1. 2
“And that’s because…?” Tony rolled back the sleeves of the crisp shirt he wore as he asked.
Brain, focus.
“Because you’re a respected figure?” I loosened the hold on my knees. “You hold the record for the youngest person to get tenure. You are invited to speak in the EU Parliament at least once a year. Your papers actually make it beyond academic journals half of the time.”
I stopped myself, but I could list more things. I might have developed a slight case of hero worship. It had been tainted when I’d learned about his history with Sergio—and when I saw the way he sometimes behaved at the club—but I couldn’t deny some of that worship still lingered.
Maybe it was the reason why I was here, despite every rational argument that said this was not a good idea.
“Did you prepare all that data before you came here?”
“What?” I frowned. “No. I read all your papers. And interviews. And… yeah. Everything.”
“Unexpected.” Tony spoke slowly. There was a second before his gaze darted to the screen again. “I really can’t help you, Jaime.”
I—
Way to give someone whiplash. I’d been holding my breath, convinced helping was what he was about to do.
“Why?”
“Because there’s this little thing called reactance. If I interfere, he’ll see it as an attack, and he’ll just double down and make things even worse for you.”
“But you could…”
Yeah, no idea. I groaned.
As my anxiety grew, I rubbed my fingers on the couch. I had no idea what kind of fabric covered the couch. It looked like tweed, but it felt softer.
“Will you have him for any more classes?”
I whipped my head back to him. “I don’t know.”
I was in my third year. In an ideal world, I would’ve finished college years ago—unless I’d chosen to go for a Master’s, which I might have to do anyway because after Erasmus was implemented, a degree was worth close to nothing without one—but I hadn’t started college at the same time as the people my age because I’d been more interested in working and making money to get top surgery. I hadn’t been able to picture starting college without getting that out of the way first.
“Well?” Tony pushed my laptop toward me. “Check.”
“Why?”
“Because if he’s only your professor for this one class, it seems doable. If he’s not, you might want to stop bothering with the ongoing email fights and look into transferring.”
“I can’t just transfer.”
“You’re on a private scholarship, right?”
I frowned. How did he?—
Oh, right, because there was only one public university here, and it was the one he taught at.
“Yes.”
“Can you apply for one to the State?”
“It wouldn’t be enough.”
Issues about them taking forever to respond and send the money to my account aside, the State-granted scholarships covered little more than tuition. They might cover food, but rent, utilities, and every other emergency that could come up? I wasn’t too sure, and I felt too old to go back to sharing crumbling studios again.
I didn’t even remember if I qualified anymore. Back when I was in high school, there were age-based limitations depending on the degree.
“Enough for what?”
“Uh, paying the bills?” I scoffed. I knew Tony had money—everyone with eyes knew that even if they didn’t recognize his last name—but, come on. I was expecting more class awareness. “Putting food on the table? Being able to have a life outside of college and my shitty apartment?”
Just because I didn’t want to go back to studios that were one step away from falling apart didn’t mean my savings and scholarship were giving me access to the Ritz. My apartment had two tiny bedrooms, and two even tinier bathrooms, which still made sharing with Cece ten times more comfortable for both of us, but no other amenities to write home about.
Tony pursed his lips. “Is everything an attack to you, boy?”
“Stop with the boy thing,” I said with a growl.
Tony lifted his chin. “Stop acting like one.”
“The fuck?”
Tony just made himself more comfortable. Bald heads didn’t usually do it for me, but there was something about how he ran his hands over his before clasping them behind his head and leaning back. Manspreading didn’t begin to explain how he was sprawled all over the couch.
“Read the book. Draft a response. Send it to me, and do not email it back to your professor until I’ve approved every single comma in there. Are we clear?”
“You’d do that?” I frowned. My eyes widened as I realized what it meant. Well, it wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind when I all but ran here—after the bus dropped me less than two blocks away—but it was the closest I could realistically get to it. “Thank you?”
No clue why it came across as a question.
Tony chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s a reason people give me the lowest ratings on the yearly surveys.”
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t scare easy, and I’d heard all the tea there.
That was to say, there was none. Even when Tony’s name made it to all the digital newspapers when he was outed last year and everyone was talking about it? Students only talked about how he had a stick up his ass or how he didn’t let anyone hand over an assignment past its deadline. The main critique was that he didn’t do multiple choice tests and how he pretended to be cool for his old school methods.
If only they knew about his methods behind closed doors.
“Work me as hard as you want.”
Did I mention I lose even more of my filter when I’m trying to keep it together? It was a thing.
Clearly.
Tony just raised an eyebrow. “Happy to.”
What?
His tone remained flat, but…
Nope.
Not going there.
This was already bad enough without adding him flirting with me to the equation. That hadn’t been flirting. It had just been… a weird choice of words. Just like mine.
It was fine.
I studied him better. No, it had just been my imagination. There was a chance I might be the tiniest bit overworked.
Cece kept saying I needed to go on a weekend getaway with them. I didn’t know what had happened—something must have—but for the last couple of months, whenever they weren’t at the club or glued to (one of) their keyboards, they were either planning a trip or boarding a plane, train, or something.
I loved that for them, but it was weird. It also left me with too much spare time on my hands. And the ability to make too many bad decisions.
“Can I ask you something?”
Case in point.
“You already are.” Tony smirked.
Repeat after me, brain: Arrogance is not attractive.
It wasn’t.
Period.
I had more sense than this, dammit. Sadly, I also had a weak spot for rolled up sleeves and corded muscles, and…
Fuck.
Sergio wouldn’t have to kill me—I’d do it myself, the second I was out of here.
“Anyway.” I cleared my throat. I did not come here because of some wild crush I always felt too embarrassed about to say anything. “It’s just… How are you coping with everything? You’re very distant at the club.”
To be fair, he’d always been distant. He usually monitored a room from a distance, in that way that made you impossibly aware of him even though he wasn’t even acknowledging your presence. It was a whole thing, and he’d more than mastered it.
It jarred me when he wasn’t there for the nights we all hung out together. Or when he was there, but he was completely spaced out. Well, not spaced out. He kept signing up as a DM, and he was good at it, but there was no heat. It was strange. And maybe it frustrated me more than I let on that I couldn’t talk about it with anyone because I was simping over a not-great person.
I mean, I didn’t have all the intel to build my own opinion, but I didn’t care too much either way, and that had to make it worse.
Tony sat forward, elbows on his knees. “And what else would you expect me to do?”
I ran a hand through my hair. I didn’t have an answer for him, but I was sure he knew as much. “Well, I don’t think it’s fair.”
“What’s not fair?”
That there’s no way out of this conversation because I’ve just talked myself into a corner .
“I just don’t understand why you can’t be a part of the group. You’ve always been an asshole, but you were kinda there all the same.”
“I’ve never been a part of your group.” Tony shook his head. It might be me, but there was resignation in his voice. “I don’t see the point in switching things up now.”
I scowled. I couldn’t help it. Cece always said I wore my emotions too close to the surface. Usually, I said it wasn’t true, but I knew it was. I didn’t like it, so I avoided thinking about it.
Obviously, it didn’t always work.
“You know why. You’re alone.”
“I’m what I need to be,” Tony retorted.
“That makes no sense.” If he wanted to be alone, he wouldn’t be a member of an exclusive community. He’d just build a playroom in his house and call it a day. No one who joined Plumas could say they had no interest in community, even if they held idealized or skewed versions of what that word meant. “I know you hang out with Erika.”
“Hanging out is a stretch.”
For a second, he looked like he was about to say something else. I wondered if this was the first time he’d gotten close to opening up, but that would be… narcissistic of me, surely.
Anyway, Tony cleared his throat and licked his lips, then sat up more properly, hands slapping his thighs. “Are you hungry?”
“Huh?”
Tony rewarded my confusion with the most unimpressed look he could muster. I couldn’t even use the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in a while as an excuse for all this embarrassing, basic as fuck simping. I’d been buried in Sergio’s ass for what felt like hours last night. He and Abel had invited me to their place after brunch. I might’ve already been in a mood because of the emails and because Cece was away and wouldn’t get back until morning, when I’d be in class.
Sergio’s Daddy was fucking cuddly during aftercare, too. And he treated me just as he did Sergio—sans the sippy cups and diapers, thankfully. But the point was, it should’ve been enough to keep my head on straight for at least a few days.
Apparently not.
Tony sighed. It wasn’t the best thing—or the sound I wanted to elicit out of a person I was talking with—but it was good. It meant I stopped thinking about Sergio’s running mouth.
“Let me guess. You came here straight from class?”
I frowned. “Yes?”
Why was he asking me? This wasn’t how we worked. He didn’t ask me stuff.
“So, the last time you ate was…?”
Did he want me to complete that sentence? I wasn’t a student in an English class, thank you very much.
But apparently not answering wasn’t the right option, because he just shook his head and stood up. Did it mean I was dismissed?
I didn’t know how to feel about that.