It was a party my friend Brooklyn hosted for Caleb, the boy she is nannying for, and who just happens to be the godson of Lucas. Why does the world have to be so small when I’m trying to avoid the one man who could do me in?
That day at the birthday pool party, I stuck as close to Brooklyn and my roommate, Peyton, trying to avoid Lucas as best as possible but he eventually cornered me near the pool shed. Where he engaged me in a heated discussion over my ghosting game.
“Why are you avoiding me? Was I that bad of a lay?” Lucas asks, with vulnerability running through his dreamy eyes, as he shoves a tense hand through his deliciously golden-brown hair. My own fingers twitch from the sensation like an invisible string is attached to my hand.
“What? No. That’s not it at all. I thought I told you I’m not looking for seconds. We had fun and parted ways. It’s not you, Luc, it’s just the way it is.”
I throw a hand in the air and gesture to him. And then because I’m a masochist, I take a longing perusal over his attire. He’s the quintessential pool party attendee, looking ever-so-stylish in his black knit Polo shirt, pressed linen chino shorts, Tom Ford sunglasses, and canvas slip-on sneakers. He could easily grace a Tommy Hilfiger ad campaign.
Luc lifts his sunglasses to his head and stares at me with the same seriously green eyes that I locked onto the night at the bar, narrowing his brows together as if trying to figure out if it’s the truth or a lie as he inhales a breath stilted from frustration.
And then all the worry seems to dissipate when he gives me a pointed look and crosses his arms at his chest. “And I told you, Kyler, I’m not looking for anything serious, either. I just…” he peels his gaze away from me and glances toward the crowd near the pool.
From here, no one can hear what we’re talking about, but if anyone looks our way, they’ll see we’re in a heavy debate. In fact, Brooklyn glances over and gives us a small wave, her forehead pinching together in question, searching me for understanding.
“Listen, here’s the deal. I work a lot. And travel during the summer and it gets lonely,” he flicks his chin in the direction of the crowd, who aren’t paying us any attention at this point. “It puts a damper on my dating life.”
I can’t help but snort in mocking sarcasm. “Look at you. You could get any woman or man, straight or gay, to fuck you sideways while drowning. It wouldn’t be difficult for you at all to find someone who just wants to have fun.”
It’s supposed to be a compliment, although said with a terse bite of condemnation. Lucas is a very handsome man who doesn’t come across as overly cocky, which makes him a diamond in the rough. I know a dozen gay men who would jump at a chance with Lucas.
He shakes his head solemnly. “I don’t want to sleep around with a bunch of different lovers. That’s not how I operate.” Luc shrugs one shoulder and returns his eyes back to me. They’re now swimming with determination as he steps in closer to me, the edge of his mouth curling up, just daring me to resist. To refute and push back.
But the only pushing I want to do is pushing him against the wall on the opposite side of this pool shed, where we’re protected from view, and take his cock in my mouth again. I shiver at the memory.
No, I need to stand my ground. I can’t let my hormones get the best of me.
“Well, then you should stick with women or come out in the open and find someone who wants to date your pretty ass.”
Another twitch of his lips and goddammit, he knows he has me in the palm of his hand. I don’t want to be his secret boy toy, even though the intensity of our brief night together scared the shit out of me because it was just that good.
Hell yes, I want that man on top of me every night, but I just can’t chance it again. One too many with him could be dangerous to my willpower.
Because Lucas is too damn tempting. It could be so easy to get caught up in his sweet vulnerability, generous skills in bed, and intelligence that turned me on like nobody’s business. And yes, I got all of that in just one night with him. There is something to be said about older men because they know their shit. Lucas was the whole package and I knew unequivocally that I couldn’t do that again with him without sacrificing myself.
I’ve played that game already and lost spectacularly bad.
I take a step back, angling myself to the side and crossing my arms over my chest, a defense mechanism to keep myself from falling into him.
“I don’t want to date. It’s complicated. My life and work schedule are complicated. But I did enjoy our night together.” He licks his lips and I feel my knees buckle. “I really liked our night together and I just want to see you again.”
I sneer through gritted teeth to keep myself from collapsing into his arms and saying ‘Yes’. “You want a secret fuck buddy and booty call at your disposal. A little pet on a leash. Well, sorry to tell you, but that’s not me.”
I’m about to step forward and walk away when he places a gentling hand on my forearm, similar to what he did the night at the bar. The warmth of his touch has me stopping in my tracks and glancing over my shoulder into his pleading eyes.
Fuck me. The magnetism of this man is too much for me to resist.
“Just one more time. Tonight. Please, Kyler.”
I’m about to make a clean getaway, rushing past the three people in front of me up the lecture hall stairway until his voice stops me in my tracks.
“Mr. Scott. Would you have a moment to stay behind? I need to speak with you about your schedule.”
I stiffen, my mouth pinching together in annoyance. Why the hell would he need to speak with me about my schedule?
Reluctantly, I move out of the aisle so the last remaining students can file past me, one girl even giving me an apologetic look, seemingly worried that I’m already in trouble on the first day. Doubling my hands over the strap of my book bag, I clench them in fists as I wait until the place empties completely.
Finally, as the door latches shut, Lucas nods toward me in a gesture that says, “Come down here.”
It pisses me off, honestly, because I didn’t want this. I don’t want to be in his classroom as his student. It’s the opposite of making a clean break.
Grudgingly I amble down the stairs until I’m six feet from where he shuffles his papers into his leather bag and closes the pouch with a snap. He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and I see a flicker of excitement.
“Listen, Professor,” I enunciate, each syllable out of my mouth full of defiance. “I have ten minutes to get to my next session, which is an individual…”
“Special Fields class with Professor Gershwin. Yes, I know.”
I’m confused. “How would you know that?”
His brows lift skyward, a hint of apology in the curved corners of his mouth. “Two days ago, the Director of the Arts department held a meeting to redistribute the class schedules this semester in light of Ron Gershwin’s sudden medical leave of absence, which will be for the entire semester. I gained two of his special fields students.”
If these classes weren’t a requirement to finish my degree, I would march out of this hall this instant and drop the class. Both classes, actually. My skin prickles with a heat that drives up my arms and legs, straight to my face where it burns under my skin and floods my cheeks. It’s a mix of frustration and yearning, a conflicting reaction to this turn of events.