Zeke
Takes place before Frat Wars: King of Thieves - Start of senior year
When swim team practice is over, I sneak in the fastest shower in existence and race out of the locker room.
I give some of the guys I pass a quick upnod, but other than the two other Sigma brothers on the team, I tend to keep to myself.
I’ll laugh and joke around with the guys as much as the next person, but when it comes to getting to know them, I’m out.
Being closeted in a team full of barely-dressed jocks is both a lesson in temptation and a daily battle not to be discovered. Most of the guys’ attitudes don’t give me a huge dose of confidence in how they’d react if I ever come out or am outed.
The amount of f-bombs dropped on the daily are at least fuel to drive me harder to achieve my dream of the Olympics one day. I want to join the ranks of out queer athletes to show these fuckstains that they didn’t beat me.
There are days where I toy with the idea of coming out to my fraternity brothers–even just the group I’m closest with–but then I chicken out.
The walls of the house feel too big, and even though I’d trust those guys with my life, I’m not sure I can trust them with this.
They have the biggest hearts, but it’s always too hard to tell who will freak the fuck out over it, and as most of them are involved in sports, it’s hard to know if they’ve been drinking the toxic masculinity Kool-Aid.
The drive to Deja Brew is fast, but when I pull into the parking lot, I find Charles’s Mercedes already waiting for me. Not surprising, considering I’ve made the meeting with only two minutes to spare.
Charles is one of those guys who’s chronically early.
Always. I’m a stickler for time because I hate wasting other people’s, but things come up occasionally.
I get that. I’m not so sure Charles does, because when I walk in, he’s drumming his long, thin fingers on the table while he stares at the clock over the counter.
“Afternoon,” I say, forcing a carefree tone as I slide into the booth across from him.
He lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “You were almost late.”
“I’ll try harder next time.”
He inhales sharply, drawing his shoulders back and doing that thing I’ve started noticing, where he lifts his head and juts his chin forward a bit. It’s supposed to make him look confident, I guess, but it makes him look … something else.
Charles has always been around during my college life, but I’ve never spent much one-on-one time with him.
Well, not until the end of last year when he was being trained to take over as president of Rho Kappa Tau.
It was then we decided to make weekly meetings so he could rant about all the things my brothers have done to piss him off, and I can pretend to take notes and hear out his concerns.
I don’t actually give a fuck about his concerns though. The pranks are harmless, and my brothers are loudmouths. That’s not gonna change. Sigmas and Kappas have been rivals literally forever, and by the time our run as presidents is over, we’ll be rivals still.
Charles gets up to buy our coffees this time, and as I’m pulling out my laptop, I let my eyes follow him to the counter. He’s so completely different to the guys I’m used to. It’s one of the first things that caught my attention about him.
He comes from money, but so do most of the guys in his house. Charles looks it, though. Perfectly dressed, expensive haircut that makes his curls sit like a fucking crown. I huff a laugh over how dumb and dramatic I sound and drag my eyes away from him. I never let myself look for too long.
Not with any guy.
He slides my coffee order over to me, and I immediately down a sip. Considering I’m going to be studying late tonight and then have to be up at four for training, I’m going to need every last drop.
“Okay,” Charles says, right before he launches into his rant.
Thank fuck I can touch-type, because otherwise taking notes would be hard when I can’t drag my eyes away.
When Charles gets going it’s … yeah. He gets all in a flap, hands waving and pink spreading over his cheeks.
He has high cheekbones, defined features, and my gaze always snags on his top lip.
It’s thicker than the bottom one. Darker.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that on someone before, but I like it.
Is it natural, or is he one of those dudes who gets work done?
I wet my lips, and he keeps going. His voice is soothing. It’s a struggle to remember to type.
“Zeke?”
I snap back into focus with a jolt. “What’s up?” Apparently I’ve forgotten how to speak, because my voice has a breathlessness to it that isn’t usually there.
He nods at me. “Your hair’s dripping all over your collar. It’s wet.”
I shrug. “Came straight from a swim.”
“You do that a lot?”
“Twice a day, every day.” The swim team schedule is intense, and I’m always the first one there and the last one out.
“Oh.” He shifts, Adam’s apple jutting as he swallows. “I didn’t know it was so full on.”
“It’s gotta be if I’m going to be the best.”
“Are you?” His dark-rimmed eyes flick up to meet mine. “The best.”
I fling my gaze to the other side of the room. “I’m good” is all I say, because the conversation is making me uncomfortable. We don’t talk. Not … casually. He’s not interested in my life, and I’m definitely not interested in his, so why would we?
“Must be annoying, then.” His laugh is quick and forced. “Meeting me every week.”
I frown. Annoying isn’t the word I would have used. “It’s fine.”
“Maybe we should–”
“No.”
My fast response shocks us both silent.
I clear my throat, not sure where that came from. “Better for you to just get it all out here. Wouldn’t want you going to the dean to complain about us.”
“I would never.”
I shrug. “Can’t take the risk.”
Charles sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and clamps his top teeth down on it before slowly letting it out again. It’s all shiny and pink when it reappears. My pulse is still up from my swim, and maybe my ears got a little waterlogged, because I can hear my heartbeat in them.
“Being president is stressful, huh?”
“Sure, but it’s my second year of it, so I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“Right.” He shifts, then lifts his head again. “Can I have some advice?”
“On?”
“On when you find time to hook up? Or date? I don’t even have swimming on my schedule, and I have no idea when I’m supposed to … you know.”
I’d laugh at the question, but he’s gripping the table edge tightly, knuckles whitening. Charles must be really hard up for action if he’s asking me. “I wish I knew.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, weekend parties are good for a quickie, but a relationship? A regular thing? Forget about it this year. The frat has to come first, so you’ll have to settle with whoever you can find at whatever parties you throw. No one understands how much pressure it is to be president.”
“Except maybe another president.”
“Eh, I tried dating a sorority exec early last year, thinking she’d get that.” I shake my head. “No one likes coming second.”
Charles seems to get tenser. “Maybe another … fraternity president, then?”
“What do you–”
“Well, hypothetically, someone in the same position, who understands that there’s no room for commitment and sets the parameters from the beginning … wouldn’t that be perfect?”
My gut deep dives as I try to figure out what he’s saying. Does he … Is he …
His mouth seems like it’s on fast forward.
“You just seem really stressed, and all I’m saying is that I’d help, uh, relieve that for you if you ever needed me to, and you don’t even have to be queer.
This is college.” His short laugh is higher than before.
“I could do all the work, and we’d go off on our own way like it never happened.
Just a convenient option. For both of us. Whenever we needed it.”
The more he says, the harder it is for me to understand. He wants to … hook up with me? And he doesn’t know that I’m bi? He thinks he’s propositioning a straight dude. Damn, Charles has balls.
This … this could be perfect.
He’s not asking me to define my sexuality. He’s not asking for a relationship that I can’t commit to. He’s offering sex. Where and when we want it.
I’ve never been with a guy before.
I’m aching to say yes. I’ve been desperately wanting to be with a guy for years, and the knowledge that one little word could make it happen is overwhelming.
Would I touch him? Suck him? Heat sweeps over me as I take him in.
His cheeks are redder than I’ve ever seen them. Jaw clenched. Hooded eyes wide.
The thought he could be freaking out as much as me is what prompts me to throw together the fastest, dumbest plan in history.
I send a quick glance around the café, and once I’m sure no one is paying attention to us, I slide my phone across to him.
“Put your number in there. You know of Hush Hush?”
He nods, quickly picking up my phone. “The abandoned storage closest in the Jeremiah building?”
“Yeah. Let’s meet there. Umm, is eleven good?”
“That works.”
“Okay.” I’m barely breathing, but even as I look at him, picturing him on his knees, I know it’ll change everything between us.
My first time with a guy, and it’s going to be him.
I can avoid talking about my sexuality all I like, but the second we get started, he’ll be able to see exactly how into it I am.
“Lights out.” The words come before I can stop them.
“And no names. What happens there is separate from real life, okay? I don’t want things getting weird. ”
And I’m too much of a coward to do this any other way.
“Fine.”
“Yeah.” I take the phone he passes over.
“I called myself so I have your number.”
“Good.” All our communication has been through social media or emails so far. And technically, this is no different. It’s still words to my phone, but him having my number feels more personal.