13. A Most Unwelcome Blast From The Past
A MOST UNWELCOME BLAST FROM THE PAST
Qiang’s POV
After googling whether Tibetan monks can wear makeup, I’ve decided it wasn’t as feasible an option as I’d originally hoped.
And obviously, given the way I practically melted at Marcus’s feet this morning, I feel it’s safe to assume gaslighting him into believing last night never happened is just as infeasible, which leaves no other option but to be an adult.
How sad is it that I’m the ‘adult’ of the group and in no way enjoy having to actually act like one right now?
My phone buzzes, and I click open to see a text from Marcus waiting. I should be paying attention to the professor teaching the class I’m in right now, but my brain is everywhere except on a lecture that’s going over a topic I’ve already thoroughly covered in a previous class.
Option 1 or 2?
And nope! I’m definitely not falling for whatever trap is behind that cryptic text. My fingers fly across my phone to let him know I won’t be responding to that nonsense.
You seem to be under the misassumption that there’s any level of trust between us that would have me playing this game or answering this question without more context.
I’m fully aware that ‘sensible Qiang’ would respond this way. I was just hoping ‘completely under the spell of my stellar presence from this morning, Qiang’ was still dazed enough to answer without thinking.
This smug fucker.
Once again, you are suffering from delusions of grandeur.
Am I? Pretty sure the tone of your voice moaning my name last night, the way your pretty eyes expanded this morning, and the big ass smile that I know you’re trying to hide right now, tells a different story.
My heart races against my ribcage for a moment before remembering that he’s not in this classroom.
I know for a fact that he’s not, but the text still has me halfway turning in my chair for a second to scan as many of the students as I can catch in my peripherals before remembering that.
Not that I was actually smiling anyway; my face was just grimacing to hold back a yawn.
Are you a stalker now?
Nope, but your answer just told me I’m not wrong about that pretty smile.
Monks don’t wear makeup. Monks don’t wear makeup. Monks don’t wear makeup. Deep breath, Qiang.
I am in the middle of a highly riveting lecture right now, so if you don’t mind…
The way you are completely ignoring the smile I just trapped you into admitting adorning your pretty face, along with the speed of your responses, tell me that either a) your lecture is uninteresting in every way and you’re just avoiding the topic of conversation between us or b) your lecture is as riveting as you say it is, and yet, I’m even more riveting, and you are just, once again, trying to avoid the topic of conversation.
Fucker thinks he’s so damn smart. We’ll just see who responds quickly now. I set my phone back down on the table and leave him on read. It doesn’t even take five minutes for my phone to vibrate again.
So, option 1 or 2?
Pretty sure I already answered that I would in no way be answering this question without a shred of context.
Your brother will be messaging you soon with a dinner invite for tonight, so option 1 is to accept and we all go out together, or option 2 is to decline and you go with me. Just the two of us.
And if I decline both options?
There wasn’t an option to do so.
How the hell does he do that? Absolutely shameless, whether he’s flirting playfully or flirting seriously, either way, he never misses a fucking beat. It’s disorienting as fuck.
See, sir, now you are trying to box me in, and I’m not very good at staying in boxes.
I think we need to work on you calling my name more comfortably before we work on the Sir, pretty.
Well, that did absolutely nothing whatsoever for my sanity. I have absolutely no doubt he could get me to call him Sir, or any damn thing he wanted me to call him if I gave him enough of an in to truly assert himself. Why am I holding back? No, bad Qiang. He wants more than you can give!
I’d say you have no shame, but it’s not like you aren’t fully aware of yourself.
I’ll shamelessly tell you I want you to choose option 2 so I can become as fully aware of you as I am of myself.
Are all your conditions from this morning still on the table?
Without negotiation.
Then I’ll go with option 1.
See? I can be sensible.
If you think that’s a deterrent, I feel like I should point out that either option gives me the chance to get to know you better. See you at dinner, pretty.
For fuck’s sake. I have never met anyone so unshakeable in my life.
Nothing deters him at all. I don’t know how he has the capacity to take brush-off after brush-off and keep coming back swinging.
Most likely, it’s because I’ve only really meant the brush-offs in the beginning, and he did actually respect my boundaries.
I’m the one who broke them down last night.
“Damn! How many years has it been since I last saw that sweet smile?” An unwelcomingly familiar voice breathes right behind my ear.
How the hell did I not see him a minute ago when I swept the room? What the fuck is he even doing here?
Like a bucket of cold water, every good feeling I’ve ever had dissipates in frozen droplets and falls to the ground with the loud shatter of icicles breaking into a thousand pieces.
A million memories flood through me at the sound of the most unexpected and unwelcome voice that has ever existed for me.
Flashback
Four and a half years ago
I’m sitting with my back against the headboard of my bed with Kingston Adair’s head on my tummy. His knees are bent with his feet flat on the bed and a textbook propped against his legs. I sift my fingers through his dark blonde hair while he reads a passage from Hamlet.
I trace the contours of his cheekbones and his thin nose before running my thumb across his eyebrows, drawing a smile and a quick glance of his sky blue eyes to me.
He kisses the heel of my palm before returning to the passage, leaving me to continue my exploration of his handsome face.
I flit my fingers along his chiseled jawline, feeling the scratchy layer of scruff that’s grown in since he shaved this morning, then trace across his thin, bow-shaped lips and tug lightly on the groove in his chin.
My heart just wants to explode with happiness that this amazing guy is my boyfriend.
I don’t mean that like there’s something wrong with me, or that there’s any reason why he shouldn’t want to be my boyfriend, but I’m like the most average person out there.
I have a small circle of friends, keep my head in the books, and have a few hobbies that I pursue more at home than at school.
Aside from being a bit more on the androgynous side than most people at my school, I don’t stand out at all.
And definitely not in a way that should have caught the attention of the Kingston Adair.
He’s like the king of the jocks. I know it’s usually the quarterback who has that title, but he’s a championship-winning wide receiver, with his dad as the head football coach.
Kingston’s entire future is already mapped out for him, with a list of destinations and expectations that are more laid out by his father’s wishes than his own.
The Adairs are elitists, and Kingston is the all-around golden child. And yet somehow, he wants me.
Not that I really care about all of that stuff.
I wasn’t interested in him at all when he first started coming around, hoping I’d tutor him because his math and literature grades were slipping.
We aren’t even in the same year; he’s a junior, and I’m a senior, but one of my teachers recommended me to him for help.
It wasn’t until I finally agreed to tutor him so he’d stop pestering me to death and got to know him that I saw the cracks behind the golden-boy facade.
I couldn’t help but fall for the depth, the sweetness, the way he sees the world, and the ways he hopes to change it for the better.
He’s so much more beneath the surface than the person he shows to everyone else.
But of course, that golden-boy image is built on his father’s requirements and expectations of him.
Kingston is expected to uphold himself in certain ways, and one of those ways is that absolutely no one, especially his father, can know that he’s bisexual, which means no one, especially his father, can know that Kingston is dating me, at least for now.
Kingston says he has a plan that will let us come out as a couple later down the road, but he has to break free from his father’s thumb first.
It’s not my favorite part of our relationship at all.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt every time we go from being as lovey-dovey as we are in private to virtual strangers in public.
Our individual circles of friends are not mutual at all, so it’d be weird for us to gravitate around each other.
The few friends he has who know I even exist for Kingston at all believe it’s only for tutoring. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the pain, but as soon as I see him again and am reminded of all the things I love about him, it chases the doubts away.
A heavy sigh followed by the loud thud of the book closing pulls me out of my musings.
“If they wanted us to read the dictionary, I wish they’d just assign that instead of this gibberish that we have to stop every other word to look up.
By the time I’m finished with a sentence, I’m so overwhelmed with definitions that I forgot the point of the sentence.
If they’re gonna make us read old English dudes, can’t they assign like Sherlock Holmes or Charles Dickens?
At least those books make sense,” Kingston huffs out with frustration.
I can’t help but laugh at that because I honestly couldn’t agree more.
“You’re laughing at me,” he pouts at me as he levels those baby blues on me.
“Only because I completely agree with you,” I tell him while flicking his pouty lip affectionately.