Page 14 of Matthias’s Protective Embrace (Cardinal Falls #3)

Chapter Nine

FRANK

Sometimes, under the best circumstances, I make bad choices.

Okay, a lot of times I make bad choices, no matter what the circumstance. I’m working on it. Sort of.

This is one of those times. The diner sucked. Yeah, I got fries and coffee, but the stool was uncomfortable, and I had to spend money.

That’s where Matthias’s house has been so much better.

Yes, I feel bad eating his food and watching his TV, but not bad enough to leave.

Especially if there’s going to be another time like last week where he pours the two of us wine and hangs out with me for a few hours.

Sure, it’s not quite the relationship I want with him, but I’m willing to take what I can get.

It’s comfortable. Too comfortable. So much so that I forgot the other reason I spent my evenings at the diner. The whole studying thing .

Not a smart move. I have a calculus test tomorrow, and I’m… let’s say underprepared.

I sit on the floor, bent over my textbook on the coffee table, trying to catch up on the last few weeks of class. I have notes, but they don’t make any sense. I was there. I wrote things down. So why don’t I remember any of it?

Fine, I’m fucked.

I erase the last ten minutes of work I’ve been doing on a problem set. If the examples are going this poorly, I’m terrified to see what happens in class tomorrow.

“Are you okay?” Matthias asks.

“Sorry,” I mumble. Apparently, the aggressive erasing carries through the house. Just what my complete breakdown needs. An audience.

“What are you working on?”

He takes a few steps toward me as I jerk the book away.

I’m not sure why I’m embarrassed for him to see my work.

He knows I’m in school. He’s been out a while, but surely he remembers how it works.

“Studying for a test.” I wince as the words leave my mouth.

Telling him I have a test opens me up to a whole host of questions.

Specifically, follow up next week when he asks how it went.

“When’s the exam?” Or like that one.

“Uh, tomorrow.”

“Do you feel good about it?”

I almost laugh. Feel good? About a test? I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything even close to that. The closest I’ve ever come is ambivalent. Most of the time, it’s more like dread with a hearty helping of anxiety. “Not really.”

“Can I help?” He leans over to see my work better. “I used to be pretty good at this sort of thing.”

No doubt a straight-A student. Or maybe he got one B that he now refers to as a character-building opportunity. Either way, he doesn’t need to be near my C-plus work. “Only if you know a secret way to stuff this whole book into my head.”

“That bad?” He chuckles. Easy to do when it’s not his ass on the line. If I fail this class, I’ll have to pay to retake it, which will also delay my graduation. Not that the time is that important. It’s going to take me a million years to get through college.

“It’s not great.” I drop my pencil and sigh. “I’m a little behind on my studying.”

“I’m sure we can fix that.”

Who’s we? I don’t remember signing up for tutoring. Though if the people who usually tutored math were half as hot as Matthias, I might be a more frequent visitor to the help center. “How?”

“Well, the first step is getting you a better place to study.” I stare at my materials strewn across the coffee table. “Grab your stuff.”

I scoop it all up in my arms and follow Matthias into the dining room.

I’ve seen the space a few times walking past, but I’ve never been in.

Anytime I eat, it’s always in the kitchen, either at the breakfast bar or the small table he has off to the side.

The dining room is luxurious in comparison.

A long, dark table that easily seats eight fills most of the room.

Overhead is some ridiculous chandelier with a bunch of glass pendants hanging from it.

Who even has stuff like that in their home?

The china cabinet on the side is full of the kind of plates and glasses that I’m not sure anyone even uses these days.

Does Matthias use any of this or is it purely for decoration?

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask when he pulls one of the high-backed chairs away from the table and says, “Sit,” in a tone that says he’s not to be argued with.

I hate how quickly my body responds, dropping into the chair and spreading my notes out.

The fact that my cock takes interest in the tone of his voice is nothing new. At least when it comes to Matthias.

“Now, tell me where you’re at.”

“Um… chapter ten.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how stupid they are.

How should he know what’s in that chapter?

“We’re covering infinite series. The exam is basically everything up to and including that, but focusing on differential equations and infinite series.

” The fact that I even know those words is a minor miracle.

“And how did you do on the prior test?”

Shit . “Medium?” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I swear it’s worse than anything he could say. “I get low Bs and a few Cs. I understand most of the material, but I usually run out of time at the end and either don’t finish or rush the last question.”

“Thank you, that’s very helpful.” I sit up a little straighter. “That means you’re in good shape overall. We can focus in on the recent material.”

“Yeah, but that’s where I’m struggling.” I can’t help the whiny way my words come out. I’m tired, and this is hopeless.

“We’re going to get it. I promise.” The weird thing is, is that I believe him. Nothing in my life so far suggests he’s right, but I can’t help but have a tiny bit of faith. Not necessarily in myself, but him. “Show me the problem you were working on.”

All that confidence? It comes crashing down around me.

My paper is a mess of scratched-out numbers, eraser marks, and a distinct lack of answers.

It’s embarrassing to look at it myself, let alone show it to Matthias.

Somehow, I swallow the small amount of pride I have left and slide the notebook across to him .

He stares at it for a while. Too long. Maybe I should’ve asked if he knew anything about calculus before I blindly followed him to the table?

“Alright. Try again, but this time, talk through your thinking—out loud—as you go through the process.”

“Fine. I’ll try it.” Do I sound like a petulant teenager right now?

Probably. But I hate this stuff. I swear my head hurts simply thinking about it.

I start talking through the first problem, trying not to be overly self-conscious as Matthias watches as I work through what I think are the correct steps.

Even when I pause or scratch something out, he doesn’t interrupt.

It doesn’t keep me from attempting to interpret all the little satisfied hums he’s making or to differentiate them from the noise he makes when I veer off track.

Usually, I have music or the TV playing while I study to break up some of the monotony, but Matthias might be my new favorite soundtrack. Do you think he’d be willing to always sit next to me while I work?

MATTHIAS

“Ugh. It’s impossible.” Frank’s head falls against the table with a thud.

We’ve been at this for the better part of three hours now, only stopping for the occasional bathroom break or to refill our coffee mugs.

I’m going to regret having this much late-night caffeine later, but right now, it’s a necessity.

As it will be when I go to work with only a few hours of rest. If I’m lucky.

“It’s challenging, but not impossible.” I put my hand between his shoulder blades for a second before I think better of it and pull away.

As soon as I do, I miss the closeness between us.

“But you have to believe you can do it.” I reposition myself in my seat to put space between us.

Somehow, over the course of the night, the gap between us has practically disappeared.

There’s no way for me to move my chair further away without him noticing.

“Are you quoting inspirational posters to me?” Frank peeks out from beneath his arms, his eyes narrow, challenging me.

“I am if they have good advice. Now, let’s do a little bit more before you get some sleep.

” I glance at the clock. I don’t remember the last time I stayed up past midnight.

Maybe I can rearrange some of my meetings tomorrow and go in a few hours late.

There’s no way I’ll be able to focus on so little rest.

“I can’t sleep until I learn math.” He sits up straight and pulls his book closer, gripping the pages so tightly I’m worried he’ll tear them.

“You can’t absorb information if you’re exhausted.

” I tap the book with my pencil. “Come on.” I wish I didn’t remember this feeling so well, the struggle to figure out how much to study versus how much to sleep.

Admittedly, my college days were less stressful than this.

I wish I could explain to him how much of it is in his head.

Maybe not the formulas, but the processes.

The constant negative self-talk only makes it easier for him to give up on problems when the answer doesn’t come right away instead of working harder and believing in his abilities.

From what I’ve seen, he might not be a math genius, but he’s got the basics down.

A little bit of studying and he should be able to pass the class easily.

Maybe even pull off a B. It’d be an A, but he’s too far into the term to be able to turn it that far around based on what he’s told me.

“Fine. What’s next?” I pry the book from his hands and flip to the end of the chapter, selecting three questions for him.

The first one is simple, but I hope it’ll boost his confidence before he gets to the more challenging ones.

If he can do these, he’ll pass the exam. I hope. Fuck, I do not miss school.

He goes through the steps, writing and erasing his work multiple times.

I could never be a teacher, but I can see why people love it.

There’s a sense of pride in helping him reach his potential.

It’s part of what draws me to being a Daddy in the first place.

I like being able to help someone get what they need, achieve their goals, and grow.

Clubs are fun, but they don’t give me the same satisfaction.

My previous partners typically referred to it as overbearing and demanding, but I never forced them to do anything.

I only tried to help them get where they wanted to go.

I wouldn’t force Frank to study if it wasn’t in his best interest. He’s the one who wants to do well in this course.

If I can help him achieve those goals, then why wouldn’t I throw myself into it?

Because Frank isn’t mine, and as much as I long to claim him and turn him into my boy, right now, he’s someone who needs a little guidance.

He’s made no move that makes me think he’s interested in anything besides a warm, safe place to study.

I have no doubt that he’d make a great boy, whether he knows it or not.

The question is whether he has any interest in being mine.

“There.” He drops his pencil and leans back in his chair, stretching his hands over his head. His shirt pulls up far enough for me to see a stripe of pale skin across his belly. I avert my eyes, but not before I take in the beautiful picture.

“Let me see,” I say, pulling the notebook toward me. I review his work quickly, trying to make sense of the chicken scratch in a few places. The steps are important, but I’m happy to see he also got the correct answer. “Perfect.”

“What?” Frank snatches the paper back from me.

“You got them all right. You’re ready.”

For the first time in my memory, he seems to be speechless. I’ll be enjoying this look on his face, a strange mix of happiness, pride, and awe, for a few days, pulling it up in my mind when I need a reminder of tonight.

“Get ready and go to bed.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gets up from the table, but I grab his forearm to stop him.

“You aren’t driving home this late. You can sleep in the guest room.” Should I ask rather than demand? Maybe, but when it comes to issues of safety and well-being, I’m not going to compromise.

He opens his mouth, and for a second, I think he’s going to argue with me. Say something about how he’s more than capable of getting himself home. Or how he needs something from his place. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “Thank you.”

I wait until I hear the water in the bathroom turn off and the door to the guest room latch shut before I move. I put away his notes and other materials, stacking them up and placing them neatly in his backpack.

In front of the guest bedroom door, I pause for a minute, staring and wondering what he’d do if I asked him to sleep in my bed instead.

Laugh, probably, at the old man trying to hit on the hot twenty-something.

I shake the thought from my head and retire, setting my alarm for only four hours from now.

At least then, maybe some of this caffeine-fueled desire will have worn off. I doubt it, but it’s nice to dream.