“You know that never works.”
“I know.” He groans. “I want it noted anyway that I don’t think this is a good idea. But … what’s the next move?”
I swallow thickly and look down the hall. “I think I need to have a serious talk with Professor Lawrence. If you’re not going to try to stop us, it’s the final thing holding me back.”
“Are you going to get in trouble?”
“Foster doesn’t think so. Yet I’m terrified anyway.”
“You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he rushes to assure me.
“Yes, I do.” I push off the wall. “I’ve been comfortable for too long. This talk scares me, going to Foster and trying to seduce him scares me, him finding out I’m completely inexperienced scares me, but I’m going to do it all anyway because I have to believe the results will be worth it.”
“Head’s up, the results … totally something you can keep secret.”
I laugh. “I intend to. I didn’t tell you what happened the other night, did I?”
He groans. “Hinting is bad enough. On that note, I’m going to go and bleach my brain and not focus on your plans to seduce my brother. Eww. But I don’t give a shit what else is going on in your life, do not wait over a week to call me again. Deal?”
“It’s been a week?”
Seth laughs. “Bye, Zach.”
He hangs up, and I realize I’m about to do this. To take control and forge my own path … or something.
I feel sick.
Still, I force my feet to close the distance to the office, and I’m disappointed when I find it locked. Sighing, I unlock the door and make my way over to my small desk to set up and wait.
Not wanting to lose steam, I pace the small foyer. Professor Lawrence is a few minutes late, but when he walks in, looking as kind as ever, the words jump from me without so much as a hello.
“I’d like to report a conflict of interest, sir.”
He eyes me. “I thought I told you to call me Jeffrey.”
“And I assured you that wouldn’t be happening.”
Professor Lawrence smiles and heads for the rear door into his office. “Come on, then.”
I take the free chair across from him and wait while he gets settled. I’m not sure what he’s going to say, or if I’m in trouble, or … well, anything. What is happening here?
He hands me a sheet of paper. “Fill that out and we’ll make a plan.”
I blink. “That’s … it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“A lecture on ethics for one.”
“Have you done something unethical, Zach?”
“I kissed a student from your sports psychology class.”
He tilts his head. “Which student?”
Oh no. Am I allowed to say? Foster suggested I go to the professor, and he said he’s not closeted on campus, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here. “Are you a homophobe?” I ask instead.
Professor Lawrence’s loud laugh makes me jump. “Definitely not. The student can be kept confidential outside of this room, but the conflict of interest will need a name declared.”
“Foster Grant.”
That seems to surprise him. “Not the name I was expecting.”
“Who were you—”
“Never mind. The good news is, we’re early in the semester and there hasn’t been anything that could be seen as a conflict.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll need to think of some options. Switching classes maybe, or you running some lectures while I grade papers to make sure it’s consistent …”
“I could trade departments.” Maybe get the hell away from sports psychology.
For some reason that seems to amuse him. “Other than being a good TA, that won’t be happening.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t believe in running from things you don’t understand. The other areas would be too easy for you.”
Completely untrue, but I’m not about to argue. Not when … not when this has finally happened. The relief is instant.
I fill out the form but can barely concentrate for the two hours I’m assigned to the office. After that I have class, then a meeting with Professor Lawrence to discuss my thesis, and then, finally, I have no commitments other than finding Foster and telling him I’m ready.
To have sex.
And hope that maybe I can fool him into thinking I know what’s happening.
His dorm building is halfway across campus from mine, and the whole walk there I’m building up my courage. I’m picturing the way he’ll open the door, maybe fresh from a shower, and I’ll walk up to him and kiss him and press him to the wall and—
I can’t get into his dorm.
Damn it.
I linger there for a while to see if anyone comes by that I can sneak in behind, but apparently today is out to stall progress. Admitting defeat, I pull out my phone and call Foster.
What time does his practice usually go until? Should I have dinner and come back?