Following the Rules (The Script Club 1)

Okay, we’d definitely crossed a line of some sort. I expected him to make a run for it or maybe recite whatever he could remember from Beowulf. But Topher was full of surprises.

He stared at my chest for a moment, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and met my gaze. “Two dates. The first one is usually a grandiose introduction where you discuss things neither of you really care about. If you feign interest well enough, date two is where the real action begins.”

“What kind of action?” someone who sounded like me asked.

“Anything two consenting adults want to do,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Including role-play?”

“Of course.”

I scratched my chin thoughtfully and tried to act cool while simultaneously willing my dick to behave. Not an easy feat. This was officially the most interested I’d been in anything or anyone in months. It wasn’t just the topic—although the kinky twist was pretty damn fun. It was Topher. I couldn’t read him at all. Polite conversation about the commute or the weather made him nervous as hell, but sex didn’t.

O-kay…

“I see. And, um…what are you into?”

A mischievous grin lit his face and damn, he was a good-looking guy. Before I could wonder where the hell that had come from, he cleared his throat and stepped outside. “I should go.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Topher’s nose crinkled in bewilderment. “And I don’t think I will. You’ve already hopelessly distracted me. What time is your class tomorrow?”

“Nine a.m., but—”

“I’ll see you at eight thirty, Simon.”

I held the door open and watched him traverse the winding pathway toward the curb. I was tempted to make a crack about needing my beauty sleep, but Topher was shrewd. He’d probably wonder why I couldn’t say good-bye like a normal person. Instead, I asked inappropriate kinky questions in a weird quest to keep him talking. It was a good thing he cut me short. A minute or two longer and Topher might have caught on that I was lonely as fuck and desperate for company.

So desperate that I’d picked up a complete stranger at a bar last night, brought her home, and immediately passed out. No sex. I couldn’t even remember kissing her. And when I did wake up, I couldn’t get hard to save my life. I had a gorilla dick and according to Topher, King Kong did not have a king-sized schlong.

I snickered like a teenager as I closed the door. I was obviously on the verge of losing my marbles, but I liked that guy. Maybe this temporary back-to-school business wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

3

Simon

School sucked.

That wasn’t Topher’s fault. It was just a fact. I was the first to admit that I’d never been a good student. Football had always come first. From junior high on, my only interest in academia was how it might help further my NFL aspirations. I barely squeaked through high school, and everyone knew that my ability to catch almost any pass a quarterback threw while running at breakneck speed across a football field with a posse of defenders on my tail was the only reason I’d been accepted to USC. I hadn’t cared about finishing my degree because I’d been sure I wouldn’t need that piece of paper once I was in the pros.

However, life hadn’t quite gone according to plan. And my first week of “academic assistance” with Topher made me think college wasn’t for me. I didn’t care about the study of humanity, analyzing dreams, arts and literature…and I sure as fuck didn’t care about calculus.

Now, I knew all that before I hired Topher. I’d hoped he could shed some light on a few boring topics. But he took this tutoring gig super seriously. As in…too seriously.

He arrived thirty-five minutes early on Tuesday and gave me a brief report on the reading he’d done for my anthropology and humanities classes, then proposed a strict schedule he’d devised to manage our time. Basically, he wanted to recap the assignments or reading from the previous class and tune into the next lecture online. No lunch break. The only coffee break was the one given by the professor.

I was actually relieved when he called Wednesday morning to let me know that he’d be late. Something about his car or his grandmother. He apologized profusely and while I believed him, I figured there was a decent chance he’d decided I was a lost cause. But he showed up to bore me to tears with a textbook full of highlighted passages and a no-nonsense attitude, scribbling notes and avoiding eye contact whenever possible.

It was more of the same on Thursday with no sign of the adorable geek who’d stopped in his tracks to share his thoughts about role-playing. The crazy thing was that I knew that guy existed. I sensed a mischievous side to my tight-lipped tutor. I just couldn’t figure out how to get him to relax.