Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charles
Turns out a prostate is a wonderful, wonderful thing.
Especially when it’s introduced to Zeke’s cock.
It’s been a whole two days, and it’s all I’ve been able to think of.
Thankfully I haven’t had to do any of the legwork for this bake-off thing, because even during tutoring last night, I kept blanking out and getting distracted.
Sex has never been like that before. The intensity of being bent over and owned is still burning through my blood. The knowledge that it was my body that drove him to pleasure fills me with a satisfaction so deep I’m brimming with it.
“We’re all ready,” Sam says, jogging up the front stairs to join me on the deck.
I glance down Greek Row at the pop-up tents and platforms littering every lawn.
All fourteen houses are taking part, and in a little over an hour, each fraternity or sorority will compete to create …
something. Naming it after a TV show where people can actually cook still seems ambitious to me, but at least they all have goals.
Both sides of the street are closed off, and we’ve pooled all the houses’ pledges to either ticket collect at either side or to walk the crowd in cupcake costumes, collecting donations.
There’s already a metric truckload of food ready for the spectators and competitions and raffles for people to be involved with, and we have past alumni from each house coming to judge the bake-off.
As much as Kappa house loves to compete in things like this, Sam struggled to find volunteers who would be part of the competition. Most of us have grown up with cooks and can barely heat up a ready meal. It’s not something I’m proud of, but hey, charity. That’s what this day is about.
“Yo, Chuck.”
My gut swims at the voice, and I glance over to the stairs just as Zeke climbs them. He looks incredible, like always, but there’s something breath-catching about seeing him out of the blue.
“The dean’s on board.”
My mouth opens to reply, but it occurs to me that I don’t have any clue what he’s talking about. “On board for what?”
“Judging. He’ll be our tie-breaker.”
I gulp. “You invited him?”
“Duh. We’ve gotta keep him on side. This thing has snowballed—who knew people loved watching people cook?”
“Literally everyone on the Food Channel.”
Zeke grins. “I figured it would be a good PR move for WHU to show the fraternities and the college working together to raise money for a good cause.”
I hate to admit it, but it’s a good point. “Well, now the pressure is on.”
“No more than before.”
“Definitely more than before.” The more I think about the dean being here, paying attention to us, makes panic rise up.
“We’re supposed to be impressing him from afar, not inviting him right here where anyone will be able to say anything and we won’t be able to refute it.
Jesus, Zeke. What if someone mentions the app or the posts or worse—shows him?
That’ll make this entire thing …” My rant trails off at the way he’s watching me. Soft eyes, small smile. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not.” His smile grows. “You look so … pissy.”
You’re cute when you’re all pissy.
My cheeks flood with heat. “That’s enough of that.”
“Breathe, Chuck. It’ll be fine. The dean isn’t interested in gossip that has no support.
The dumb posts have disappeared. It’s a great day, and it’s been an eye-opening week.
” He winks, and I glance over at Sam to see if he’s paying attention, but he’s busy reading through his list. “So relax and have fun for once.”
“I have a bad feeling …”
“Noted. Now, push those emotions way down deep in a drawer somewhere, and let’s get this day started. Robbie and Miles are going to kick all of your asses.”
Sam snorts, apparently done with his list. “Robbie? You’ve seriously chosen the least patient, loose cannon in your house?”
“I love the way you underestimate him, Sammy.”
Sam drops his head back. “Enough with the dumb nicknames.” Sam turns to me. “Right, Chuck?”
Before I can answer, Zeke cuts in. “I told you, it’s fucking Charles.”
His tone leaves no room for argument—or anything if the silence that surrounds us is any indication.
I force a laugh. “Well, g-good luck to you and your brothers. May the best frat win.” My voice shakes, and I wish I could kick myself. Zeke must notice too because he pulls his gray eyes away from Sam and gives me that same smile he’s given me for years.
Because he thinks I’m cute.
I scowl.
“We might be in a truce, but you’re the enemy again today.” Zeke rubs his hands together.
“If you pull anything, the truce is off. This is a friendly competition.”
“Aren’t they always?” Zeke asks.
“No. You guys always go that step too far.”
He shrugs. “Maybe we’re just friendlier than you.”
“Urg, enough.” I grab Zeke’s arm and steer him toward the stairs. “Off you go.”
But as I’m about to release him, Zeke’s hand closes over mine, and he whispers, “Side wager. Check your phone.”
He leaves, and Sam sends a what the fuck look my way.
“Yeah, no idea what that was,” I say. It’s surprisingly easy to behave normally when Zeke isn’t around.
He texts me straight away, and I step inside to find the message: President of the losers buys next coffee.
I choke back my laugh.
Me:
Are you a Sigma or not? Coffee? Put your money where your mouth is—literally. Losing prez gets on his knees in Hush Hush tonight
Zeke:
I’m so confused whether that’s a loss or win
Me:
Neither. It’s a deal
Zeke:
You’re on. Also, we’re really bad at betting
I screw up my nose.
Me:
Or maybe we’re just really, really good at it
I pocket my phone and get back to it. The morning passes so quickly I don’t get a chance to talk to Zeke again.
People funnel in from both ends of the street, and Sam was right that there was more interest than we thought there’d be.
One of the Delta brothers has set up his deck on their front porch, and music filters over the street as the pledges run up and down doing …
fuck, I don’t even want to know what those brightly colored cupcakes are up to.
The whole vibe is relaxed and happy, a far cry from those rumors about hazing and the seedy underbelly of frat life.
This is us sending a very clear message about how that shit doesn’t fly at WHU. We’re a community. A tight brotherhood. We’re not stupid enough to hurt or traumatize our own people.
The rumors are more or less forgotten when twelve o’clock rolls around. Zeke and the Alpha Chi president jump on a platform in the middle of the street while the brothers we have lined up to compete get ready.
“’Sup, esteemed attendees,” Zeke says. “Thanks for coming down to witness a bunch of college kids trying to cook. While the Great Greek Row Bake-Off sounds promising, I shit you not, this is going to be a disaster.”
Eric takes the megaphone, but my eyes don’t leave Zeke. He’s so … cool. Easygoing. It’s not hard to see why everyone wants to either friend him or fuck him, and somehow, he’s settled on me.
The whole time I’ve known him, I’ve hardly seen him with anyone, and considering the way some of his brothers treat the women around here like an all-you-can-eat buffet, it was noticeable fast that Zeke Ariston was picky.
Whether that’s the truth or total bullshit, I have no idea, but word got around, and suddenly Zeke became one of the hottest commodities on the row, even before he became president.
With those kinds of standards, I’m blown away that this thing between us started in the first place, let alone that it’s still going.
“… an hour and a half,” Eric says. “Once the time limit is up, that’s it. Judges will taste as is, and we’ll all keep our fingers crossed they walk out of here alive.”
Well, if they’re dead, they wouldn’t be walking out of here, would they?
He should have left the talking to Zeke.
Thankfully, Zeke takes back the megaphone, starts the countdown, and as soon as he reaches one, the whole street comes alive.
My brothers break into a run for the kitchen to grab all the shit they need.
Other than the ovens that we hauled out here with the help of multiple extension cords, everything else needs to be sourced inside the time limit.
We’ve got everything lined up on the counter inside, but when I glance back down to Sigma house, they seem to be a lot further ahead than any other house on the street, and as I watch …
“Those fucking cheaters.”
I stomp down my front stairs and jog down the street, shouldering through the crowds of people around.
“Zeke!”
He turns to me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Yes, Chuck?”
“What the hell is this?” I gesture to where Robbie and Miles are unloading the backpacks Chad, Rick, and Raymond are all wearing.
“Don’t know if you heard, but we’ve got a competition on today. The Great Greek Row—”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
His smile stretches wider. “Do I?”
“Zeke.” It’s my best cut-the-shit tone, but his eyebrows just creep higher. “Zeke. The rules specifically said no one was allowed to help.”
He taps his chin. “Did they though?”
“Yes. We all agreed it would only be the two people baking who would complete this.”
“Remind me of the wording.”
“The wording?”
His smile is its biggest yet. “Yeah, the wording we all signed.”
I frown, thinking of the piece of paper the presidents all jotted bullet points on before signing. “Two people only and—”
“—and all the rest are to be hands-off.” Zeke throws out his arms toward his brothers like ta-da. “Look, Chuck. No hands.”
That bastard is right. I swear steam shoots from my ears. Robbie and Miles are the only ones touching the ingredients and everything they’ll need. It looks like they loaded up the three backpacks inside and then unloaded them out here.
And because they were wearing backpacks, the others were completely hands-off.
Fuck.
Zeke pats my shoulder. “I know, I know, you’re disappointed in me, though to be fair …” His pat turns to a squeeze. “I’m disappointed in you too. You really should have picked this one.”
He laughs and jogs up onto the platform, leaving me to walk back home feeling slightly miffed.
They didn’t break the rules—those assholes never do—but they also know when they’re doing things that operate in the gray of sportsmanlike conduct, and that’s definitely what this was.
It hasn’t given them much of a head start, but I don’t for a second believe that’s all they have up their sleeves.
Bailey’s on our front lawn with the rest of our brothers.
“Did you know?” I ask, joining him.
“Nah, but I figured something was up. Chad couldn’t stop this dumb giggle every time the bake-off was mentioned.”
I shake my head. “We’ll beat them at their own game one day.”
“Sure we will. There’s still a whole two months to manage what you couldn’t in four years. Good to see you set yourself realistic goals.”
“You’ve been hanging out with your boyfriend too much.”
“If you had a boyfriend, you’d know that’s impossible.”
Spending too much time with one person? Definitely possible.
But then I think about how much I crave Zeke basically always and think Bailey might have a point.
In some hypothetical land where Zeke and I have a chance at being a thing, would spending time together come naturally, or would we get sick of each other?
I let out a long breath. That’s not something I’ll ever need to worry about.
“Unless you already have one.”
My head jerks up at Bailey’s words. “Ah, what?”
“Nothing.” He eyes me. “Just wondering.”
I lift my head to give the illusion of confidence and meet his eye. “There is no boyfriend. I’ll be at Cornell in a few months, so that would be pointless.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And there’s no one I feel that way for. Besides, I’m … my sexuality being what it is …” I clear my throat. “There’s no one.”
Bailey laughs. “Okay, let’s both pretend I believe you.”
“There’s nothing to—”
“Charles, I couldn’t give less of a shit. It’s fine. You’re allowed your secrets.”
I expel all the air in my lungs. “Thank you.”
“Though you probably shouldn’t hook up in storage closets at Sigma house if you don’t want people to know.”
My cheeks flood with heat, and I know I have to say something because Zeke will hate me if anyone finds out about us.
Bailey grabs my arm. “Seriously, relax. I haven’t and I won’t tell anyone.”
“Not even your boyfriend?”
“No. It’s not on me to out people. If it’s not my business, it stays out of my mouth. I just wanted to let you know that you weren’t being subtle.”
“Fuck.” My shoulders slump. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I guess we should cheer? They’ve added the thing to the thing.”
And this is why Bailey isn’t up there. “Is that why they’re also using the other thing?”
“Yeah, I think it’s so they can …” His hand rolls like he’s searching for the word. “Do the thingy.”
“Mix?”
He snaps his fingers. “That. Yes. They will mix and they will bake, and there will be food at the end of it. Now cheer, dammit.”
The crowd is being enthusiastic, I guess. To their credit, the whole hour and a half passes fast, and the enthusiasm never wanes. I purposely don’t glance back at Sigma house because if they’re bending more rules, I don’t want to know about it. We’re here to raise money. It doesn’t matter.
I certainly do not find it borderline charming.
The longer it goes on, the more I become invested. Bailey and I cheer for our guys, calling for them to hurry up and shouting instructions and directions as the time ticks down and their … I tilt my head. I’m not even sure what they’re cooking … but it looks bare and unfinished.
“Chances of us being top three?” Bailey asks, clapping.
“Of the wrong end, maybe.”
He sniggers and cheers some more. Bailey’s only been with us for a year, but it’s been great to slowly see him fitting in with his brothers and becoming a part of the group. Even with the relationship he has, he’s proven time and again that he’s a team player.
Exactly an hour and a half later, Eric gets on the megaphone and begins a thirty-second countdown that everyone around us joins in on.
My brothers are in a mad rush, trying to get the finishing touches done, when I let my gaze roam back to Sigma house.
And I … I promised myself I wouldn’t look for a reason.
Brandon has something in his mouth—sprinkles?
Glitter?—and is shaking it madly back and forth, while I think Miles is upside down, but Robbie’s bulk is in the way, and Zeke is fist pumping and cheering over something—
I tear my eyes away. Nope. I don’t want to know.
One thing can be said for those Sigma guys though: they know how to put on a show.