bryce scoffed before gesturing at me and Harley. “I’ll leave the romance to the nauseating lovebirds.”
Harley pivoted the conversation. “Since you had to work through spring break, how’s the EMT training going?”
Gage perked up at the topic change. “Actually, we had an intense scenario yesterday. We responded to a simulated multi-car pileup, and I had to triage six ‘victims’ with varying injuries.”
“Congrats on being the guy who’s going to be saving lives while the rest of us are still trying to figure out how to adult.” Fenway raised his beer in salute.
“Speak for yourself,” Bryce sniffed. “I have my life completely figured out.”
“Your life plan is to marry rich and become a trophy husband,” Senna pointed out.
“Who also fucks his sexy pool boy,” he corrected her. “See? Totally figured out.”
Gage switched subjects. “We need extra practice victims for our training scenarios and for the firefighters. You guys should volunteer.”
“Do I even want to know what you do to your victims?” Jagger asked.
“Nothing too invasive,” Gage assured him with a suspiciously innocent smile. “Just some fake blood, maybe a simulated bone sticking out, and you lying still while we train on assessment techniques and first aid.”
“Hard pass,” Fenway declined, clutching his beer. “Last time I helped you ‘practice,’ I ended up wrapped like a mummy with splints on three limbs.”