CHAPTER SIX
Three Months Later
“WHERE DO YOU think you’re goin’?”
At the sound of his father’s voice, Derek stopped in the kitchen and clutched the strap of his gym bag. He was dressed for his weekly night shift over at the local twenty-four-hour gym. He’d been doing that on the weekdays the past couple of months and had somehow managed to talk Finn into applying for, and getting, a “dancer” position down at club Boyz on the weekends. A shitty home life could make a person very motivated, and no one was more determined than him to make as much cash as humanly possible so he could move the fuck out.
Of course, that now meant he had zero social life, but then again, he hadn’t really had one to begin with, so that didn’t matter much. Finn was practically missing these days since he’d started sleeping with his professor—who knew he had that in him?—and every other hour Derek had available to him, he’d spent it writing papers and studying for his final exams. He had to maintain a certain grade to keep his scholarship.
The last few weeks had turned into endless hours of switching between one job and another, until this week, when he’d had to scale back so he could be at school for the start of his spring semester. He couldn’t find it in him to complain, however, because it had kept him out of the house and, for the most part, away from his father—until now.
His sneakers made the cracked linoleum protest underfoot, and as he faced the man who’d addressed him, Derek braced himself for whatever might follow. His father was standing by the ancient television set holding the shit antenna he was trying to get to work in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.
“I’m going to work.”
“You work?”
Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him. “Yeah. I have a job.” Or don’t.
He took a step in the direction of the front door, hoping that would be the end of that—but he should’ve known better. His father never let anything go. It was one of the reasons the Pearson household was a minefield. One misstep and a bomb exploded right under your feet before you had a chance to fucking blink.
“Where do you work?”
Like I’m ever going to tell you, you piece of shit.
Derek swallowed back his initial thought and closed his eyes. Just let me go, he prayed, and took another step toward the front door.
“I asked where you’ve been workin’, Derek. Or you lyin’ to me? You doing something you shouldn’t be?”
If he were smart, he would walk out the door and keep his mouth shut. However, Derek was coming to realize that maybe he wasn’t as smart as Mrs. Finley was always telling him he was.
Pivoting around, he dumped his bag on the floor and walked over to where his father was taking a drag of his cigarette.
“And what do you possibly think I’m doing that I shouldn’t be? Drinking? Drugs? What a fucking joke. You asking me that.”
His father scoffed. “Don’t get smart with me, boy.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. You might not understand me,” Derek said as he looked his father straight in the eye and wondered why, somewhere in the back of his head, he was hoping his dad would try and take a swing. Maybe because then he would have an excuse to hit him back.
Instead, his father bent to connect the antenna in and then held it out in front of him, trying to get a signal. Derek looked him over, shaking his head as he took in the grubby white wife beater—how appropriate—the black cotton shorts with a hole in the left thigh, and the years-old flip-flops. The man was as run-down as the house he lived in.
“If you’re workin’, you ought to be contributin’.”
Derek’s words failed him at that, and then he started to laugh—the sound unhinged and a little bit deranged. “You can’t be serious.”
His father’s blue eyes, identical to his own, found his, and the arctic freeze in them explained the iciness that ran through his own veins.
“Course I’m serious. You live here, dontcha? It’s my roof that provides shelter for you. If you’re working, I expect rent. Monthly. You can bring it to me tonight. Two hundred’ll do.”
Derek could feel his disbelief morphing into a full-on boiling rage as his father’s words hovered between them, and when he brought the cigarette to his lips, Derek took a menacing step toward the man.
There was no way he was going to give this fucker a single penny of his. Not when he was saving every last cent so he could get the hell away from him.
“I’m not giving you a goddamn thing.”
Finally a static-filled image appeared on the tube and his father froze in place, craning his head to see his handiwork. “No skin off my back. It’s simple. If you don’t have the cash, don’t bother coming home.”
As if his father had just hit him, Derek reeled back. “What?”
“You heard me. If you don’t bring the cash, boy, you ain’t welcome.”
“Alan doesn’t do shit and he’s here—”
“Alan’s worthless,” his father snapped.
“Like father, like son,” Derek said, hating that that was the damn truth. He’d been working his entire life to be the exact opposite to the loathsome human currently staring at him, but he recognized threads of the man’s genes in him, like his temper and need to release his pent-up anger.
“Apple never falls that far from the tree, Derek. You should know that. You’re a chip right off the old block yourself—”
“Shut up,” Derek barked, shuddering at that thought. “I’m nothing like you.”
“Aren’t you? You’re such a cocky shit, holier than thou in every way. But look at you; you’re not so pure. And I ain’t just talking about who you fuck,” he jeered, leaning in so close that Derek could smell not only the tobacco, but the alcohol lacing his father’s breath. “You’re dying to take a swing at me right now, aren’t you, son?” He cackled and moved back. “You’re not so different to me.”
Horrified that his father was right, Derek snapped. But instead of going for the hit, he snatched the antenna out of the old man’s hands and ripped it from the wall. When the television came with it, toppling to the floor, his father roared at him and then crouched down over it.
What a goddamn joke, Derek thought. It was telling how concerned the asshole was for something so inanimate when he hadn’t once shown an inkling of compassion for those who lived with him.
“I will never be you,” Derek said, and his father glared up at him.
“Two hundred. And an extra hundred to replace what you just fucked up. Don’t come back tonight unless you have it.”
Derek’s mouth parted, and he was about to argue that his father owed him fucking millions if they were repaying damages for things they’d broken, but he was done. He was done talking to the man struggling to get on his feet. He was done with it all.
When his father was standing tall once more, Derek took the step he needed to bring them nose to nose and said in a voice he didn’t even recognize as his own, “Guess you better hope your worthless son finds a job soon, because your little queer is about to leave this hellhole and never come back.”
When his father’s eyes narrowed, Derek took a fistful of the wife beater, and felt a great sense of satisfaction at the flare of concern he finally saw in those eyes. His father was scared of him, and Derek had no idea what it said about him that he liked that.
“Have a nice life, you miserable fucker. I’d rather live on the street than ever give you a goddamn cent.”
Shoving him away, Derek gave the house a final once-over and didn’t let the fact that he had nowhere to go bother him right now. All he knew was that he was getting out of there and he wasn’t going to look back.
* * *
BY THE TIME Derek got to the gym, he was late for his shift. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he’d just left his home for good. Really. Instead, he focused on what he could control, and that was getting inside, clocking in, and earning money for the shift he was about to work. He would deal with all the other shit later.
He pulled open the door and stepped inside, and as he did he almost tripped over a man who was crouched in the middle of the entryway fishing through his workout bag.
“Fuck,” Derek said, and barely had time to react and catch his footing before he fell face first on the floor. Of all the stupid places to stop— “What the hell, man, think you could move to the side?”
As he steadied himself and the man turned around to peer up at him, Derek found himself staring into the face of none other than Professor Devaney.
Holy shit. This was the last thing he’d expected today. He hadn’t seen Devaney since his final exam several weeks ago, and he wasn’t sure he was mentally prepared to deal with him after the shit afternoon he’d already had with his father.
Over the remainder of his first semester, he and his professor had come to a mutual agreement of avoidance. He’d purposefully ignored his interest in the man, pushed it aside as nothing more than a stupid infatuation, and Devaney, it appeared, had done the same.
It turned out that was the best thing he could’ve done in the long run, too, because soon after that night at Bianca’s, Finn’s “professor” had shown up at Boyz and they’d started their “thing”—and never too far away from Hayes was the ubiquitous Jordan Devaney.
Not that Derek had ever made his presence known. Whenever he’d seen them at his weekend job where he danced around in next to nothing, he did his best to fucking hide. Shit was weird enough between them. Adding the fact that Devaney frequented the hottest gay club in the city, which he happened to dance at, would just make everything even more awkward.
“Oh, shit. Derek, I’m sorry,” Devaney said as he stood and took a step toward Derek, placing a hand on his arm.
The gesture was innocent. Derek knew it was meant to offer apology and comfort and see if he was okay. But with the adrenaline-charged evening he’d already had, that was so not how his body was taking it.
Hell no.
His dick was definitely not feeling comforted. It wanted release, and it wanted it with the man currently squeezing his forearm.
He looked down at the hand resting on his arm and said, “It’s cool. You might want to move to the side next time. That could’ve been ugly.”
“Right?” Devaney said, and gave a carefree laugh that transformed his entire face and had Derek’s heart racing and his cock pounding. Christ, he’s sexy.
“I’m lucky you caught yourself in time. Otherwise I would’ve ended up flat on my back. Not my favorite position, that’s for sure,” Devaney quipped. As his flippant words lingered between them and Devaney realized what he’d said, he froze. But Derek had had a God-awful night, and he’d be damned if he didn’t feel like taking this moment to distract himself from the crap hand that life had already dealt him today.
He cocked his head to the side and studied the man who looked mortified, and then asked, “What is your favorite position?”
As if his arm had burned the palm still resting on him, Devaney snatched his hand away and shook his head. “Ah, no. We are definitely not having this conversation.” He chuckled as he bent down to grab the strap of his gym bag, and Derek found himself smiling for the first time that day at his response.
Devaney was seriously hot when he was flustered.
“Hey, you started it,” he said, knowing it would get under the professor’s skin further, and he wasn’t disappointed. The second he heard him, Devaney’s entire body tensed and he slowly straightened and slung the bag over his shoulder. “I didn’t start anything.”
Derek crossed his arms over his chest, effectively blocking the way out, and noticed that Devaney kept his chin tilted and his eyes locked with his, purposely avoiding looking at his body, and that made him bold. He leaned down and told his flustered professor, “Yeah, you did.”
That was when he got what he figured was his first real look at the professor as he placed his hands on his hips in what had to be the haughtiest of poses, and then pursed his lips in a deliciously dramatic pout that had every single part of Derek, especially his cock, reacting to it.
In class, Devaney had always been lively, but he had a professional demeanor about him that Derek had always suspected was tempering this side of him—and hell, he had to admit he was glad, because this side flipped his fuck switch like nothing else.
“Are you going to move?” Devaney demanded, cocking his hip out as his cheeks tinged a delicious shade of pink, which made Derek even hotter, if that were possible. The man was a total spitfire.
Not wanting the moment to be over just yet, Derek smirked. “I don’t think so. You almost caused me great bodily harm.”
“I seriously doubt that. You’re built like a—” Again, as the words fell from his lips, Devaney’s eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shit.”
Damn, he made Derek feel good. He had thought the night would be a total horror story after the way it had started, but three minutes in this guy’s presence and he felt alive, happy, and really fucking horny. How is that even possible?
Derek chuckled, and Devaney’s eyes flared in irritation at his amusement before he dropped his hands to his sides, clearly exasperated. “Look, Derek, move it.”
Thoroughly enjoying himself now, Derek feigned a frown. “Well, that’s not very nice.”
“I’m not feeling very nice.”
Still riding the high from earlier when he’d told his father to go fuck himself, Derek decided it was time to finally admit how he felt whenever he had a run-in with this particular man. “Neither am I. Actually, nice is the one thing I never feel around you. And I have many feelings when you’re close by.”
One of Devaney’s eyebrows arched at the admission, and he took a step to the left to leave without another word. As he brushed by him, though, Derek couldn’t help himself from adding in a low voice, “And flat on my back is quickly becoming a favorite fantasy of mine. Just in case you were wondering.”
* * *
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.
Jordan slid behind the steering wheel and lowered his head to it.
What the hell was that? Oh, he knew, all right.
That was trouble with a capital T.
He knew the look that had flashed in Derek’s eyes, the interested tone of his voice, and he also knew his flight response had been the only thing that had saved him from making the biggest mistake of his overly privileged life.
When the fall semester had ended back in December, he’d congratulated himself on surviving it without having to have any more one-on-one contact with Derek Pearson. Then January had rolled around and he’d received his school roster, and was ashamed to admit he breathed a sigh of relief that Derek wasn’t on it.
The guy was too much of a distraction for him to be constantly worrying or thinking about. Especially after watching Brantley try, and fail, to keep his latest secret…well, a secret from him.
He had to give Brantley props, though—he was damn good at it. Jordan just happened to be a master at picking up subtle signs and cues. But there was no way that a life of sneaking around with a student was for him.
No one would ever accuse him of being the quiet and retiring type, and the thought of staying at home every night or on the weekends just about repulsed him. He wanted the freedom to go out and have a good time. Not be paranoid that someone would find out he was sitting in his car with a hard-on courtesy of his student, like he was right that second.
Shit.
Of all the gyms he could’ve joined for group classes, of course he’d chosen the one Derek was at. He slapped the steering wheel with the heel of his palm and shut his eyes, and all he could see was the knowing gleam that had entered Derek’s gaze when he’d finally let loose that devilish smile.
Jesus, he really could’ve done without seeing that. Or hearing that Derek liked the idea of bottoming.
Double shit.
Drawing in a shaky breath, he reminded himself that he’d be fine. They would continue to avoid one another, just as they had up until now.
Yes, that’s it. Easy. Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.
Resolved in his decision, he reached into the side pocket of his bag for the phone he’d been trying to fish out at the gym in the first place, but as he felt around, he realized it wasn’t there.
Great. It must’ve fallen out inside.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, resigned to heading back into the gym. As he turned to open his door, though, his breath caught in the back of his throat. A large hand with, ah hell, black nail polish, was rapping its knuckles on his driver’s-side window, and through the rectangle he could see the tight black material of Derek’s tank, and yeah, fuck, his red gym shorts.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he was going to look while no one was there to see him. The shorts nicely molded over an impressive bulge, one that was more visible than Jordan figured it was designed to be, and that meant he was totally screwed. Because just as he’d suspected, their interlude had turned Derek on just as much as it had him.
Jordan ordered himself to get his shit together, and pressed the down button on his window. As the motor whirred and the window lowered, Derek bent at the waist to rest his forearms on the door, and just like that, he was all up in Jordan’s space.
Positioned as they were, there was hardly any room between their faces unless he angled his body back, and Jordan knew that would convey loud and clear that he was unable to control himself or worse, nervous—and fuck that shit. No one made Jordan Devaney nervous.
“You forgot something,” Derek said, and held Jordan’s phone out to him. He hadn’t dared to remove his hands from the steering wheel in case he did something stupid, like touch the guy. But he knew he had to or risk looking like a total weirdo. But…look at him—how can I not touch that?
Angling himself toward Derek, he reached for the phone, but at the last second Derek snatched it back.
“Give me the phone, Derek.” Jordan knew his tone was pissy, but that was because he was about five seconds away from doing something stupid. When he got no response, he rolled his eyes.
“I like it when you do that.”
Jordan arched an eyebrow as if to say, do what?
“The eye roll. You never used to do it in class. But it’s hot. Lets me know I’m getting to you.”
“Oh please, you’re giving yourself way too much credit.”
Derek held his phone out again and Jordan dropped his eyes to it.
“No, I’m not. Right now, you look as if you’re about two seconds away from losing your shit. Why do you have such a problem with me?”
Jordan snatched the phone out of Derek’s hands, and this time he let it go. “I don’t have a problem with you. Actually, I don’t have anything with you. Not even a class anymore. And the fact that you like pushing my buttons only shows that you have some serious issues.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Derek said, his voice having lost the flirtatious quality. “You can thank my piece-of-shit father for that.”
Jordan faltered, his next words getting stuck somewhere in his throat at the rapid shift in Derek’s mood. He wondered if Derek would say more, but when nothing else came out, Jordan looked away to stare down at his phone, checking…what, exactly? That it was in one piece?
“Don’t worry,” Derek finally said, and his tone had somewhat thawed. “You only missed one call. From someone named…August?”
Jordan’s head snapped around, and when their eyes met he saw Derek’s lips tug into a crooked grin, erasing the awkward moment from a second ago. “What kind of name is August?”
Not understanding this man in the slightest, Jordan sighed. He knew he needed to end this conversation, yet at the same time found himself wanting to linger and ask questions about the secrets behind those intense eyes watching him.
In the end, he settled on the most basic of questions. One that would open a whole can of worms but must be done if they were to move on in any kind of normal direction. “What do you want, Derek?”
For a second, Jordan thought he caught a flash of longing in Derek’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a cocky glint and a smirk to match.
“Hard to know the exact answer to that. But right now, I wouldn’t say no to fucking you.”
Yeah, okay, the can of worms is now officially open.
If Derek had been any other person and they’d met under different circumstances, Jordan would be unlocking his car door in a hot second. But Derek wasn’t any other person. He’d been his student, and Jordan wouldn’t be touching him with a ten-foot pole—or his own pole, for that matter—regardless of how much he wanted to climb all over him and kiss and bite his bulging muscles.
No. There would be no climbing. No touching. And definitely no fucking.
Knowing his best course of action here was indifference, Jordan laughed as if Derek had just told him the best joke ever. Time to hit his ego.
“Of course you wouldn’t say no to that. I’m gorgeous,” he said, giving a flirtatious wink for added sass. “But we’ve had this conversation, and unfortunately for you, in my bed, I do the fucking and I have no interest in fulfilling your hot-for-teacher fantasies. Now run along, little boy. I’m busy.”
He waited for Derek to explode. To accuse him of being the liar he was. But Derek’s stare turned contemplative and he nodded a couple of times. He then tapped a hand on the frame of the car and said, “Right. I do remember that conversation. I also remember you saying that while you were my professor it wouldn’t happen. And Devaney, I checked my schedule twice, and your name ain’t on it. So in case you change your mind, I added my number to your phone. Just hit one on your speed dial. Like I said before, I’d happily lie on my back for you any day.” Derek then added a hot-as-fuck wink of his own, straightened up, and left Jordan sitting there in the car watching his fine ass as he walked back toward the doors of the gym.
Oh my God.
Jordan looked at the phone in his hand like it was a gun and quickly opened the contacts. He scrolled through until he got to number one, and there it was like the fucking scarlet letter—DEREK—in caps, too, the little shit. He really needed to add a passcode to his phone.
He was about to hit delete, but at the very last second swiped over the edit button and deleted just the name instead. Jordan’s heart was thundering, as if he was doing something he shouldn’t, but all he did was replace Derek’s name.
Atop that number now read He-Man.
He hit save and grinned despite himself. There was no way he would ever call that number. But for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to delete it.