Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Zeke
After a long day of classes, this is the last thing I need to see when I pull up back at home. Chad and Robbie are sitting in the recliners on our front lawn, buckets of Nerf bullets at their side and footprints leading in every direction through the lingering snow.
I brace myself before I climb out and approach them.
Robbie picks up the megaphone at his side and calls out to me with it. “Zeke!”
“Your voice doesn’t need that thing,” I point out.
“Sure it does.” He holds it up and directs it toward the street. “Blue team, go!”
As I watch, three of our brothers dart out of the bushes, blue bandanas tied around their foreheads and Nerf guns held out in front of them.
I have no idea what’s going on here, and past experience tells me I don’t want to know.
Turning my back on one problem, I prepare to address another. “There have been more comments on that post.”
Chad’s eyebrows wrinkle. “Anything specific?”
“Yeah and no. It’s all bullshit except for one comment about that prank the Kappas pulled last year.”
“Fuck,” Chad mutters.
“Blue team, left!”
I jump at Robbie’s sudden boom, but he puts the megaphone down and shrugs.
“The way I see it, the post was … a week ago? It’s had a few comments, but no one is really paying attention to it. They’re just some asshole geeds talking shit and hoping something will stick.”
“And if something does stick, we’re screwed.”
“You’re thinking about it too much, brother. Brando is keeping an eye on things, and nothing there has hit his radar. We have better things to focus on, like spring formal. I’m in charge of organizing it this year, and it’s gonna be epic.”
“Gotta say, I agree. Focusing on that noise is a waste of time,” Chad adds. “Plus, the Kappas are the ones who fucked up, not us. No one is taking a bunch of whining comments seriously.”
“Still think it’s them,” Robbie says. “Would be just like those fuckers to try and blame that on us.” The edge in Robbie’s voice always creeps in whenever he talks about that day.
“I’ve told you it isn’t.”
“No, you said it wasn’t Charles. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t one of the others.”
“Like Lucas,” Chad practically growls.
And now both of them are getting territorial over their men. Great. There’s no reasoning with them once their caveman instincts have kicked in. I’ll never understand.
And this is the part I hate about being president: getting through to my brothers. I love them—they’re fun and creative and have enormous hearts. But sometimes I wanna whack them over the heads.
There’s a wail behind me, and Robbie starts barking into the megaphone again. I turn to Chad.
“This is one of those things I don’t want to know about, isn’t it?”
He grins. “We’re just playing.”
“With Kappas?”
“Who else?”
I head for my car again. There’s no way I’m going to get through to any of them because in their mind, school is almost over, so that makes us untouchable. Plus, we haven’t done anything wrong. There’s no evidence because no hazing has taken place.
As I back out of the driveway, I’m torn between heading to the library to get some studying in and going, well, anywhere.
My brain is running wild with all the different outcomes of these stupid posts, and I don’t think I’m going to get over it until I talk it out.
Maybe Brandon would shut up and listen, or I could rope Larken into the mess and make him deal with it instead.
Too bad I have a sense of responsibility the size of my fucking ego to deal with, and letting go of this and putting it from my mind isn’t something I’m capable of doing.
I have friends I could talk to, family, and yet, when I think of who I could call to unload on, there’s only one name that comes to mind.
He did offer. Charles already knows all about the shit going on, and out of everyone, he knows the kind of effect shit like this can have on fraternities.
Hazing is a very real problem. There are even other branches of Sigma Beta Psi that do it, I’d bet my ass on it.
It’s a narrative the media froth over, and the clickbait titles get people every time.
It’s serious. People have died.
That’s why the Greek community at WHU has been so gung ho about weeding the filth out of our lives. We’re not serious a lot of the time, but when it comes to safety, we’ll peer pressure the hell out of anyone who doesn’t make it a priority.
But talking to Charles is a slippery slope.
We’ve always kept things frat related. As professional as two frat presidents can manage.
No hints at our nightly meetups—I won’t even let myself think of them during daylight hours.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something changed the second my name passed his lips as he came.
It was so fucking hot.
And weird.
Because the illusion vanished, and now I have to deal with constantly picturing him on his knees.
Even with that reminder, there’s still a buzzing under my skin trying to convince myself it’s the right step.
Charles and I aren’t friends specifically, and that’s on purpose.
But now that the fucking around is over, there’s no real reason not to be.
College is ending, the rivalry is behind us—maybe this is one last thing we can work on together?
Besides, as soon as Charles works out my idiots are pranking them, he’ll want to let loose at me about that as well. Two birds, one stone.
Yes, this is definitely the right choice.
Even if I’m weirdly nervous as I tell my phone to call him. When he answers, it takes a second for my brain to kick in.
“Hey, ah, you still free for coffee?”
“Yeah, umm, like, right now? I’m free. Totally nothing on.” His breathless voice makes me smile.
“Sweet. Need me to pick you up?”
“I’m on campus—is that okay?”
“Text me where, and I’ll be there in five.”
When the text comes through, I almost curse.
Of course he’s at the parking lot near Jeremiah, like the universe wants to constantly remind me of the things we’ve done to each other.
I try to reason that it doesn’t count when we couldn’t see and it could have technically been anyone, but that excuse is getting thin on the ground when I can’t push that image of Charles on his knees out of my mind.
He’s waiting where he said, copper hair wind-tousled and cheeks slapped red from the cold. I pull in close to him and lean over the center console to open his door.
“Thanks,” he says, dumping his heavy bag into the footwell with a thunk. “I walked today, and I wasn’t looking forward to walking home.”
“Too easy.”
The car fills with his scent, and silence falls over us as I pull away.
“Where we’re going?” He clears his throat. “Are we going, I mean?”
I reach over to turn up the heat. It isn’t super cold out, but Charles is rubbing his hands like he’s trying to get them warm. “I was thinking about getting drive-thru coffee and sitting at the lake, but it’s cold. Maybe Deja Brew?”
“Do you want people to hear you talking about hazing? Besides, it’s not like we, umm, have to get out of the car, so …”
“True. The lake it is, then.”
He tries to pay as we go through the drive-thru, but I wave the card away. Maybe he’s richer than god, I don’t know, but buying two coffees isn’t exactly going to break the bank.
There’s more silence as I drive. It settles around us so heavy the urge to blurt out anything is getting to me. It occurs to me this is probably the first time we’ve hung out without a detailed agenda to go through.
I pull up at the lake and put the car in park but keep the engine running.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“Sure thing.” My heart seems to be thumping louder than usual, but I force the usual calmness I adopt whenever I’m in a stressful situation. “Thanks for making time for me.”
“What happened to talking with your brothers?”
A small laugh slips past me. “I love them, but they’re not so great with the talking.”
“So you called me.”
“Well, you offered,” I throw back like he’s accused me of something.
That fucking silence kicks in again.
“My brothers are pranking your house, by the way,” I tell him.
“They’re what?”
I send a lazy smile his way as I watch him scramble for his phone. “Relax, it’s probably over by now.”
“Is that why you called? To get me out of the way?”
“No offense, Chuck, but what are you gonna do to stop us?”
He glowers at me. The type of full-on glare that makes his lips all pouty. “I offered to be nice, and this is what I get? I should have known it was misguided to trust a Sigma, and yet time and again—”
I chuckle and give him a soft shove. “Dude, relax. That’s not why I asked you to come.”
“So why did you?”
“I …” Fuck, why did I? Saying it felt right sounds lame and unexplainable. “Why not?”
He doesn’t answer, but before that stupid silence can kick in again, I say, “So … hazing.”
“Yeah, whoever is doing this probably doesn’t realize they’re implicating us all.”
“Or maybe they do. Maybe they rushed Sigma and didn’t get a bid. Maybe they’re a geed who hates that we have an awesome brotherhood, and they’re left jerking off in the dorms over a pair of tits they saw that one time.”
“You can really paint a picture with your words.”
“And with other things.” The words are meant as a joke, but they come out full of subtext that even I’m not totally prepared for—like I’m determined to remind the both of us of all the times I’ve painted his tonsils with my cum.
Charles’s eyes fly to mine and lock on, and this uncomfortable sort of moment passes between us.
I’ve … I don’t think I’ve ever looked him in the eyes before.
Is that right? It can’t be. I look at him when we talk, and I watch him as he rambles on about dumb shit, but …
I didn’t know his eyes were green—no. Blue?
No … I squint to try and work it out, but I can’t decide on a definite color.
“What are you doing?”
His whisper cuts me out of the creepy-ass staring, and I jerk back. “Ah, just …”
Charles hurries to busy himself with taking a sip of his coffee, but the lid displaces, and hot liquid gushes over him. “Oh, shit,” he gasps.
“Whoa.” I twist away from the spray, but my car isn’t so lucky, and before I can grab the wet wipes from my glove compartment, Charles’s mouth has hit fast forward.
“Holy crap I can’t believe that just happened. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—I’m not even sure—and now there’s coffee … shit, it’s everywhere, Zeke, I—”
“Stop talking.”
His mouth snaps shut, and it almost makes me laugh.
“It’s only a drink. Chill.”
I lean over him to open the compartment and grab the wipes to hand over. He’s stiff beside me, but eventually, his arm comes alive, and he reaches for them. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing. You clean that shit up; I’ll grab you something to put on from the trunk.”
I jump out of the car before he can argue.
My trunk is full of shit, but I sift through the mess, looking for something that would work.
The first thing I find is my Sigma Beta Psi sweatshirt, but I toss it aside.
There’s no way I’m giving him my letters.
My swim bag is in there, along with the WHU team hoodie I wear to practice in the mornings.
The damn thing doesn’t get washed nearly enough since I only wear it for a few minutes each morning, so it’s not my first choice, but it’ll have to do.
I grab it for a sniff test but can’t make out anything. Oh well, all I can do is cross my fingers that I’m not about to gas Charles with the stench.
He’s cleaned up my car by the time I’m back, and I hand over the hoodie.
“Y-your swim hoodie?”
“It was that or a Sigma sweater. I figure your brothers wouldn’t have let you back in the house with that on.”
“Good call.” His gaze darts to me and away again before he reaches for his shirt.
“What’s the matter? Want me to turn around?”
“A bit late for modesty between us, don’t you think?
” His eyes fly wide, and he’s clearly as surprised as I am by the comment.
“I-I mean because of the other morning”—his mouth is off again—“when I flashed you. That’s why.
Obviously, because it’s the only time you’ve ever seen me naked.
The other times were—I mean …” He fans his wet shirt off his stomach.
I stare at him for a second … and then I crack up laughing. There’s nothing else I can do. This whole conversation has yo-yoed between awkward as fuck to almost normal and back again. Wow. My gut screwed up on this one because hanging out with Charles was not the right call.
“Just get changed.”
And like he was waiting for that reminder, he yanks his shirt up over his head. My gaze drops to his torso before I tear it away again. See? Look at that. I can respect his privacy.
But somehow, knowing he’s shirtless next to me is catching my interest way more than his full-frontal assault the other morning.
It’s the colliding of our two worlds. That’s all.
I blow out a long breath.
The sound of a zipper gives me the all clear to look again.
And yet, that isn’t any safer.
Charles shirtless feels like dangerous territory, but Charles huddled, flush-cheeked, in my hoodie …
Yeah, my cock takes notice.
Because that image is fucking criminal.