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  I’ve always thought he was cute, and I’ve had a lowkey, manageable crush on him, but when he was saying things like optimal state of arousal, I was close to showing him exactly what mine is.

  Him, apparently.

  And that sucks. Because Seth has already laid down the law.

  Zach is off-limits.

  I’ve been fine with that. I’ve kept my distance and stopped myself from getting to know him for the last three years.

  Nothing has to change. I can still look out for him without hanging out with him.

  I thought I’d have to try to evade him throughout the week, but it seems we both have the same idea.

  Guess he doesn’t need my help after all. Or maybe he doesn’t want it.

  That doesn’t stop me from going home for the weekend in hopes he’s there with Seth.

  He’s not.

  It doesn’t stop me from watching his every move during our sports psychology class on Monday morning.

  He keeps his head down, his eyes on his computer screen as he takes notes while Professor Lawrence drones on and on about shit our coaches taught us freshman year. I wonder if he’s avoiding making eye contact with me or if he has to focus on the class so he actually knows what to expect when we hand in our assignments for him to grade.

  It’s been almost a week since we hung out.

  I need to find an excuse to talk to him.

  “Still haven’t closed on that then,” Jacobs says beside me. “Who turns the Foster Grant down? I mean, doesn’t he know who you are on this campus?”

  “It’s not like that. I’m his best friend’s cocky and annoying brother. That’s how he sees me.” That’s how he should see me.

  “Want me to make him jealous?” Jacobs slings his arm over my shoulder, and the movement must catch Zach’s eye because his head swivels, and his green eyes level me.

  I shove Jacobs away, which only makes him laugh.

  “Hey, it worked.” He nods in Zach’s direction.

  The scowl marring Zach’s cute, round face makes him look like a senior in high school instead of a guy going for his master’s.

  “He’s probably pissed we’re interrupting the class,” I say. “Can’t you sit still for ninety minutes?”

  “Nope.”

  I scoff. “Figures.”

  I tap my pen on my notebook while trying to come up with a reason to approach Zach after class. There’s nothing wrong with checking up on him. It’s what Seth asked me to do.

  When class ends, I wait for him outside the room like I did last time, but after waiting forever, I duck my head back inside and realize he must’ve used the side entrance to leave.

  Damn it.

  The rest of the day goes by too fucking slowly, and I wonder if I’m moving in slow-motion.

  Not seeing Zach is actually driving me crazy.

  Statistically, we should have run into each other on campus. The fact we haven’t makes me think he’s doing what Seth says he does all the time and has been hiding in his room.

  Seth wants Zach to make friends. He asked me to look out for him. Therefore, it’s my duty to invite him out tonight. And I’m nothing but responsible.

  Yup.

  “Screw it,” I mutter to myself. After heading to my dorm for a quick shower and change of clothes, I go in the opposite direction of the LGBTQ mixer I’m supposed to be going to. Instead, my feet lead me toward Albany Hall.

  My student card doesn’t let me into the building because it’s not my dorm, but someone’s coming out as I’m on my way in and they hold the door open for me.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem, Grant.”

  I have no idea who that person is, but clearly, they know me.

  That’s what being on the hockey team means at this school.

  I run up the stairs to Zach’s room and bang on his door.

  Movement from inside sounds but then goes still.

  I knock again. “Zach?”

  Footsteps get louder, and he opens the door wearing sweats and an old ratty T-shirt. “Foster? What are you doing here?”

  “Already settled in for the night?” I ask, running my gaze over his slim build and back up again.

  His hair is messy, his glasses are kinda smudged, and it looks like I might’ve woken him from an afternoon nap.

  He doesn’t answer me. His head drops, and he plays with the hem of his shirt.

  “I’m not teasing you,” I say.

  His head shoots up. “What?”

  “I’m not teasing you. I meant you look … comfortable.” And delectable, but no way in hell I’m saying that aloud.

  “Oh. Umm, yeah. I was going to order in and study, then go to bed.”

  Why does that seem so much more appealing than going to this mixer? Not in my room, but right here.

  Focus!

  “Did you need something?” Zach asks. He’s got the door only partially open, just enough for his body to fit.

  I wonder what that’s about. “Oh, shit. Do you have someone in there with you?”

  Who? And … who?

  “What? No.”

  Why don’t I believe him?

  “Oh, so you’re being rude on purpose? Isn’t it polite to invite a person in when they come over?”

  “Isn’t it polite to give someone a heads up before you show up unannounced?”

  “Touché.” I take out my phone and send off a text.

  His phone beeps in the room behind him.

  “You better get that. It sounds important.”

  He cracks a smile. Finally. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here or not?”

  “I’m here for two reasons. One, I’m guessing by your lack of communication that you’re understanding team dynamics and individual goals better.”

  “I know enough to grade everyone’s papers.”

  I narrow my eyes. “But not enough to understand it.”

  “So?”

  “So, you were still taking notes in class. Meaning you want to understand it because you still can’t wrap your head around it in a practical sense, and it’s driving you crazy.”

  He grunts. “And reason number two for why you’re here other than to remind me I don’t belong in your class?”

  “Oh, I’m heading out to the LGBTQ mixer thing. Wanted to invite you.”

  I’m starting to realize talking to Zach requires processing breaks. Like, his robotic mind needs time to take in the words and analyze them.

  Zach lets out a sigh, and disappointment fills his eyes. “Seth asked you to do this, didn’t he?”

  “Why would Seth tell me to take you to a mixer?”

  “I spoke to him earlier and he was on my case about making friends. I might be socially inept, but I at least know straight guys don’t go to queer mixers without ulterior motives. You know lesbians aren’t interested in sleeping with you, right?”

  And that answers whether or not Seth told him about me.

  “You know what the B stands for in LGBTQ?”

  “Are you going to straight-splain it to me?”

  Okay, now he’s pissing me off a little, but I can’t say I hate it. I like it when he stands up for himself. Like when I questioned his TA abilities.

  My lips curve. “Bi chicks and threeways. Enough said.”

  “You’re gross.” He goes to shut the door in my face—deservedly so—but I stop it with my foot before he can close it.

  “Zach …”

  “What?”

  “I was fucking with you. I am bi.”

  He eyes me like he doesn’t believe me.

  “I could prove it to you if you want me to. Though I think Seth would blow a fuse if I did.”

  The door eases back open.

  “You’re bi …” There he goes with the analyzing thing again.

  “It’s not exactly a secret. I figured you would’ve heard something by now.”

  “I’ve heard you’re a bit of a man slut.”

  I roll my eyes. “Ah. Good old bi ster
eotyping for the win.”

  “So, you didn’t sleep with half the student body?”

  “Maybe a quarter. No, maybe a third. You’re smart, what’s between a third and a quarter? I suck at fractions.”

  He frowns.

  “Joking! I’m no virgin, but it’s not that bad.”

  He winces.

  “I promise my reputation is bigger than the reality.”

  “And you’re bi.”

  “Yup. I like hearts not parts. Although, I think that’s technically the pan slogan.”

  Green eyes assess me.

  “Would you like to call my brother and verify before you believe this isn’t a charity date?”

  Zach balks. “D-date? You didn’t say this was a date.”

  Shit, I didn’t mean it to sound like that either. That word just flew out of my mouth. This isn’t a date. This is me showing the new guy a safe space for like-minded people.

  I wave him off. “You know what I mean.”

  “I-I don’t, actuall—wait. Seth knows you’re bi?”

  “Has since we were teenagers.”

  “He … he never told me.”

  “Would you have been okay if he’d told me you were gay?”

  He cocks his head. “Didn’t he?”

  “No. You did. Thanksgiving, I think. Three years ago.”

  “Then why …” He pulls the most confused look I’ve ever seen on him, and that’s saying something. “I don’t understand why Seth never told me. About you.”

  I shrug as if I don’t know. Seth wanted to keep Zach as his friend and didn’t want me to ruin their friendship by hitting on him. “He respects his brother’s privacy? My right to come out on my own?”

  “Who are you not out to?”

  Ah. I rub the back of my neck. “Well, our parents don’t know for one, so if you’re ever with them, please don’t say anything. And it’s not a secret on campus, but I don’t go around advertising it. I didn’t come out in a big article in the college paper, although they’ve asked me to. I didn’t want to make it a thing, you know? I just want it to be what it is.”

  “I understand saying no to the paper, but, why not your parents? They’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

  Yeah, but you’re not their son.

  “Will you come with me tonight?” I change the subject. “Please? I’ll tell you all my other deep dark secrets on the way.”

  He blinks at me. “Promise me this is you talking and not Seth.”

  I throw up my hands. “I haven’t even spoken to Seth today.”

  Zach stares down at his clothes. “I have to get dressed.”

  “I could really go for that invite inside your room right now.”

  “I’ll be out in a second.”

  Damn. So close.

  8

  Zach

  It’s entirely possible tonight will kill me. I consider checking the emergency contact details in my phone to be certain I’ve covered all bases, but I can’t take my eyes off Foster.

  Bisexual Foster.

  Foster who’s apparently been interested in … hearts for as long as I’ve known him.

  I try to picture those big, capable hands cupping another man’s face, running down his chest to his—

  Highly inappropriate. I will certainly not be sexualizing him purely because I know this tiny, improbable piece of information about him. Though I suppose it’s only improbable because Seth talks about him with women, never with men, so I haven’t stopped to picture him that way.

  Foster may be interested in men, but there’s still a lot of difference between the types of men worthy of an insanely good-looking hockey captain and, well, me.

  As has been pointed out to me on countless occasions.

  In fact, Foster being bisexual might be the cruelest joke CU has played on me yet. At least when I thought he was straight, I knew there was no chance of that changing. Except, it apparently has.

  Now it’s not my penis zeroing out my chances.

  It’s literally every other part of me.

  “You can stop staring at me now,” Foster says.

  I start because he hasn’t so much as glanced my way. “Are you a mind reader?”

  “Intuitive.” His gaze flicks to me and away again. “Hockey star, remember?”

  “I’ve yet to see the evidence of that.”

  He lets out a noise of complete disbelief and starts to walk backward. I try my hardest to keep a straight face even if I am lowkey impressed at his coordination. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were smack talking me.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you know better.”

  “Hmm …” Foster tilts his head back as he studies me. “I’m watching you, Zach Sawyer. I don’t think you’re as innocent as you claim.”

  “I have never once claimed that title.”

  Foster’s laugh is completely uninhibited as he turns back around. “Maybe not verbally.”

  “I don’t know what that means.” I tug at the bottom of my T-shirt, which is only marginally better than the one I had on earlier. “What exactly is this thing you’re dragging me to?”

  “A mixer.”

  “I’ve never been to one.”

  “E-ever?” He peeks over at me again, and I get the feeling he doesn’t want to look at me for too long. I definitely make him uncomfortable, though I’m struggling to understand why. It’s Foster’s discomfort, paired with the timing, that makes me certain Seth orchestrated tonight. “Try to have fun. Get out of your head for a little bit and get to know people.”

  I don’t point out that, in general, I don’t want to get to know people. I want to know about them. From a distance. “Okay, let’s start with you. What are those deep dark secrets you were going to fill me in on?”

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

  “A tidbit like that is going to pique my curiosity.”

  “Sorry to say, that might have been a ploy to get you to come with me. I don’t have secrets, I’m an open book.”

  I frown. “Everyone has secrets.”

  “Oh really?” He darts another quick look in my direction. “What would it cost me for one of yours?”

  For him to use against me later? He has to be kidding. “They’re not for sale.”

  “Well, damn, now I’m really curious. You can’t go around saying things like that without following through.”

  “You confuse me.”

  Foster looks at me properly this time. “Okay, random subject change. Are you going to follow through on that?”

  “A lot of people slot into stereotypes. Not wholly, because of the human factor, but they have attributes designed around where they fit in and there are certain things that inarguably do not coexist. You’re the hockey captain, and you’re bisexual.”

  He stiffens beside me. “Your point?”

  “It’s interesting. I can’t stop wondering if your teammates’ knowledge of your sexuality is largely theoretical, so therefore they’re able to ignore it.”

  “Are you asking if they’ve seen me hook up with guys?”

  “I … I suppose I am.”

  “Yeah, they have. I don’t hide it.”

  I blink at Foster, trying to wrap my head around it. While I’ve never really had opinions of him, positive or negative—outside of a heavy dose of lust—a trickle of respect starts to awaken. Not many people could exist in an environment that prizes sleeping around with women, and still be true to who they are. “Yet your team still looks to you for leadership.”

  “Who I fuck has nothing to do with my skills on the ice.”

  “Conceptually, I know that. However same-sex attraction is usually seen as a weakness.”

  Foster shakes his head. “Things are changing. People aren’t as closed-minded as they used to be.”

  Is he kidding? People are exactly as closed-minded as they used to be. “That definitely hasn’t been my experience,” I say softly.

  He stops walking, so I pause also. In the moo
nlight, I can’t make out the color of his eyes but it’s impossible not to notice his intense stare. “Have people been saying shit to you?”

  Something about his strained voice makes me smile. “Thankfully, people here seem content to ignore me. Except for one annoying hockey player. For whatever reason, he seems determined to be nice to me.”

  “It’s a total mystery.” His gaze rakes over my face. “Come on. Tonight is going to be good for you.”

  Resigned, I turn to keep walking when I feel something that almost makes me stumble.

  Foster’s hand presses lightly against my lower back. Every nerve in my body zeroes in on his hand. It hovers there, one second, then two. He increases the pressure to get me walking.

  Then it’s gone.

  The warmth his touch sets off in my chest settles until I replay the memory again and again. My skin is buzzing.

  A smile slips onto my face that I can’t remove.

  I’m well aware that getting all starry-eyed over Foster is ridiculous at best, but my body’s natural reactions to him are overriding my common sense, and I can’t seem to make it stop.

  The mixer is being held in one of the small lounge areas in Winchester House. As one of the largest buildings on campus, Foster explains most activities are held here. It’s another steel and glass structure, and while the historic feel of the campus is missing, I don’t completely hate the sleek lines and interesting proportions.

  Foster holds the door open, and as I pass him, I hope to feel his hand again. He holds back this time, and I assure myself it’s obviously a good thing because accidental touching will only make me want more.

  The mixer is a few rooms down, and again, Foster gets the door. I’m used to slipping in and out of rooms unnoticed, like a shadow on the wall, but when we walk into the lounge, the reaction couldn’t be more different.

  There’s a small commotion.

  I quickly step back as two people launch themselves at Foster and a few others make their way over. Everyone is talking fast and smiling a lot, and as I look around at the forty or so people here, it seems as though the entire gathering has stopped with Foster’s arrival.

  “Grant, you came!” says a bubbly little blonde with a nose piercing and too much makeup. It looks like a mask in comparison to the man next to her, who is also wearing makeup. As they all work to monopolize Foster’s attention, I slink away into the background where I’m most comfortable.