Wesley loved greeting his regular customers as he waltzed into Me Gusta Robusta. The delightful mix of personalities and backgrounds shared one commonality: they loved coffee.

Weaving through students and staff hunched over laptops, he high-fived Surfer Dude. “Hey, Americano.”

“Afternoon, Wes.”

“Cappuccino With Almond Milk!”

“Heya.”

“Latte,” Wesley said as he passed Mr. Preppy.

“Skinny latte.”

Lippy Latte, is more like it.

Wesley waved off Rachel, whose shift had ended.

He rounded the wooden counter and poked into the kitchen. His close friend Suzy stood at the stove, a burst of flame searing off her eyebrows. She slammed a lid over the pan, cursing.

He propped a shoulder against the archway, crossed a foot over his ankle, and let out a delighted sigh. “Ah, the taste of burned bread and frustration. Now I’m home.”

“Work, Wes,” Suzy said, wiping her singed eyebrows with the back of her hand. “Agonizing work.”

“That would be the law quiz I had today.” That one hour had felt like five.

Suzy pulled a black apron from the hooks behind her and threw it at him. “I’ve faked my way through this job for two months. Tell me I can fake it until graduation.”

Wesley tied the apron around his waist. “Has Hazelnut Latte with a side of talking-smack come in yet?”

“Your brother slipped outside to make a call.”

Wesley slipped a pad and pen into the apron pocket. “I heard MacDonald’s back?”

A dry female voice came from behind him. “And swore off sex for good.”

“MacDonald!” Wesley spun around.

MacDonald—Molly MacDonald, but no one ever called her by her first name—limped around the counter gripping crutches. A bright pink cast stretched from her ankle, disappearing under a jean skirt. The pink clashed with her wavy red hair, and he was sure she’d chosen it on purpose.

He would normally crush her into a hug.

Today was no different.

One of her crutches fell and smacked against the checkered tiles.

“You’ll wrinkle my shirt,” she said.

“Good to see you, too.” Wesley picked up her crutch and handed it to her.

“Has Avocado Ciabatta missed me?” she asked without inflection.

“He’s taking a call.”

“I’ll sit in his favorite booth.”

Wesley cracked her a grin as MacDonald click-clacked toward the corner window booth.

Suzy snuck out of the kitchen with an inspired wave of her hand—the hand boasting an unfurling flower tattoo peeking out from her sleeve. “Thinking of a menu change. What do you think: orange pesto pasta or mushroom risotto?”

Wesley took a customer’s order, then focused on Suzy as he frothed milk. “Which one better complements a seared eyebrow?”

She flipped him the bird.

“Orange pesto,” he called after her as she retreated.

A familiar male voice cut over the din of the café. “What the hell are you doing in my booth, MacD?”

His brother Caleb stared down at MacDonald, arms folded. Like always, he wore a checkered shirt open over a plain T-shirt, jeans, and brown cowboy boots. His hair was much shorter than Wesley’s mop, but they shared the same dark eyes and pouty mouth. Seeing them sometimes gave people pause; their grandparents were Japanese, and it showed.

MacDonald’s lips didn’t even twitch. “I like the view.”

Caleb gestured to the empty window booth one over. “It’s just as good there.”

“I like watching the clouds shroud over you. Your eyebrows squish together like a long caterpillar. Makes my day truly special.”

Caleb snorted and plunked into the opposite seat. “What happened to your leg?”

“That’s not age appropriate,” she said.

“I’m almost eighteen.”

“You’re in high school.”

He rubbed non-existent stubble. “You’re barely a year older.”

“But infinitely smarter.”

“Wes!” Caleb yelled across the room.

Wesley set two drinks on a tray, delivered a macchiato, and strolled over to his little brother. “What’s the problem?”

Caleb dimpled. “This mature woman is harassing a kid.”

“You love it, don’t lie to yourself.” MacDonald pulled herself up and Caleb steadied one of her crutches before it toppled to the ground.

MacDonald clip-clopped to the counter, calling over her shoulder. “Take five, Wesley. I’ll indulge waiting customers in delightful conversation.” She yelled out to Suzy. “Avocado ciabatta, pronto.”

Wesley set down Caleb’s hazelnut latte and took the warmed vinyl seat.

“I’ve only known her a month,” Caleb said, “but she really gets under my skin.”

“I see that. Just a sec.” He caught retreating MacDonald’s attention. “Tell Suzy I change my mind. Go with the mushroom risotto.” Wesley’s focus skipped to a guy walking into the café. For a second, he thought Lloyd was coming in for his usual dark roast, but it was just a regular hot guy.

Caleb leaned on his elbows and stage-whispered. “When you’ve taken your fill of man-ass, I’ll be here.”

Wesley rolled his eyes. “I was checking if he was—”

“Hot?”

“Lloyd.”

Caleb glimpsed over at Not-Lloyd. “Aren’t you searching for a new man in your life?”

Wesley sighed. “Not just any man. Not anymore.”

“The One?”

“I have a dream of saying the words ‘I love you.’”

Caleb snorted. “You haven’t pulled out that line yet?”

“It’s not a line. It’s meaningful, and I’m saving it for someone special. Probably a Sagittarius.”

“Good luck finding him.”

Wesley leaned back against the sticky seat. “What’s up at home? How’s mom?”

“Same as always. Reads scripture like it’s candy. Flirts with the pastor after Sunday service.”

“Hates my guts?”

“Holds out hope for you yet.”

She would be forever disappointed. Wesley steered Caleb’s latte across the table and sipped. “Could have a touch less syrup.”

“You’ll have to talk to mom eventually. Gimme back my drink.”

“How’s school?” Wesley pivoted.

“She wants you to visit again.”

“Ah, look. Your food.”

A plate with ciabatta and avocado landed between them. Caleb dug in like he hadn’t eaten in a week. “You’re the best, Suzy.” Through a mouthful, he said to Wesley, “How well is avoiding Mommie-dearest working out?”

“Beautifully,” Wesley said, fidgeting with his wristband. When Caleb opened his mouth to reply, Wesley skirted off the bench and hurried back to Suzy and a bored MacDonald.

“Are we going dancing tonight?” Wesley asked, itching to release the tension hugging his muscles.

“Please,” MacDonald said as Wesley changed the tunes on the iPad. “Watch you two go at it like frenetic dancing mimes? I’d rather be dead.”

“Suzy?”

“If you count rock ’n’ rolling with econ,” Suzy called after him. “Professor Cooper is the best, but he won’t let you half-ass an assignment.”

“Professor Cooper?” Elvis’s Lawdy, Miss Clawdy came on and Wesley moved to the beat. “First name Jamie? I think Lloyd is friendly with him.”

He triple-stepped and pulled Suzy into a quick twirl. She laughed. “I gotta start lunch.”

“Orange pesto pasta!”

Suzy smacked him with her dishtowel and headed into the kitchen. “How many times are you going to change your mind?”

MacDonald drawled. “Just as well we write our menu in chalk.”

* * *

After eating a plateful of mushroom risotto and locking up Me Gusta Robusta, Wesley walked MacDonald and Suzy to the library. He wasted a few hours trying to concentrate on his own studies before giving up and heading back to the dorm.

He knocked on Lloyd’s door, watching the man pound at his laptop keyboard. He wore beige chinos, a dark belt, and an unbuttoned navy shirt over a black tank top. A buzz of hair growth gave the RA a military facade.

At an acknowledging grunt, Wesley strode in, sank into a cushioned corner chair, and waited patiently for Lloyd to finish his sentence.

Lloyd swiveled to face him, and Wesley waggled his brows and rubbed his fingers together. Lloyd knew what he wanted. It was Friday night, after all.

Lloyd stared at him blankly. “How many this week?”

“Three.”

“And still no boyfriend?”

Wesley sighed. “I have a problem.”

“You do.”

Lloyd pointed at the wicker basket of condoms. It sat atop a small bookshelf crammed with literary classics and books on personal management, motivation, and mathematics. Wesley slowly stood up, drifting a hand over Lloyd’s collection of Rubik’s cubes and twisty puzzles.

Wesley plucked a condom from the basket. “Glow in the dark. We’re getting fancy.”

Lloyd replied dryly, “Fancy is a suit and tie, and taking a guy on some dates first.”

“I’m still searching for my Sagittarius. Or Aquarius. Or Leo—Leos work. Aries are great, too.”

Lloyd peeled his eyes away from his laptop and shook his head. “Horoscopes aren’t conclusive. They’re touchy-feely mumbo-jumbo.”

“Said by a true Capricorn.”

“Don’t forget to fill in the guest book.”

Wesley unhooked the guest book from the wall, wrote in it, and slipped it back in place.

When he left the room, Lloyd breathed out audibly.

Wesley turned back around, tossing the condom up and down. “You’ll have to tell me your birthdate eventually.”

Lloyd approached the door, his desk chair swiveling behind him. “Is that why you’re always eyeing my wallet?”

“Well, I’m not about robbing paupers.”

Lloyd bored into him with intense hazel orbs. “You know I’m Capricorn. Why do you continue to hound me for my birthdate?”

“I want to know your precise level of stubbornness and pessimism. Maybe your moon sign gives you redeeming qualities.” Air whiffed into his face and Wesley was staring at a closed door. “Or not.”

He waited a few moments, grinning like the social lunatic he was starting to suspect he was.

A couple of first years chattered their way past him and into the stairwell.

Wesley knocked again.

Lloyd inched the door open a half-foot. “I’m only available to students with legitimate issues.”

“I’m full of issues. I need another condom.”

The door drifted open as Lloyd left to grab the basket. He tossed it at Wesley. “Go at it, Romeo.”

Wesley fondled the condoms, stirring them around as he grinned broadly. “With vigor.”

“Congratulate tonight’s Juliet, would you?”

“On pulling all this thick-haired beauty?”

Lloyd shook his head. “On standing it long enough to get naked.”

Wesley slipped the condoms into his pockets, thrusting his hips out and biting his bottom lip. “It’ll be epic, off-the-charts sex.”

“Because he’s a Sagittarius?”

“Because he’s not uncreative and afraid of sex anywhere other than the bed.” Wesley waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“It’s what beds are for. I intend to use my back the next sixty years.”

Wesley swallowed a laugh. “I pity the fool—oh look, here he comes.”

Lloyd’s boyfriend-of-the-month strode through the stairwell door. Wesley winked at Lloyd and backed down the hall, mouthing, “One week.”

Inside his room, he threw the condoms into the top drawer along with dozens of others.

Thumping and groaning sounded from the next room. It wasn’t Lloyd and his boyfriend, but it made Wesley think of them. What would Lloyd be like in bed?

Grumpy and demanding, probably.

Wesley strapped on some headphones and tossed himself onto the bed. Elvis’s deep, sexy voice sang in his ears while his right hand popped open the buttons on his pants.

He studied the young, hot Elvis, who had one eyebrow lifted.

“I know you were a Capricorn,” Wesley said, fisting his hard cock. “But I bet you were hot as hell between the sheets.” He closed his eyes and jerked his dick, failing to get a good Capricorn hammering out of his head.

“No, no, never,” he said through gritted teeth as he quickened his stroke. “Fuck.”

His orgasm pulsed long and hard through his denial. He threw an arm over his mouth and swore. “Never going to happen. My next guy will be Sagittarius. That’s a promise.”

* * *

Smoke detectors wailed at two a.m.

Wesley groaned, flipped onto his side, and covered his ears with his pillow.

“What Einstein left the stove on again?” came Lloyd’s booming voice. “Right, people, you know the drill, everyone descend to the quad in an orderly manner. Do not use the elevators.”

Wesley heard Lloyd banging on doors and ushering students outside. Most went quietly. A few complained Lloyd was being uptight.

“All residents evacuate. No exceptions. Period.” A bang met Wesley’s door and Lloyd jerked it open. “That means you and”—he glanced at the guestbook in his hand—“Glow-in-the-Dark too.”

Wesley reluctantly swiveled out of bed. “He left already, forgot to sign him out. Where’s your boy?”

“He only popped by to drop off my car keys. Then went dancing.”

“So you didn’t get lucky. That explains the mood.”

“I’m on duty. Now up.”

Yawning, he slumped toward Lloyd’s silhouette in his boxers. Lloyd reached for the wall-hook beside the door and thrust a coat at him.

“You’ll need it.”

Wesley caught it and sank his feet into his shitkickers. “If I catch a cold over someone’s crispy burrito, you’re nursing me back to health.”

Lloyd planted a firm, warm hand on Wesley’s neck and steered him toward the stairwell. “This stinks of Randy’s rice. I’m gonna kill him. After following protocol.”

* * *

Protocol took until three in the morning.

All one hundred residents over the four floors huddled in the wet quad “at least three hundred feet from the building.” Suzy and an unimpressed MacDonald flanked Wesley under his trench coat they held over their heads.

“Remind me to wear sexy underwear to bed,” Suzy said, lifting the sagging arm of his coat, her flower tattoo almost smacking Wesley in the face. “I’ve been caught twice in my cotton undies.”

MacDonald hummed. “Great place to score. You could go at it in the puddle over there.”

Thank God for his friends. They made the hour bearable. He winked at MacDonald. “How did anyone get close enough for you to have a sexual misadventure?”

After security officers found the blackened pot of Uncle Ben’s rice—watch out, Randy!—the RAs were given the all clear.

MacDonald was the first to crutch her way back in, Suzy chasing after her roommate.

Lloyd took a beating in the rain. His soaking-wet boxers and T-shirt clung to him, but he stood gesturing his residents inside first.

Wesley splashed his way over to him.

Gavin got there first, bowling through his fourth-floor residents. “Seriously, one burned pot? Did you have to overreact?”

“Fire is not funny. There is no such thing as overreacting.”

“It’s the second time Randy’s sent us to the quad. He’s a disaster waiting to happen—you should send him packing.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“I’m writing a report on Williamson and its RAs. You’d better get a grip on your residents.”

Gavin stormed inside.

Lloyd sighed as Wesley walked up to him and held the trench coat over their heads. “That ditzy-assed doofus is officially banned from using the kitchen without supervision.”

“Maybe I should talk to him,” Wesley said.

“You wouldn’t say the same thing?”

“Not to his face.”

Lloyd side-eyed him. “Only shaven-headed, statistic-munching giraffes earn that privilege?

Wesley held the door open. “How do you feel about warm cocoa?”

“Better if it comes with marshmallows.”