Seeing Brewer in class was a bit of a mindfuck. At first, anyway. I guess I need to readjust my perception of him from fuckboy to...I’m not sure I know exactly what. He’s deeper than I expected, though.

As soon as I spotted him in the class, it clicked. I understood the looks of admiration the nurse at the hospital was giving him, and I understood all the random medical knowledge he tends to spout from time to time. I can’t see Brewer as a doctor. But Micah? He’s got doctor written all over him.

And when he guessed correctly that I want to be an architect…

“So, this lit assignment,” I blurt, cutting off that train of thought before it gets too badly off the rails.

“Uh, yeah,” Brewer agrees. “I need to keep my GPA up to stay competitive for a spot in medical school. But I also hate these fluffy classes that have no objective basis like science and math do. So, let’s try to get this done as efficiently as possible.”

“Agreed on all counts.” I take a sip of my coffee and nod awkwardly, not sure what to add or how to get my head around dealing civilly with Brewer.

“At least the assignment isn’t terrible, just pick a book off the list and give a presentation, discussing the themes.”

“Yup, piece of cake,” I agree. “When do you apply to med school?” I don’t know why I ask. I’ve never given two shits about Brewer’s personal life before.

“I haven’t been able to afford full-time classes until now, so I still have to finish four semesters, but I can apply in three semesters. It’s going to take ages still before I’m actually a doctor, but it’ll be worth it.” I tilt my head a little to the left, trying to fit this new side of Brewer into my mental framework. “What do you want to design?”

“Bridges,” I answer easily. “I always wanted to be an architect, but the first time I laid eyes on the Golden Gate Bridge, I was in such awe that I knew that’s what I wanted to do. So, I’m double majoring in engineering and architecture.”

“That’s impressive as hell.”

I feel heat creeping up my neck. I clear my throat and tear my gaze away from Brewer’s.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

For some reason my dilemma about bottoming for the first time on camera creeps into my mind, and I wonder if I should admit to Brewer that I haven’t done it before.

I glance at Brewer again. He’s looking down at his tea, stirring it slowly, seemingly lost in thought. My heart beats a little too fast until I force my gaze away and shake myself back to reality. Of course, I can’t spill that shit all over Brewer. He’d have a field day, laughing at my vulnerability. I wouldn’t put it past him to go around telling all the other guys he got my ass virginity.

“What are you scowling about?” he asks when he looks up from his tea.

“Nothing,” I grunt, fixing my face into a neutral mask. Who the hell am I going to get to fuck me before I have to give it up to Brewer?

“I have another class in twenty minutes, so I’d better get going,” Brewer says after a minute or two of awkward silence between us. “I’ll catch you later.”

I nod and give a wave once he’s gathered up his bag. And I definitely don’t sneak a peek at his ass as he walks out.

I’m in the process of shaking off whatever weirdness seems to have overcome me this afternoon when a guy approaches. I glance up from my coffee, surprised to find a man standing beside the table with a shy smile.

“Hi, I’m Trevor.”

“Um, hi, Trevor. I’m—”

“I know who you are, Tank.” He says my name like it’s a prayer, and a little prickle of irritation goes through me. I know most of the guys get off on using their porn persona to pull, but it rubs me the wrong way. Off screen, I’d rather my partners know me as Peter.

“Actually—”

“I know you probably get asked out all the time, but I can’t believe you’re sitting here in a coffee shop like a regular person,” he gushes.

“I am a—”

“But I could die happy if I could have a date with you. I’d make it very worth your while.”

“Um…” I run my hand along the back of my neck, trying to decide what to do. My mind wanders back to the confusing encounter I just had with Brewer, and that’s all it takes to make my decision. “Sure, why not.”

* * *

After my classes, I decide to stop by the bar for a quick drink. Sometimes sitting at the bar and people watching is preferable to sitting in my quiet apartment all alone. Not often, but sometimes.

“What can I get for you?” Nick, the bartender, asks.

“Two fingers of whiskey.”

“Coming right up.”

I slide onto a barstool and rest my elbows on the bar top. Nick returns with my drink a minute later, and I take a sip, reveling in the burn as the liquid slides down my throat. Swiveling in my seat, I look around the bar at the other patrons.

In the corner I spot two guys cuddled up in a booth. It’s obvious by the way they’re looking at each other, whispering, smiling, and stealing innocent touches that they’re in a relationship. It’s not something I’d ever admit out loud, but part of me craves a relationship like that. I obviously enjoy sex, and I’ve tried to make relationships work, but I don’t think I’ve ever found someone who really saw me. The guys I’ve dated, they liked me because they saw me as some hulk-beast to show off to their friends. They didn’t know about my ambitions, my insecurities, or really anything about me aside from only the shallowest aspects.

How sad is it that at this point, the person I hate the most is the one who knows me best? Although, I guess Brewer isn’t so terrible when he’s not acting like a jackass. One on one, he’s not so bad.

“Hey, Tank,” Campy greets me, sliding onto the stool beside me.

“Hey, man,” I nod at him. It's common to find at least one Ballsy Boy at this bar at any given time, so I'm not surprised to see Campy.

“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” he asks, looking suddenly nervous.

I wave him off. I like Campy; he keeps to himself and doesn’t act like a jackass. And I get the sense there’s a lot more to him than he’s letting us see. For a second, I consider asking him what he does when he’s not working. Is he in school, too? Does he have friends outside the studio? Does he have supportive parents like Rebel, or are they more like mine?

“So...you and Brewer haven’t ripped each other to shreds yet. That’s a good thing, right?”

I snort into my glass as I take another drink of my whiskey. “Don’t jinx it; we still have a lot of shoots to get through.”

“Fair enough,” Campy tips his beer toward me in agreement. “So what has you out here drinking by yourself?”

“I could ask you the same,” I point out.

“Long, shitty day,” Campy answers after a few seconds of silence.

“I’m sorry...do you want to talk about it?”

He lets out a humorless laugh.

“I’d rather drink and talk about literally anything else, if that’s okay?”

“That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.” I finish my whiskey and wave down Nick for a refill. “Oh, hey, you had a real feel Fleshjack made of your ass. How do they do that?”

Campy’s mouth falls open at my question, and then he shakes his head and chuckles.