Page 17

CHAPTER 17

MALCOLM

One might learn a lot about a person over the course of a two-and-a-half-hour drive. What type of music they preferred; how they handled traffic on the long, lonely stretches of a two-lane interstate; and if they obeyed the laws of the road or were speed demons.

If you’re curious, Jett liked hip-hop, jazz, and classic rock. He was cool under pressure and unperturbed by fellow drivers, and he seemed to appreciate the endless ribbon of evergreens along our route. He was also a pleasant conversationalist. We discussed a medley of topics ranging from world politics to places on our bucket lists, and our thoughts on the latest in intergalactic spinoffs.

I suspected the steady repartee was in part a deliberate ploy to distract me from checking the speedometer. Let it be known that Jett Erickson had a lead foot.

“You’re exceeding the speed limit,” I noted, leaning across the console of his Tahoe. “Again.”

Jett tossed a careless sideways grin my way. “Relax. We’ve got the road to ourselves, Maloney.”

“I’ll have you know, there are deer in these woods, and they’ve been known to dart in front of unsuspecting motorists. It’s quite unsafe.” I was aware that I sounded like a Victorian schoolmaster. I curled my pinky around his as if to counter my fuddy-duddy tone.

“True. They’re majestic and all that, but they can be a fucking menace. One ran into Ty’s truck a couple of years ago. He swerved to avoid hitting it and slammed into a tree instead. Totaled his truck.”

I huffed. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“He was driving half this speed, and it was pitch dark. The roads near his parents’ cabin are windy and narrow. It’s a beautiful place on the lake, but it’s a schlep,” he continued in an obvious effort to steer my attention elsewhere. “A bunch of the guys were heading there this weekend to fish and chill.”

Okay, the distraction worked. Darn it, he was clever.

“You’re supposed to be with them.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I was invited, if that’s what you mean. I chose not to go.”

“Oh.” Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. “Do they know you’re with me?”

Dagnabit!

“I told them I had plans. And I do.”

I nodded. “I hope this isn’t making trouble for you.”

His furrowed brow made his sunglasses lift from his face in profile. “Why would it?”

“It’s one thing to befriend someone for scholastic purposes and quite another to take an overnight trip clear to the Canadian border.”

Jett snickered. “Buffalo isn’t on the border.”

“It absolutely is on the border,” I gasped.

“Are you sure?”

I proceeded to give coordinates with the city’s relation to the Niagara River, the Falls, as well as a few facts regarding trade routes. My lecture extended to the international bridge crossing from Fort Erie to Ontario, and was bound to lead to a short history lesson—built in 1764 as a supply base for the British troops, in case you were curious.

But I stopped abruptly. “You did that on purpose.”

He checked his sideview mirror and exited the interstate. “What did I do?”

“You let me babble till I’d forgotten the original thread of conversation. Very crafty of you.” I snorted.

“It worked,” Jett singsonged. “By the way, I’m not ‘supposed’ to be anywhere. I’m here ’cause this is where I want to be. It was my idea, remember?”

Oh . That was romantic.

“I know.”

Jett reached over and squeezed my knee. “Do me a favor and check the directions to the hotel. I think it’s on Genesee Road.”

He did it again. This time I barely noticed.

* * *

We checked into the hotel and walked through the town square toward St. Clement’s main campus. A cold wind whipped off the river and whistled through the bare trees on the quaint streets. I zipped my winter jacket to my chin as I took in the scenery—the Majestic Brew coffee shop, the Quirky Quill bookstore, Calamari’s Italian restaurant, the Striped Tiger Café. The colorful windows were decorated with holiday cheer amid college pennants and random knickknacks featuring pictures of the grand pillared student center.

I loved it already. The town looked and felt a lot like Smithton.

“This is cool,” Jett remarked as if reading my mind.

We strolled around the quad and made our way to the physics building.

“This is it. My appointment is in ten minutes. I shouldn’t be long. I’m not sure what we’ll discuss. The usual interview-style inquiries, I imagine. This is an interview…sort of. I think. I’m not a hundred percent positive. It might be more of a visit, and that’s okay, too. A friendly hello. Strange to drive two hours just to pop in and give one’s regards to?—”

Jett grabbed my face and slanted his mouth over mine…on the steps of the McKinley Building in the middle of the week in broad daylight where anyone might see us.

He released me, brushing our noses and meeting my gaze. “Relax. You’re gonna be amazing.”

Shock rendered me speechless. I nodded, barely resisting the urge to touch my lips as I headed inside.

Professor Gomez was a painfully thin man in his sixties with an absent smile and a sharp sense of humor. I liked him immediately. He went out of his way to set me at ease, chatting about everything from recent discoveries in our field to his plans for how he wanted to allocate funds for a generous new department endowment. Research was vital, and publishing was equally important.

“And get this…he’s read my work. Everything I’ve written. He knows who I am.” I skimmed my spoon over my bowl of split pea soup, blinking at my amused lover in wonder as I recounted my meeting.

“I hope so. You’re a player, baby,” Jett teased, eyes twinkling. “You know your shit. If he hadn’t read ‘Finding Balance in Motion,’ I might advise you to reconsider this place. That was a big deal.”

I snickered and sipped my soup, relishing the warm food and pleasant company on a blustery late autumn day. Dark clouds had gathered and rain was definitely coming, but it was cozy in this corner of the café and?—

Wait.

“How did you know about that article?”

He paused mid-bite, chomping into his turkey sandwich and chewing slowly. Too slowly.

After what felt like ten minutes, Jett leaned his elbows on the zinc tabletop and replied, “I read it.”

“You did?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity from my voice. I hoped he didn’t take offense, but…really? Why would he read my treatise on linear motion and the effects of gravity and friction?

“Yep. I did my homework on you, Maloney. You didn’t think I’d sign on without checking your references, did you?”

“I…yes.”

He set his sandwich on his plate and popped a potato chip into his mouth. “ Tsk, tsk . The school directory has your bio since you’re a teaching assistant. I googled you on a whim and was seriously impressed. That article was cited and cross-referenced like hundreds of times. I got curious and kept up the search.”

I spooned up another helping of soup. “And?”

“Truthfully, most of it was over my head. That’s why I didn’t mention it sooner. I’m nowhere near as smart as you, but based on what the experts on social media say, your work is significant.”

“I—thank you. I’m proud of that piece.” My smile dimmed as I admitted, “Sometimes I worry I’ll never be able to replicate it.”

“You won’t.” He took another huge bite and spoke around a mouthful of turkey on rye. “You’ll do something better.”

“I hope so. I don’t like to think I peaked at twenty-two.”

“Welcome to my world.” Jett brushed crumbs from his fingers and dabbed his lips with a napkin. “At twenty-two, I’m just learning to adjust my expectations.”

“How so?”

“I might not play pro, and I have to figure out how to be okay with it. I could work for my dad, but just the thought of it feels like a black cloud. I could coach, I could teach, I could get my master’s. Those are good things. I want to be open-minded, but that’s not something I’m very good at, so…wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck. You’re going to do wonderful things, Jett Erickson. I have no doubt about it.”

He beamed. “You too, Maloney. So…what do you think of this place? Could you live here?”

Fat drops of rain peppered the window, marring my view of students rushing by and a couple walking a dalmatian they sheltered under a ginormous umbrella. The streets were clean, quaint, and bustling with energy.

“I think so.”

“Cool. See? You’re open-minded. That means you’re already halfway there.” He pushed his plate aside and gestured to the dessert being delivered to the table next to us. “I’m still hungry. Let’s fuck up an ice cream sundae. What do you say?”

Well, usually I might have said that ice cream wasn’t an ideal treat on a cold and rainy afternoon. Today I said, “Why not?”

We leaned over our hot fudge sundae, clanking our spoons in a quest to get to the chocolatey goodness stuck on the bottom of the dish as we debated ideal toppings—fudge, rainbow sprinkles, peanuts—and our thoughts on self-serve yogurt stores…thumbs-up. When the howling wind rattled the window, I suggested we switch to warmer topics.

Jett talked about sailing on Lake St. Clair in summer, roasting marshmallows on the embers of the barbecue, and the time he’d jumped off a roof into a pool filled with water balloons and sprained his ankle. I gasped in horror and shared a few of my favorite summer memories, grudgingly recalling the time I’d planted ripe bananas in the ground in the hopes of growing a banana plant. A perfect row of seven yellow pieces of fruit covered in soil and watered daily.

“You watered them too?”

“I was six.”

He snickered. “That’s cute. Did you wear glasses then too?”

“Yes.”

“I love that. I can picture you now watering bananas, your glasses slipping off your nose and that look you get when you’re super serious.” He pulled a face, his gaze warm and affectionate.

“I don’t look like that.”

“You do, and it’s adorable.”

“I’m not adorable,” I huffed, licking chocolate from my spoon.

“Sure you are, but you’re hot too. Whatever you’re doing with that spoon has to stop, though. I’ve got a chubby now.”

I licked the spoon again. “Do you?”

Jett flashed a roguish grin that spelled trouble in any language. “Let’s get out of here, Maloney.”

We speed-walked to the hotel, our heads bent in an attempt to avoid the worst of the wind and rain. It didn’t work. We peeled wet khakis and jeans off along with the rest of our clothing and turned on the shower, jockeying for position under the warm spray.

Playful groping in between washing up escalated quickly—his tongue tickling my tonsils, his cock pulsing against my upper thigh, his fingers in my hole.

We dried off and stumbled toward the king-sized bed.

Jett climbed behind me, tongue teasing my entrance, lubed fingers, and then…he was inside me. I gripped the headboard as he moved. He held my hips still and, per his words, “drilled me.”

His speech went something like:

“You feel so good. I love drilling your sweet hole. You love it too, don’t you? Tell me to fuck you. Tell me how you like it.”

It was challenging enough to stay upright. I couldn’t manage words too. I grunted in acquiescence, but Jett was persistent. “ Tell me, tell me.”

“I love it,” I growled. “Fuck me, fuck me. Yes, yes, yes!”

He pulled out and flopped on the bed, motioning for me to straddle his legs. “Ride me, baby. Ride me hard.”

I lifted up and down, jerking myself with short strokes while he fucked me from below, hitting my prostate again and again and…

That was it for me. My orgasm sent me reeling. I collapsed over Jett, shooting across his chest as he came inside me.

Let me just say that my name had never sounded so good on anyone else’s lips. Mal-colm, Mal-colm . Not Maloney…Malcolm.

Rain battered our hotel window, and wind whistled through the trees outside, but we were warm and content under the covers. I lost count of how many times we’d had sex, but it was pretty much the only real activity on our agenda. Well, we talked too—a continuation of our lighthearted banter at the café.

It was surreal to lie with Jett and not worry about anything intruding. I’d never spent this much time with someone and felt so…connected.

No, no. I wasn’t delusional. An overnight trip with lots of sex in a hotel room didn’t change our circumstances. I simply hadn’t counted on how nice it felt not to have to hide or make excuses to be seen together. We could just be. If our fingers touched on the café table and our knees brushed under it, there was no one who’d care. If we walked too close or kissed on campus?—

Gasp! That had happened.

“You kissed me in public.”

Jett widened his eyes playfully, but his expression dimmed slightly. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

“No one saw,” I assured him. “No one who knows us.”

“I know.” He scratched his head and shrugged. “To be honest, I hadn’t been thinking about anyone else. Only you.”

Only you.

Jett smiled, gestured toward the gray skies outside our window, and suggested ordering room service for dinner. Food was the last thing on my mind, but I liked the idea of staying in this cocoon all night.

Only us.

The real world could wait.