Chapter 1
Chapter One
Zeke
Only three more months for this shitshow to come to an end.
Don’t get me wrong—I love my brothers. I love college and my frat house and my classes, but after almost two straight years of having to be in charge and on the ball, I’m looking forward to having free time again.
Just … three … months.
The new Sigma Beta Psi president is going well.
I’ve been training him over the last few months, and with finals coming up, it’s time for me to take a baby step back.
I’m still the sitting president, so I’m still in charge of this whole circus, but as long as nothing dramatic happens between now and graduation, he should be able to handle it.
I pull up in the driveway of our frat house, bracing myself to get out into the cold morning. You’d think after ten years of early swim practice, I’d be used to it by now, but the goddamn cold gets me every time.
Thank fuck swim season is over. Now, my training is voluntary. To stay in peak fitness. It would be hard to haul my ass out of bed so early every morning if I wasn’t so single-mindedly focused on my goal.
The sun hasn’t made it into the sky yet, but it’s starting to lighten enough for me to see where I’m going. This morning’s swim was slower than I’d like, but I’m still shredding my times from a few years ago, and it looks like qualifying for the Olympics next year should be achievable.
Last time I’d gone for the Olympic team, I was eighteen, and it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Unfortunately, that’s not how you go for gold, and I’d been a second too slow to qualify, despite competing at an international level for years.
Next year is going to be my year.
College and the drinking and hookup culture will be behind me, and I’ll be able to focus on the goal right at the top of my dream board.
I creep inside, careful not to draw the attention of anyone who might be awake, and dart into the hall leading to my bedroom.
It’s the only one on the ground floor and comes with its own private bathroom, which may or may not have been the selling point that made me try out for this gig in the first place.
Well, that, and I can date plan like a motherfucker. Spreadsheets, calendars, flowcharts—I’m your man. Nothing gets past me.
Usually. I’ve dropped the ball over the last few months, and it still doesn’t sit right. Control issues? Me?
It’s a good thing I hide it well.
Behind my laid-back persona is a punctual, anal-retentive overachiever who can’t handle a loss.
Thank fuck I’m fun at parties.
Even though I showered in the locker room, I take another one at home so I can rub one out. The amount of jerking off I’ve been doing lately is goddamn ridiculous, and I swear my brothers are starting to take notice of the amount of time I spend in my room.
Studying, I call it.
Yeah, studying my cock.
I know I can go out and hook up like the others; I’ve done it plenty of times before.
Freshman and sophomore years, I wasn’t as crazy as the rest of my pledge group, but I had my fun.
The last two years though … I’ve been busy.
All that pressure I’ve put myself under takes priority, but I’m also getting to a point where I can’t find the energy to play the cheap hookup game.
One-night stands have lost their charm, and talking to drunk people is starting to drive me nuts.
For a couple of months there, I’d had a no-strings someone I could text every time I needed to let off some steam, but with how full my schedule is, I can’t remember the last time we met up.
As hot as it was, it’s probably a good thing it’s over.
The plan is to move over the summer to a training facility on the West Coast and spend the next year swimming like my life depends on it.
After the Olympics, I can give my right hand a rest and focus on finding someone to settle down with.
The extra arm muscle I’m working up can’t hurt.
I’m onto a good thing.
A solo sex sesh now and then seems like an easy trade-off.
Even though my cock disagrees with me.
I’m hit with the image of large, warm hands on me, and want runs through my system. How long has it been since I last hooked up? Out of curiosity, I grab my phone and open the messages, scrolling back through our texts until I find the coded one I’m looking for.
Me:
Hush Hush 11:00
Fucking December? I knew it had been a while, but over three months since I got my dick wet? It makes sense considering the last three months have been intense training and competing, but damn. I glance at my right hand, filled with renewed appreciation for the trooper.
I’m tempted to send another message and hope for the best, but after three months, is this even something we’re still doing? Hell if I know. Besides, my schedule for the next week at least is tight.
Someone pounds on my door, and I hold in a groan as I check the time. Barely six and it’s already starting.
Woo-fucking-hoo.
I lock my phone and toss it on the bed, disappointment hitting hard that there are no blow jobs in my immediate future, then go and see who the hell is around at this time.
Larken grins at me the second I get my door open. He looks like a meathead—shoulder-length black hair, thick neck, square jaw with a butt in his chin, but he’s a total softie inside. He’s going to make an excellent replacement.
“Mornin’, prez.”
“Hey.” I leave the door open and hunt down a T-shirt.
Larken leans against the doorframe like always, almost as though he’s afraid to step foot in here. I wish some of the other guys would take his lead. The number of times I’ve shared a bed with Robbie because the dickhead was too drunk to make it up the stairs …
I shake off that thought. “Busy day?” I ask absently.
“A few rough classes, but I should be fine. Listen, I know you’re supposed to meet with Rick later to go over the accounts, but any chance I can do it?”
The excited note in his tone brings to mind a puppy wagging his tail. Was I ever that enthusiastic?
“I’m not gonna fight you over it,” I say.
“Awesome. I have your rundown from last month and love the spreadsheet you put together. It makes it so much more streamlined. But I was thinking, could we maybe build a contingency into it with the money that’s unallocated? That way, Nationals won’t question the extra and bump up our dues?”
Fuck dammit. Apparently, that was another oversight of mine. I force a smile, internally kicking myself at the obvious solution. “That’s a great idea, brother.”
“Really?” His face lights up.
Pipe down, Fido. I have the urge to pat his head. “Yeah. It’s smart.”
A relieved breath rushes out of him. “Thanks, Zeke.”
“Too easy.” And if he’s taking that meeting … I can probably rearrange my afternoon and … the disappointment makes way for premature excitement. “Since you’re taking point on that, I’ll probably be back late tonight. I have an assessment to turn in, so I’ll be able to use the extra time there.”
Larken chuckles. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about relaxing, would you?”
“I’ll relax when I’m dead.” Or, with any luck, after I’ve had my dick sucked.
Larken raps his knuckles against the doorframe. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
I nod, and he leaves, taking the whirlwind of excitement with him.
Maybe I’ve gotten jaded over the years or don’t have time to add that additional pep into my step, but I’m strangely okay with that.
I know Larken is nervous about stepping on my toes, but the dude doesn’t have to worry when I’m ready to stand aside and let him go nuts.
We all know the deal here. Executive positions are temporary.
Even if some of the brothers don’t want to acknowledge that yet.
I chuckle and grab my phone, returning to the messages I had open.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I wonder whether I’m actually going to do this.
Sure, whatever we had was never a regular thing, but I don’t think we went longer than a month between seeing each other.
Maybe it’s over and we’ve never discussed it. Maybe my text will go unanswered.
Or maybe … maybe I’ll get some much-needed relief.
I cover my face with one hand as I type out the message.
Me:
Hush Hush 11
Then I wait. My heartbeat is loud in my ears, and I’m already regretting that it has to be so late when I’ll be up at four for swim practice, but one late night isn’t going to kill me. Blowing my load might actually make me not so sluggish.
A minute passes, then two. It never normally takes long to get a reply, and just as I’m about to curse myself for thinking this is still a thing, my phone lights up in my hand.
A thumbs-up.
Fucking A.