Chapter 8
EIGHT
WARREN
As a professor at a prestigious university, I consider myself pretty smart. Brighter than most.
Sharing a hotel room with two students that attend the same college where I teach, who are more than fifteen years my junior, has to be the not smartest thing I’ve ever done.
Especially because Thorne is meandering around the room with no shirt on and his basketball shorts hanging low, showing off that deep V that my eyes keep drifting back to.
His tattoos are as dark as his aura, made up of somber and bleak imagery. They run from his breastbone down to just above his belly button, a smattering of different tattoos that come together to make a beautiful canvas.
I drag my eyes from his body, my cheeks heating because I can’t keep my eyes off him. I don’t want either of them to think that, just because I’m bisexual, that I’ll spend the night leering at them.
Am I bisexual though? I mean, I’ve looked at men, watched a lot of gay porn, and I’m not embarrassed to say I’ve read more male/male romance than a college professor should. I think men are hot as fuck and wouldn’t mind being under one or having one under me.
But do I have to actually be with a man to be considered bisexual?
Maybe I’m too in my head about it, but it’s not something to think about here. I can unpack my shit when I’m safely in my home. Alone. With no gorgeous college students walking around partially naked.
Besides the age difference, it’s inappropriate to stare at a former student and a prospective one. I don’t want to be one of those professors that gets caught up with a student that will blackmail me or something.
That would cause a stir on campus. I just got my tenure; I’d rather not throw it away for two students that—
I almost swallow my tongue when Chance steps out of the bathroom, also shirtless. And fuck…what are they putting in the fucking water at Meadowbrook?
Though I’ve seen Chance’s body before when I went to a few swim meets, I’ve never been this close to all his skin, flushed pink from the hot water.
It also looks like he gained some weight since last season, but his body is still tight, his arms more corded and his abs harder, looking almost as if they hurt.
Unlike Thorne’s, the drawstrings of Chance’s pants are tied and sit perfectly on his hips, but they don’t hide his happy trail, water dripping from the soft-looking hair.
“You’re up,” Chance says, smiling at me.
I snap my eyes from roaming his body, my face on fucking fire.
Nodding, I quickly grab my clothing and rush into the bathroom, the stuffiness from the steam not helping me calm down one bit. Thankfully, I wasn’t hard or I’m sure both of them would have seen.
Not like I can hide this thing in my pants when I’m hard.
Sighing, I press my back to the door, fighting not to bang my head against it to knock some sense into myself.
“It’s just one night,” I whisper to myself. “Just one night.”
I can’t very well ask them to put on shirts, so I resolve to just keep my eyes off their bodies.
My shower is relaxing and helps to calm my nerves. Even though my dick twitches and begs for attention, the most I do is swipe my washcloth over it. When I’m home, I can jerk off to my heart’s content while purposely not thinking about either Thorne or Chance.
When I’m clean and my libido is under control, I hop out of the shower, dry off, then put on lotion before reaching for my clothes.
With a frown, I realize that I left my shirt on the couch where I was sitting.
“Shit,” I murmur, looking at myself in the fogged up mirror.
Unlike Chance and Thorne, I’m not in some amazing shape. I’m slim, but softer around the middle. No hard six pack like Chance or flat abs like Thorne.
I pinch my belly fat, frowning harder. I should have really started going to the gym like I said I would last year. But with all the work I was doing to get the position I have, I didn’t have time.
For the entire two-week cruise, I didn’t take my shirt off when Em and I weren’t on our private balcony, so I didn’t worry about my body. Now, seeing how great both of them look, I wish I’d taken better care of myself.
What will they think when I step back into the room? Will they think my slightly fluffy belly is unappealing?
I scoff as I grab my things. I shouldn’t worry about if they find me appealing.
When I leave the bathroom, I keep my eyes downcast, even though I can feel Thorne’s dark gaze on me.
Swallowing roughly, I hurry to my bags and stuff my clothing and lotion inside. Then I grab my shirt and pull it over my head quickly, feeling a little steadier now that I’m covered.
“You have freckles everywhere,” Thorne says and I raise my eyes to his.
Huh? “What?” I ask very smartly.
“I’d wondered if you had them all over. They’re not on your hands so…I was curious,” he says simply, his words shaking me up.
When did he wonder where I had freckles?
Words caught in my throat, I simply nod and sit down, grabbing the menu from the side table. I look through it when Chance turns on the television and flicks through options on a streaming service before landing on some shoot-’em-up movie.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “You guys hungry? My card is on file.”
Thorne smirks and shakes his head. “I said dinner was on me. I already called and had the kitchen add my card.”
“Fine,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. I won’t argue with someone trying to feed me. “What do you want?”
“Gimme a big, juicy steak. Medium rare,” Chance says. “With some, like, loaded mashed potatoes and asparagus.”
“You supposed to eat all that?” Thorne asks, grinning over at Chance. I don’t miss how Thorne’s eyes trail over his body. Is Thorne queer too?
It makes me wonder if he was flirting with me in the restaurant earlier. His remark about there being nothing wrong with an older man has been pinging around my head for hours.
But that can’t be right. If he were into men, it wouldn’t be someone like me. I don’t have low self-esteem or anything like that; I just know I’m not many people’s type. Not many people like redheads.
Chance grins back and pats his belly. “I worked hard for this body. But I can also have a cheat day every now and then.”
Thorne gives him one more long look, then hums. “I’ll take whatever pasta they have.”
“Alfredo?” I ask.
“That works.”
I grab the phone and place our orders, frowning when the kitchen says they have a new card on file and if that’s the payment method I’d like to use. I tell them yes and before I hang up the phone, ask for a slice of cake. Chance glances at me, shooting me a quick smile.
When I hang up, Thorne asks, “Did you go to college at Meadowbrook?”
I shake my head and thread my fingers through my hair. “No. Harvard, actually. I had a job offer there too. But Meadowbrook offered a better salary and faster pathway to tenure.”
“Harvard,” Chance says and whistles. “Brainiac.”
I give him a dry look. “Meadowbrook has a better reputation than Harvard. It’s the most prestigious school in the country. So, you two are the brainiacs.”
“He is,” Chance says, thumbing over to Thorne. “You said you were a genius, right?”
“I am,” Thorne says with no hint of ego.
“How did you find that out?” he asks.
“I was tested my senior year in high school.”
Chance nods. “Can I ask why you enrolled in college so late?”
Thorne’s face darkens, but he answers. “I had training.”
“Oh shit,” Chance says. “You’re in the military?”
Thorne looks over at him, a smirk back on his lips. “Something like that.”
“That has to be hardcore,” Chance says, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles. “Good on anyone that joins, but it’s not for me.”
“Because you have money?” Thorne asks.
“Nah, not that,” Chance says, fighting a frown. “Because I don’t think I’d be good with that kind of structure. I’m already under a lot of pressure with school and swimming. Being told when to eat, sleep, and shit would probably give me an anxiety attack.”
There’s a knock at the door a few seconds later and Chance hops off the bed to answer it. I can’t help but watch as his ass flexes in his shorts and how his back rolls with every step. Fuck, he’s so attractive.
I feel eyes on me, and I look over at Thorne, who’s watching me with a sly smile on his face. Cheeks heating, I look down at my hands, hoping my thoughts weren’t written all over my face.
Chance comes back wheeling a cart and says, “Dinner time!”
The three of us sit at the small table and dig in, talking occasionally, but mostly stuffing our faces. My food is okay, but nothing to rave about. I can’t wait to get back home so I can cook for myself. The dinners on the cruise were good, but I miss my kitchen and my own seasonings.
“Why are you frowning?” Chance asks and I look up, expecting him to be talking to Thorne. I’m shocked when both their eyes are on me.
“Oh,” I say, a little flustered. “I was just thinking how I can’t wait to get home to cook.”
“Is your food not good?” Chance asks. “I can call down and return it.”
Thorne snorts. “Is that something you do often?”
Chance’s cheeks pinken. “Sometimes. But like, not to be obnoxious or anything.”
“I bet,” Thorne says slyly.
Huffing, Chance says, “Is it me or my money that you have an issue with?”
Thorne ticks up an eyebrow. “I don’t have a problem with you.”
“So it’s my money.” Chance pushes his hand through his hair. “I didn’t ask to be born into wealth and I don’t flaunt it. I want people to know me for me, not my bank account. I figured you, of all people would understand that.”
“Why me of all people?” Thorne asks, sounding amused.
Chance waves a hand up and down to indicate Thorne as a whole.
“Because you look like a serial killer most of the time, with your tattoos and piercings and dark clothes and fuck-off attitude. But you’re not and people shouldn’t think that just because of how you look.
” Thorne’s smile widens, and a shiver runs down my spine.
I’m not sure why, it’s a perfectly ordinary smile, but it gives predatory.
Leaning forward, Thorne asks Chance, “You think I’m a serial killer too?”
“No,” Chance answers immediately. “But you look like you could be. People judge you when they don’t know you. I figured since you’re getting to know me, you’d see I’m not like the people that let their wealth determine their behavior.”
I decide to join the conversation, wanting to steer it away from Chance feeling bad about something he can’t help. It’s his birthday, for crying out loud. He should be able to enjoy it without feeling judged.
“I don’t think you’re like that, Chance.” I give Thorne a pointed look and he raises his hands in surrender. “And no, my food is fine. It’s just not how I’d cook it.”
“Maybe you should cook for us someday,” Thorne says, his tone low and almost sensual.
I would love to have him and Chance over. For…more than dinner if I’m being honest. But it’s not smart. I love my career and don’t want to throw it away on students.
“That’s not a good idea,” I mutter, pushing my plate away. “You’re my students.”
Thorne shrugs. “I’m not. Not anymore. So you can make me dinner.”
“Hey,” Chance says, “I don’t wanna be left out of dinner. If he won’t cook for me, he can’t cook for you.”
Thorne flicks his eyes over to Chance, then leans forward on his elbows. “How about you cook for me?”
Smiling, Chance shakes his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know how. Warren can teach me, right?”
What are these two doing to me? “Sorry,” I say simply.
After we’re done eating, both Thorne and Chance go sit on the bed while I clean up.
I wheel the cart into the hallway and then hurry over to my bags, pulling out the candle and lighter I got from the store.
Once I plop the candle in the cake slice and light it, I turn around with a bright smile on my face.
“Happy birthday to you…” I sing, then realize that I’m the only one singing. Looking at Thorne, I give him a wide-eyed look and he rolls his eyes, but joins in with a deadpan delivery, throwing his legs over the side of the bed as I walk the cake over to Chance.
He smiles so wide that the crinkles beside his eyes deepen.
Once we’re finished singing, I stand before Chance as he also throws his legs over the side of the bed. “Make a wish,” I whisper.
He screws his eyes up tight for a few seconds before he opens them and blows the candle out.
Grinning, I hand him the plate and a fork. He takes one small bite, then makes a face and puts the cake on the nightstand. “Too sweet,” he answers my unspoken question. “You two want some?” Both Thorne and I shake our heads. “Thank you,” Chance says earnestly.
I hum, much like Thorne, and take the plate and put it in the hallway as well.
“What did you wish for?” Thorne asks, leaning back on his elbows. His long torso is stretched out, showing every dip and groove of his body.
Chance smiles sadly and shakes his head. “Can’t tell you. You’ll think I’m pitiful.”
Mischief dancing in his eyes, Thorne sits up, his hands hanging between his legs. “Now I really gotta know. Tell me.” He taps Chance’s leg.
Sighing, Chance says, “Don’t laugh.” Thorne folds his lips in, though his eyes still dance. “I wished that I was wanted. Even just a little bit.”
Well, fuck. There’s nothing funny about that. It’s really sad, honestly. Someone as great as Chance isn’t wanted? By who? His parents? Friends? …a love interest?
Thorne tilts his head to the side, analyzing Chance like he’s a science project. Then he says something that makes my heart skip a beat.
“I want you, Golden.”