Chapter 31
Grand Theft Boyfriend
Sebastian
I'm an idiot.
This is not news. I've known I was an idiot since approximately the moment I let Gavin Robins convince me that "tutoring him on how to be gay" was a reasonable educational arrangement.
But walking around campus at sunset, glasses I forgot to take off still perched on my nose, I'm reaching new heights of idiocy.
You have to end it.
My chest aches. Actually, physically aches, which is ridiculous because heartbreak isn't a real medical condition. It's psychosomatic. The vagus nerve responds to emotional distress. It's a completely normal physiological response.
You have to end it before he figures out you're not worth the trouble.
I should have left these stupid blue light glasses at my desk. Now I'm wandering around campus like a four-eyed disaster with nowhere to put them because my case is in my backpack, and stopping to dig it out feels like admitting I have no idea where I'm going.
Which I don't.
His family disowned him because of you.
Not technically true. His family disowned him because they're bigoted assholes. But I was there. I attacked his brother. I escalated things. And now Gavin has no one except—
Except for the entire fraternity that loves him. Except for his football team. Except literally everyone who meets him because he's basically a golden retriever in human form.
Right. So he doesn't need me.
You got the letter today.
My stomach drops.
You got the frickin registered letter today, and everything changes, and he deserves to know, but telling him means—
I stop walking. Take a breath. The sunset is doing that annoyingly beautiful orange-pink thing, and I hate it.
Oh, God.
The realization hits me like a truck.
I'm in love with him.
I'm in love with Gavin. The giant, ridiculous, secretly-genius football player who thinks ‘tutoring’ is a valid dating strategy. He stood up to his abusive father without throwing a single punch. Who looks at me like I'm everything when I'm just... me.
This makes everything worse.
Because I'm in love with him, and I have to break up with him, and—
He deserves someone who can give him everything. Someone who isn't about to—
"Doc!"
No. No, no, no.
I turn, and there he is. Jogging toward me across the quad. In grey sweatpants.
Grey. Sweatpants.
The kind that hang low on his hips and cling to his thighs and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination regarding what's happening in the general crotch region.
"Nnnngh."
The sound escapes me before I can stop it. Loud. Mortifyingly loud.
Gavin's face does a complicated shuffle, concern shifting to confusion shifting to something that might be pleased if I wasn't too busy dying of embarrassment to analyze it properly.
"Did you just—"
"No." My face is on fire. "I didn't. That wasn't… I have allergies."
"To my sweatpants?"
"To… to the evening air. Pollen. It's pollen season."
"It's early for that, isn't it?"
"California pollen is different!"
He's close now. Too close. I can smell him, clean sweat and that body wash he uses, and something underneath that's just Gavin. My brain shorts out for a second.
Focus. You're here to break up with him.
"We need to talk," I blurt out.
His expression shifts, and I watch caution creep into those warm brown eyes. The change is subtle but unmistakable, the easy openness from seconds before shuttering behind a look I've come to recognize.
Oh shit! He's reading me right now.
The way he does when he thinks I'm not paying attention. Like he can see straight through skin and bone to watch my neurons firing in real time.
His head tilts slightly, and I know he's cataloging every micro-expression, every tell I don't even realize I'm broadcasting. The way his eyes move across my face feels almost clinical, except there's nothing cold about it.
It's the kind of attention you get from someone who really wants to understand, who's learned to read the world by watching carefully because people don't always say what they mean.
And right now, he's seeing too much.
"Okay," he says slowly. "Talk."
"It's just… I've been thinking, and—" The words tangle in my throat. "You're great. You're really great. But maybe this isn't, I mean, we're very different, and your family just… and I don't want you to feel like you have to—"
"Doc."
"—because you deserve someone who can actually be there for you, someone who isn't—"
"Seb."
"—and it's not fair to you if I can't give you everything you need because let's be honest, you've never even been with a guy before me, so how do you know you want to be with just one, and—"
"Oh, hell no."
I'm in the middle of pulling off my hoodie. It's too hot; I'm sweating. I can't have this conversation while slowly cooking to death, when the world tilts.
One second I'm standing there with my hoodie halfway over my head, arms tangled in fabric, and the next second I'm upside down.
Over Gavin's shoulder.
Moving.
"What the—”
"Nope." Gavin's voice is cheerful and slightly unhinged. "Nope, nope, nope."
"Put me down!”
"Can't do that, Doc."
I struggle, but my arms are trapped in my hoodie, and my backpack is dangling from one hand, and I can't get any leverage. Gavin's shoulder digs into my stomach as he starts walking, no, jogging.
He's jogging across campus, actually jogging, with me slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His breathing isn't even labored, which is honestly insulting.
Here I am, having what might be a legitimate panic attack while dangling upside down, and he's treating this like a light warm-up jog.
My hoodie now completely covers my face, creating a makeshift blindfold that smells like fabric softener and my nervous sweat. I can hear pieces of conversation as we pass groups of students, feel the vibrations of Gavin's footsteps on pavement, then grass, then pavement again.
"This is assault!" I manage between bounces, my voice muffled by cotton blend. "This is definitely assault!"
"It's conflict resolution," Gavin corrects cheerfully, adjusting his grip on my legs. "There's a difference."
"Gavin, I swear to God—"
"We are going to Communicate!” He sounds absolutely deranged. "I'm sorry, Doc, but Sylas told me to!"
"Sylas?”
"He gave me advice!"
"I'm going to kill him." I try to kick, but Gavin's arm is locked around my thighs like a steel bar. "I'm going to dump all his makeup in the toilet. I'm going to cut the laces on every single one of his corsets. I'm going to—"
Someone laughs.
I freeze.
We're passing people. Of course, we're passing people. It's a Friday night on a college campus, and I'm being carried like a kidnapping victim by a six-foot-four football player while yelling about destroying someone's makeup collection.
"Oh my God," someone says, a girl's voice, delighted. "Is that—"
"Nothing to see here!" Gavin calls out, not slowing down. "Just a minor communication emergency!"
"Put me down!”
"Not until we talk!"
My face is burning. The blood is rushing to my head, or maybe that's just the mortification. My glasses are sliding down my nose, and I can't push them back up because my arms are still tangled in this stupid hoodie.
"This is insane," I hiss. "You're insane. This is literally kidnapping."
"It's not kidnapping if I'm taking you somewhere you have a key to."
"That’s not how kidnapping works!"
More laughter. A wolf whistle. Someone yells, "Get it!” and I want to die.
For a second, I go limp. Just hang there, bouncing against Gavin's back as he jogs, staring at the ground moving beneath us. My hoodie is bunched around my face, blocking most of my vision. My backpack swings with every step.
This is ridiculous. He's ridiculous. I was trying to do the mature thing, the responsible thing, and he just—
Kidnapped you.
Because he doesn't want to break up.
Because he wants to communicate.
Because Sylas told him to.
Something warm and terrifying blooms in my chest.
No. Stop that. You're supposed to be angry.
I am angry. I'm furious. I'm... completely failing to actually struggle.
Because apparently being manhandled by Gavin Robins is doing something for me.
Goddammit.
"Almost there!" Gavin announces.
I crane my neck, trying to see through the gap in my hoodie. The frat house looms ahead, Valentine's decorations still clinging to the porch rail because apparently no one in this house understands the concept of timely decoration removal.
"Gavin, please—"
He doesn't slow down.
BANG
The door slams against the wall hard enough to leave a mark, and suddenly we're inside. Music hits me, some EDM playlist throbbing through the speakers, and Gavin is yelling at me.
"I've seen this happen twice, and it's NOT happening to me!"
I hear the music stutter. Stop.
"What the fuck just happened?" Someone's voice, James, I think.
Then we're moving again, Gavin taking the stairs two at a time, and I catch a glimpse of the common room as we pass. Frozen faces. Pizza slices suspended halfway to open mouths. Someone standing up from the couch, craning to see what's happening.
They're all staring.
At me.
Dangling upside down over Gavin's shoulder with my hoodie stuck over my face, my glasses askew, and my Doctor Who shirt on full display.
I'm never going to live this down.
The hallway. A door opening. Then I'm being set down, right side up, finally, and the blood rush makes everything spin for a second. I grab the nearest solid surface, which turns out to be Gavin's chest, and try to remember how standing works.
Downstairs, the music starts back up. I can hear voices, confused, amused, probably placing bets on what the hell is happening.
My hoodie is still stuck.
I yank at it, fighting with the fabric, cursing under my breath. One arm comes free. Then the other. I finally wrench the stupid thing off my head and…
Gavin's face is right there.
Panicked.
His eyes are wide, almost wild, and he's breathing hard, not from the exertion of carrying me across campus, I don't think, but from something else. Something that looks a lot like fear.
"We need to talk," he says.