Chapter 7 #2
"Force of habit," he says with an apologetic shrug. "Psych major, remember?"
We reach Beans & Books, and he holds the door open for me. The coffee shop is busy but not packed, with the usual mix of students typing frantically on laptops or highlighting textbooks scattered across the tables.
"Find us seats?" Gavin suggests. "What do you want?"
"Black coffee," I say automatically.
He makes a face. "Seriously? Nothing else?"
"Black coffee," I repeat firmly.
"Your arteries, Doc."
"Don't call me that."
He grins, undeterred. "Sorry. Force of habit."
"We just met," I point out. "It can't be a habit."
"Some things just feel right," he says with a wink that does absolutely nothing to my internal organs, and heads to the counter.
Oh fuck, why does it have to be him… and why is he so gorgeous? Dammit, stop it, brain!
I find a small table in the corner and sit with my back to the wall, a position that lets me watch the whole shop. A strategic choice, I tell myself, not a defensive one.
Gavin returns a few minutes later with two large cups and a plate with a beige pastry-like thing.
"One black coffee for the man with no joy in his life," he says, placing the cup in front of me, "and a cinnamon dolce latte with extra whipped cream for those of us who believe in happiness."
"Coffee isn't supposed to be dessert," I say, taking my cup.
"Says who?" He sits across from me, immediately taking up too much space with his broad shoulders. "Also, I got us a chocolate croissant to share because I'm starving after practice and you look like you haven't eaten since yesterday."
Before I can protest that my eating habits are none of his business, he pushes the plate toward me. "Take half before I inhale the whole thing. I need like five thousand calories a day during training."
I reluctantly break off a small piece of the croissant, more to stop him talking about it than because I'm hungry. Though I suddenly realize I am hungry. I didn't actually eat lunch.
Oh, that's good. I barely hold in a moan as the pastry practically melts in my mouth.
"So," Gavin says, after demolishing half the pastry in one bite, "tutoring. When works for you?"
"I have a full course load plus lab hours," I say. "My schedule is tight."
"Let me guess," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Your color-coded calendar doesn't think it can fit this in, does it? Are your blocks of time scheduled down to the minute?"
His eyes crinkle at the corners, mouth fighting a smile. Asshole's definitely enjoying this.
I narrow my eyes. "What's wrong with being organized?"
"Nothing at all," he says, raising his hands in surrender. "I think it's great. I've got a pretty full schedule too, practice, classes, and frat stuff. But I'm free Tuesday and Thursday evenings after six, and Sunday afternoons."
I mentally review my schedule. "Thursdays could work. 6:30 to 7:30."
"Only an hour?" He looks disappointed. "We should probably do at least ninety minutes. Psychology isn't a class you can cram."
I suppress a sigh. "Fine. 6:30 to 8:00."
"Great!" He takes out his phone and types. "What's your number? I'll text you so you have mine."
I reluctantly give him my number, and my phone immediately buzzes with a text. I glance down to see a football emoji, a brain emoji, and a flexed bicep emoji.
"Very professional," I say dryly.
"That's me in emoji form," he says with a grin. "Football player, psychology major, workout enthusiast."
Despite myself, I almost smile. Almost. Dammit, why does he have to be funny too?
"About payment," I begin, wanting to get the awkward financial discussion out of the way.
"Right," he says, his expression shifting to serious. "So, I had a different idea about that."
"I can pay the standard rate," I say quickly. "Fifteen to twenty dollars per hour is fine."
"I don't want your money," he says.
I blink. "What?"
"I don't need the cash. I have scholarships covering most of my expenses."
I immediately grow suspicious. Nothing in life is free. "Then why agree to tutor me?"
"Because Harrington asked, and because I think I can help," he says simply. "But I was thinking we could maybe trade."
"Trade?" I repeat cautiously. "Trade what?"
He leans forward, lowering his voice slightly. "Can I ask you a personal question, Sebastian?"
Warning bells immediately sound in my head. "Depends on the question."
"Are you gay?"
I nearly choke on my coffee. "Excuse me?"
"Sorry, too direct?" He looks genuinely concerned. "I'm still working on my approach for extremely personal questions."
"Why are you asking me about my sexual orientation?" I hiss, glancing around to see if anyone overheard.
"It's relevant to my proposed trade," he says calmly. "I'm not trying to be rude, it’s just… You had a rainbow pin on at the mixer… and I noticed… and so… well you need tutoring and so do I… I think."
"How is my sexuality relevant to psychology tutoring?"
He takes a deep breath and says the most impossible thing. I think he must be joking. "Because instead of money, I’m hoping you could teach me about being gay."
I stare at him. Blink. Stare some more. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I think I might be gay, or bi, or something," he says, still strangely calm about dropping this bombshell on me in a campus coffee shop.
"I've only dated women before, but it never felt right, you know?
And my best friend Tyler came out as bi a few months ago, and it got me thinking, and I've been noticing guys more, and—"
"Wait, wait," I hold up a hand. "You want me to... what? Give you gay lessons in exchange for tutoring me in psychology?"
"Basically, yeah." He looks at me hopefully. "I mean, you clearly have experience being gay—"
"How do you know that?" I interrupt, feeling strangely exposed.
He shrugs. "Even when we first met, and you seemed to hate me, your pupils dilated when you were looking at my arms. Classic physiological sign of attraction."
I choke on my coffee for real this time, sputtering and coughing as he quickly hands me a napkin.
"It was your hands," I mutter without thinking, once I've recovered, then immediately want to die of embarrassment. Oh god, kill me now! Shut up, you idiot.
"My hands?" He looks genuinely surprised, glancing down at his large, calloused palms. "Really?"
"That's not—I mean—" I take a deep breath. "Look, this is ridiculous. I don't 'teach' people how to be gay. That's not how sexuality works. You're either attracted to men, or you're not."
"I know that," he says. "I'm not asking you to make me gay. I'm asking for... guidance? Information? I grew up in a really small town where being anything but straight wasn't an option. I don't know the culture, the etiquette, how to tell if another guy is interested… any of it."
I stare at him, torn between disbelief and a strange sort of fascination. "So you want... gay mentorship."
"Exactly!" He brightens. "Like a cultural exchange program, but for sexuality."
I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "This is insane. Why me? Why not ask your friend Tyler?"
"Tyler's still figuring things out himself," Gavin says. "Plus, he's all wrapped up in his new relationship. And I don't know that many out guys. But you seem really confident about who you are."
The irony of being described as "confident" when I'm internally screaming is not lost on me.
"This is a terrible idea," I say firmly. "For one thing, I don't date jocks. And I'm not interested in being someone's experimental phase."
"I'm not asking you to date me," Gavin says quickly. "Just to, you know, show me the ropes. And for the record, I'm more than just a 'jock.' You shouldn't judge people so quickly."
That hits uncomfortably close to home. I have been judging him based on appearances, something I hate when others do it to me.
I take a sip of my coffee, buying time to think. On one hand, this is possibly the strangest proposition I've ever received. On the other hand, I do need to pass Psychology, and the other tutors through the university's academic center are booked solid, I know I checked… just in case.
"Let me get this straight," I say finally. "No pun intended. You'll tutor me in psychology, and in exchange, I'll... what? Take you to gay bars? Teach you gay slang? What exactly would this entail?"
"Whatever you think would be helpful," he says earnestly. "I just want to understand this part of myself better. Figure out if what I'm feeling is real."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I'll still tutor you," he says with a shrug. "Like I said, Harrington asked me to help. But I'd really appreciate your help too."
I study him, looking for signs of mockery or hidden agendas, but all I see is genuine openness. It's… unnerving.
"This isn't something to take lightly," I warn him. "Coming out has consequences. People treat you differently. Family relationships can change. Are you prepared for that?"
"I've thought about it," he says, suddenly looking more serious than I've seen him yet. "My dad would... well, it wouldn't be good. But I'm tired of not being honest with myself."
Against my better judgment, I find myself considering it. It's not like I have a thriving social life that would be disrupted by adding "Gay 101 instructor" to my resume. And his straightforward approach is refreshing.
"Fine," I say finally. "But I have conditions."
"Name them." He looks like I just told him he won the lottery.
"One, this stays between us. I'm not parading you around campus as my 'gay project.'"
"Agreed."
"Two, you have to take the psychology tutoring seriously. I need an A in that class."
"Absolutely."
"Three, if at any point this gets weird or uncomfortable, either of us can end the arrangement."
"Of course," he says solemnly.
“Four, can we try to wrap this up by Valentines Day? The semester gets even busier after that for me.”
“Hmmm, no promises. Professor Harrington asked me to help you for the rest of the semester.”
Dammit, I can learn everything he knows by then I’m sure of it.
"Fine… Okay five," I add, "stop calling me Doc."
He grins. "What about Seb? Can I call you Seb?"
I should say no. I should insist on Sebastian. But his hopeful expression makes me sigh and say, "Fine. Seb is... acceptable."
His smile is like watching the sun come out after a storm. "I think Doc suits you better, but I’ll try, okay? This is going to be great, Doc! I promise you won't regret it."
"You literally just—" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Never mind."
So much for trying.
As he starts talking about when we can study and what psychology topics I need to study, I wonder if I just made a colossal mistake or maybe the most interesting choice I've made in my way-too-busy life.
How to be gay by Valentine's Day? It sounds like the title of a bad self-help book or a romance novel. Yet somehow I've agreed to be the author.
God help us both.