Out in the Offense (Out in College 3)

“All right, genius. Let’s do this. How much do you charge? How often can you meet? What’s your schedule like?”

“Perez is paying me. Don’t ask me why. Ask him. We can meet once or twice a week. My schedule is all over the map, but I can work around your classes and practices. Any other questions?”

Yes. About a million. They ranged from practical to downright nosy. I should ask about finding a good in-between place to meet and his preferred contact method. And grill him for info about why my coach offered to pay my bill. But I was more curious about the intricate design on his left bicep and the size of his muscular thighs. His nearness excited me. Truthfully, I didn’t care what we talked about. I just didn’t want to leave until I knew a little more about him.

So I opened my mouth, inserted my foot, and blurted, “Are you gay?”

Rory’s automatic frown turned into a slow-moving devilish smile completely void of warmth. He didn’t exactly look pissed, but he didn’t look friendly either.

“Does it matter?” he countered.

“Of course not. I mean…I don’t know why I asked. I guess I was curious about the volleyball player. You don’t look gay.” I winced and waved my hands as though the gesture might erase my stupidity. “I didn’t mean that. I…I’m sorry. It’s not my business.”

“No, it’s not.” Rory leaned back in an ultracasual pose that contrasted sharply with the tension radiating from him. “Are you?”

“Me?” Heat flooded my cheeks and sent internal sirens screeching inside of me. My hands were sweating, my heart raced, and I was sure he could hear my brain rattle against my skull when I shook my head. “I’m too busy for relationships. I’m just focusing on my future. I’m—no.”

He narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly.

“Yeah, I get it. I used to say that too.” He held up his hand to stop my speech when I sputtered indignantly. “Save it. I don’t need the apology. No, it’s not your business who I fuck unless I’m fucking you, but since you asked so…nervously…I’m bi, with a strong preference for dick. If you are too, cool. If not, also okay. But if you’ve got a problem with me, speak up now. I don’t want to waste my time or Perez’s money.”

I swallowed hard and held eye contact for as long as possible before opening my textbook. I pointed at the first thing on the page that looked like hieroglyphics to me. “What do you know about axioms of probability?”

Rory regarded me thoughtfully, then leaned back again and straightened his long legs in front of him. “A lot. There are three axioms…”

His lips were moving but I couldn’t understand a thing he said anymore. The phenomenon was consistent for me. The hint of mathematic lingo sent me into an insta-coma-like state. But I wasn’t in a hurry to get away or drown him out with my own inner soundtrack.

I might not be interested in the subject matter, but my tutor definitely had my attention. I admired Rory’s unpolished and unapologetic style. And I was more than a little fascinated that under his cool dude exterior, he was a garden-variety math geek. Call me crazy, but maybe this tutoring thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The students, faculty, and alumni of Chilton took their football seriously. And as quarterback and team captain, I was the team’s representative and to some degree, a school ambassador. I usually worked out at the facility next to the football field, where the state-of-the-art equipment was always clean. But it was impossible to get a decent sweat on without stopping to chat with random people about how the team was doing and if I thought we’d crush the opposition at next week’s game.

It had taken me a couple of years to grow into my role. But after three seasons as starting quarterback, I’d learned how to keep the sports enthusiasts happy without giving myself away. And I’d done a damn good job of it, if I said so myself. Sometimes that meant avoiding on-campus facilities and working out at the local gym down the street from my apartment. Midafternoons tended to be less crowded there, which made it an ideal place to lift weights and have a mini therapy session. Even if my faux therapist was my ex.

I couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that the only person on the planet who knew the real me was Max. Actually, that wasn’t true. Max and I were better friends than lovers. He was wildly unpredictable, but I trusted him. And I had to talk to someone about Rory, because a few days after meeting with him, I couldn’t stop thinking about my new tutor. Rory had a snarky sense of humor and unapologetic self-confidence. He seemed to have a million sharp edges, but I could tell he had a softer side too. Add in a hunky physique and it was no wonder he’d unwittingly starred in a couple of my nightly jack-off sessions this week.