Chapter 23 #2
We make our way through the crowd of students, and I don’t know if it’s because no one’s paying attention or Silas did a good job covering himself with a hat, glasses, and hoodie, but we go undetected. When we reach the classroom, thankfully, it’s a larger one, so we can sit in the back.
When we sit down, I notice just how big Silas is for the seat, his shoulder expanding into my space, but I welcome the comfort of having him near.
As I take out my laptop to take notes, I say, “Now, no distracting me. Got it?”
“How would I distract you?”
“Uh, touching, talking . . . breathing.”
“You don’t want me to breathe?” he asks, a raise to his brow.
“It will remind me how you breathe in my ear when you’re ready to come. There will be none of that.”
“You have to let him breathe,” Ross says. “Having a giant hockey man pass out in the middle of class will bring more attention than you want.”
“Fine,” I huff. “You can breathe, but that’s it.”
“Understood,” he says. “And just to clarify one more time, there’s a strict no-touching policy?”
“Very strict.”
“No handholding?”
“Would that be touching?” I ask him.
“Yeah.”
“Then no . . . no handholding. Just sit there and try not to turn me on.”
He stretches his arms in front of him and says, “I can’t make any promises since I’m so alluring to you, but I’ll try.”
“The cockiness is actually making me dryer by the second.”
“Can we not?” Ross asks as he sips his coffee. “I don’t want to think about your wet nether regions.”
“I sure as hell do,” Silas says.
I point at him. “That’s exactly what not to do. No comments like that. Just sit there and be quiet.”
The professor walks in before I can shoot off any more warnings to Silas. Class starts, I prep my notes with a header, and just as the professor starts talking, a text message pops up on my computer.
Silas: You look really pretty.
I glance over at him, and he points to the front of the class and whispers, “Pay attention.”
I roll my eyes and focus up front even though I can smell his addicting cologne waft toward me every time he shifts.
I start typing something the professor said when another text pops up on my screen.
Silas: That sweatshirt looks hot on you too.
My nostrils flare, and when I glance in his direction, he points at the front again.
He’s in so much trouble.
So instead of turning toward him, I type him back.
Ollie: What happened to no distractions?
Silas: Can’t a guy tell his girlfriend he thinks she’s pretty?
Ollie: Not when she’s trying to pay attention in class. This might be how you acted when you were in school back in the day, but not me.
Silas: Using the term “back in the day” will get you spanked, and you text me all the time from class, so don’t try to be Miss Studious just because I’m here.
Ollie: Threatening me with a spanking? Oh no, I’m shivering in my boots.
Silas: I can taste your sarcasm it’s so heavy.
Ollie: Do you really think a spanking is a punishment? You know I only get wetter when you slap my ass.
Silas: Fine . . . then your punishment will be no fellatio.
Ollie: Ew, don’t use the term fellatio. God, Grandpa.
Silas: I’m surprised you even knew what that was. Fine, no sucking my cock.
Ollie: That’s fine. I can handle that.
Silas: Liar. You’re itching to blow me right now.
Ollie: You’re vulgar.
Silas: LOL. Says the girl who tells me to fill her with my cum every goddamn time we’re together.
Ollie: That’s not vulgar. That’s just an honest request.
Silas: I love how you’re able to run circles around the truth. Truly inspiring.
Ollie: I’m studying to be a journalist after all. We have to run around the truth a bit.
Silas: Studying to be a journalist? Seems more like you’re occupied with texting your extremely hot boyfriend.
Ollie: Yes, my extremely hot boyfriend who is thirty-one and sitting in a college class because he’s so attached to me that he can’t spare a moment without smelling my pheromones.
Silas: Is that what the oniony smell is?
I gasp and poke him in the side, causing him to laugh, drawing some attention from the students around us. Silas adjusts his glasses and sinks lower into his chair.
I see him type away on his phone, and I try to pay attention to what the professor is saying, but it’s no use as another text from him pops up.
Silas: You’re going to get yourself thrown out of class. Is that the goal?
Ollie: The goal is to pay attention, but you’re distracting me.
Silas: It’s because I like you, and I think you’re cute.
Ollie: We would never have been able to be in class together if we were the same age.
Silas: We wouldn’t even be talking to each other if we were the same age.
Ollie: Why do you say that?
Silas: I was a dweeb in college. Didn’t have dick piercings, which I know is a huge plus for you. Barely had any tattoos, and my head was shaved.
Ollie: Oh my God, I need to see pictures.
Silas: Maybe one day if you’re lucky. But you must earn the opportunity.
Ollie: Sucking your dick every night hasn’t earned me that opportunity?
Silas: It’s brought you closer. These are sacred pictures. But back to us knowing each other in college. I would never have gone for it because I was with Sarah. I never would have even talked to you.
Ollie: What if you came to college single? Then what? Would you have talked to me?
Silas: Still no. You would have been placed in the too pretty catalog.
Ollie: Now you’re just being ridiculous.
Silas: I’m not. It’s the truth. You’re gorgeous, Ollie. I would have been intimidated.
Ollie: Nope, not falling for it. I’m not reaching over and holding your hand because you’re being all cute and telling the truth. Nice try, fella.
Silas: Wasn’t looking for a handhold . . . but it would have been nice. I like holding your hand, makes me feel at home.
“Oh my God,” I mutter right before I rest my hand on his thigh. From the corner of my eye, I see his grin stretch from ear to ear. His hand encapsulates mine, and he gives it a good squeeze.
For the rest of class, he sits there, holding my hand while I take one-handed notes on my computer.
And honestly, I’m not even mad about it.
* * *
“Did you search this place out?” I ask Silas as we sit at a small, hole-in-the-wall deli where we ordered pastrami sandwiches.
“I might have looked up delis near your campus. Being the sandwich lover you are, I assumed you already knew about this place.”
“I don’t, and I feel embarrassed about it.”
“You should,” he says as he unfolds his sandwich. It smells amazing.
I lift the pickle that comes with the sandwich and take a bite. As I chew, I lightly moan. “Oh my God, so good.” Silas stares at me, a pinch in his brow. “What?” I ask him.
“Can you please not moan? I don’t want to have a boner while eating a pastrami sandwich.”
I chuckle. “You need to control yourself.”
“Won’t happen when you’re around. Sorry. Control your moaning.”
“Can’t when a pickle hits me in all the right spots.”
“You hear yourself, right? You hear how that can be taken out of context?”
I smirk. “Maybe I wanted it to.”
He shakes his head at me. “You’re so fucking dirty.”
“Pot calling the kettle black. Not sure I’ve ever met a dirtier man than you.”
“You haven’t lived long enough,” he says as he lifts his sandwich to his mouth. “Talk to me when you’re thirty.”
“First of all, I don’t plan on having experience with anyone else, and also . . . when I’m thirty, that means you’re forty. Will you even be able to walk around with me, or will Granddad need a cane?”
“Make fun of me all you want,” he says, taking a bite of his sandwich. He chews and swallows. “But when I’m forty, I’ll still make you come harder than any other man.”
My cheeks blush as I realize that is so true.
“So what are the plans for when I’m gone?” he asks as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“Wallow in self-pity because my fine-ass boyfriend won’t be around.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Just the answer I was looking for.”
I nudge his shoulder with mine playfully and say, “I don’t know. Probably try to catch up on schoolwork. Watch the games with Ross now that he’s an addict. Work out of course. Not too much.”
“Are you behind on schoolwork?”
“Just a little. I’m not one who likes to procrastinate. It’s why it really bothered me to take so long on that article for Roberts. I just like to get my stuff done and not have it hang over me. But ever since I started seeing this guy, he seems to consume a lot of my time.”
“Hmm, he sounds like bad news.” Silas takes a bite of his sandwich.
“Yeah, he’s not too bad. But I figured the best time to catch up is when you’re on your away trips. Kind of works out nicely. Spend time with you, catch up on schoolwork.”
“Are you going to be going out?”
He’s fishing for information, and I don’t know why, but I find it endearing in a weird sort of way.
“Are you asking if I plan on going out to clubs and dancing the night away while my boyfriend is gone?”
“You said it,” he says, and I know he’s joking, but there’s also a layer of insecurity inside him. He might trust me, but he still battles that niggling doubt. So I make it easy on him.
I press my hand to his and say, “I don’t plan on going out, not without you.” He glances up at me, those ice-blue eyes piercing my very soul, and I have this overwhelming sense of affection for him. Consuming and almost paralyzing because, at this moment, I know . . . I know I love him.
My heart is screaming at me to say it, to tell him how I truly feel. But my brain is slamming on the brakes. It might not be the best idea, not when he still seems a touch flighty and not sure of himself. I don’t want to scare him away. That’s the last thing I want.
“If you wanted to go out . . .” He pauses and swallows. “That’s your choice, and I’d be fine with it.”
I set my sandwich down and face him. “I appreciate that, but just so you know, I don’t need that in my life. I have you now, and that’s all I need. So don’t worry about me when you’re gone, okay?”