I’d been nearly bursting with energy all day. I’d tried to get some of the history essay I had due on Tuesday done before I met up with Peter but focusing was impossible. I obsessed over what to wear and whether to get a haircut and whether to shave instead. Ultimately, I decided no on the haircut, yes on the shave. I wanted to be smooth for Peter in case it mattered. I so desperately hoped it would matter, that I’d have the occasion to feel his face against mine. I couldn’t wait to see him again. Shaving felt like an invitation, like a lit candle, like hope.

I wore my tightest, darkest jeans and the navy Henley shirt that looked good across my shoulders. I threw on my leather jacket and boots and sprayed just the tiniest bit of my favorite cologne. I was ready as I’d ever be.

On the short walk from my apartment to his, I struggled to stay aware of the bustle of campus around me. If I passed anyone I knew, I didn’t see them. My mind was entirely lost to Peter, to imagining the possibilities of our night. Of his text: I have a few ideas…

Of meeting at his room and of almost kissing last night.

Of him tackling me.

Of the light bruises on my hip and torso that still reminded me of his touch.

Of the anticipation of seeing him again.

I was ready to burst by the time I arrived at his door, my breath hitching with excitement and my cheeks surely flushed. I knocked lightly and he answered within seconds, his tall, muscular frame flooding the doorway. He grinned hugely and let out a low laugh. He was so sexy I couldn’t breathe.

“What?” I asked. “What’s so funny?”

“We match!” he said, gesturing to his own dark jeans and navy long-sleeve shirt. I was grateful for the excuse to take him in again from head to toe, lingering on his long legs and muscled arms, imaging the muscles bulging across his torso.

“I guess we do,” I said, smiling shyly, not quite able to laugh back. I wanted to tackle him right there in the doorway.

He stepped outside and locked the door behind him, then turned toward me. “Ready?”

“For what?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” he said. He jerked his head away from campus, toward the city center. “Come on.”

We walked side by side on the cobbled streets, Peter occasionally nodding hello to someone or other. A cool breeze blew around us, and Peter moved closer to me on the sidewalk, shielding me from the wind. He needn’t have bothered. I was lit up inside just being close to him, just anticipating our night together.

“Man, I miss Tuscany,” I said, as we walked by the empty storefront where the legendary pizza place that had been a campus staple for years had once stood. The owners had unexpectedly moved back to Eastern Europe over the break, leaving students heartbroken at the loss of the all-time best place to end the night, to pad our stomachs with grease to stave off the next day’s inevitable hangover.

Peter sighed and nodded. “I know, right? Still can’t believe it’s gone. Had some seriously great nights there.”

“Me too,” I said, remembering how nice it had been to wander down to Tuscany for a slice whenever the urge struck or when I simply didn’t want to be alone. I wondered if I’d ever encountered Peter there, before I was looking out for him. It was hard to believe that there was ever a time I wasn’t aware of him, looking for him everywhere I went. I glanced up and found him staring at me, his eyes curious.

“We’re turning here,” he said softly. We went down an empty side street and emerged on M, the main concourse of Georgetown that hosted a wide range of stores, restaurants, and bars.

“Here’s our stop,” he said, stopping outside a lighting and design specialist store.

I could feel my brow furrowing. “We’re going to…The Shade Store?”

Peter grinned. “Not exactly,” then he pulled out his wallet and handed me a dollar bill. He laughed out loud when he saw the look on my face.

“We’re taking the bus. Helps me preserve the surprise better than an Uber,” he said.

“How very clandestine of you,” I teased.

Peter nodded proudly. “I thought so.”

* * *

Soon the bus pulled up and we boarded. Unsurprisingly, it was packed with commuters, tourists, and shoppers on their way to or from the shops and restaurants. We stood near the front of the bus, our bodies pressed together in the crowded car. We each held onto a single strap above our heads and, as the bus took a hard left, my stomach and pelvis rocked toward his, pushing us even closer for the moment.

When I met his eyes, they were burning brightly into mine. I thought I might combust with tension, my body thrumming for his before we’d even arrived to our surprise destination. I memorized the feel of his body pressed to mine during the next ten minutes as the bus rolled along, pushing us together and apart in a constant ebb and flow.

“This is our stop,” Peter whispered then, his voice a warm caress in my ear.

We filed off the bus and into the sobering breeze. I still had no idea where we were headed but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was happy just to be with Peter, alone, away from campus and prying eyes. We kept walking, eyes darting back and forth from each other and the street.

Then Peter stopped short. “Here we are,” he said.

We were outside a club called Ultra Bar, a place I’d come once before during freshman year, though I’d been too far gone then to remember much of it now. I followed Peter inside, where the music nearly pulsed off the walls and people danced in a giant crush of bodies.

Peter grabbed my hand as we approached the dance floor, tugging me along as he approached the bar. His hand was warm in mine and I stared at the back of his head as he led me along.

Once we reached the bar Peter turned to me, leaning his mouth down to my ear to be heard over the music. “What do you want?” he asked.

I bit back a grin at the potential implications and I swear Peter could read the dirty thoughts as they crossed my mind. He grinned widely and I took it as an invitation, turning to press my lips to his ear. “Let’s do a couple shots,” I suggested. “Your pick.”

Peter sized me up, then motioned to the bartender. “We’ll take four shots of your best Tequila,” he half-shouted, “with some lime and salt.” When the shots came out with a tray of lime and salt, Peter handed me a glass and offered up his arm. When I looked back at him quizzically, he grinned and took my own hand in his.

Then he licked a path down my forearm, setting my insides on fire. He sprinkled my forearm with salt as he stared up at me. Then, as I watched, he licked the salt clean off my skin, did his shot, and sucked down hard on a lime wedge. I watched it pucker in his mouth and felt my cock press up against the zipper of my jeans. Holy god.

“Your turn,” Peter mouthed, again offering his arm. I copied him exactly, adding a little pressure with my mouth to his arm, sucking in the skin a little before I sprinkled on the salt. Then I licked up the salt in a single go, my eyes locked on Peter’s, downed my shot, and sucked the lime. My belly glowed with tequila and my cock pulsed with anticipation.

Peter held his next shot at the ready and I wanted more. I looked up at him from underneath my lashes, then tilted my head toward my shoulder, offering up my neck with my eyebrows raised in invitation. Peter’s eyes darkened and, in a moment, he had stepped closer, licking across the exposed column of my neck, his breath warm and hot against the sensitive skin. I moaned softly as he sucked the skin between his teeth, then sprinkled the salt before taking me into his mouth again. I watched his lips purse around the lime and couldn’t wait for my own turn. I tasted the skin of his neck and sprinkled it with salt, breathing him in. When I had downed the shot and lime, I was warm and hazy with desire.

Peter’s eyes locked on mine. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor just as Adam Lambert’s “If I Had You” pulsed through the speakers. At first, we simply flailed and jumped around, happy to enjoy each other’s proximity and watch each other’s bodies as we moved. The crowd pulsed around us and pressed us closer, allowing me to breathe Peter in and brush against him all the time. Then the song changed.

It was something slower, more seductive. I didn’t know what to do with myself, what Peter was ready for, what he wanted. But then he pulled me closer. His hands wrapped around my hips, moving me along with the beat. My skin burned with the warmth of his hands against my body. He flipped me around until we were pressed together, my ass grinding into him. He moaned low and deep into my ear and I could feel him hard and ready against my ass.

“Peter,” I breathed, my body tingling from head to toe. He pressed himself closer against me as we moved together. I could barely take a breath.

Then the song was over and the spell was broken. The DJ started playing something stupid, a ‘90s throwback that got people giggling and jumping up and down. Again, I cursed the universe for its shitty timing. I looked over at Peter and motioned toward the bar, thinking a couple of shots might bring us back to the steamy place we’d been.

He nodded and followed me over. We were waiting for our drinks when I heard someone call Peter’s name. When I looked over to the voice, I saw a hulking figure grinning in Peter’s direction. It had to be another basketball player. God damnit. I could not catch a break. Why were these godforsaken basketball players ALWAYS around?

Would Peter blow me off now like he had last time? Was that one dance all I’d get? When I looked over and caught Peter’s expression, I had my answer. His face had gone serious, all closed off, all pinned up. Looks like this Cinderella’s night was over. Time to ride the pumpkin home.

The guy made his way over to us at the bar and Peter shook his hand. Hmm…maybe not a basketball player after all? I took in the guy’s dark suit and tried to figure out who he could be. “Mr. Johnson,” Peter said. “Good to see you again.”

“It’s Jim, Peter, come on,” the guy said, grinning. “You’re making me feel old.”

“Jim,” Peter said, agreeably. “This is my buddy, Jack Clifton.” Buddy? Yikes. I tried not to wince at the word and reached out to shake Mr. Johnson’s hand.

“Mr. Johnson used to play for the Hoyas,” Peter explained, turning to me. “Now he works for Google. He’s been helping me think through my other options if I’m not able to go pro.”

That made sense. I was glad Peter had the resource and only a little resentful not to have such a helpful connection myself. Working with Google would be incredible. But it was impossible to break into without a connection. Even getting an internship there was like finding a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory. I’d applied every summer for the past four years and never even heard back. This connection was just another benefit of being a big man on campus, literally. This guy was just as tall as Peter.

“So, you work for Google?” I asked Mr. Johnson. “That must be fascinating.”

Johnson grinned. “It is. I’m lucky. I’m certainly never bored. I’ve been trying to convince Peter here to consider coming to work for me.”

“Oh really?” I asked, looking over at Peter, whose brow was furrowed.

“Yeah, he’s been very convincing. But he knows I’ve got to at least try to go pro. Can’t give up on the dream now. Even for Google,” he said, grinning at Jim.

“And I can respect that,” Jim said. “Although I’ll keep nagging him until he’s signed, I’m sure,” he said, laughing good-naturedly. “What about you, Jack?” he asked then, turning to me. “Any plans for after graduation?”

“I’m working on it. I’ve had interviews with PWC, Deloitte, and Goldman Sachs so far, though they all have multiple rounds of interviews. And I’ll be interviewing with other consulting firms in the coming weeks as well.”

He nodded. “Good for you. Those interviews aren’t easy to get. So, you’ve decided on the consulting or banking route, then?” he asked.

I deliberated, then figured I had nothing to lose by telling the truth. “To be honest, I’m not wedded to the idea at all. I do know I’d like to take on something challenging and I’m motivated to pay off my student loans as quickly as possible, if I’m being honest.”

Jim nodded and raised his beer in a toast. “Hell, I can respect that. Georgetown’s not cheap. But hey—” he reached into his blazer and pulled out his wallet, extracting a slim white card and handing it to me. “If I can’t convince Peter over here to come work for me, maybe recruiting one of his friends is the next best thing. If you’re interested, why don’t you email me and we can talk about what you might do at Google.”

I did my best to keep my jaw from hitting the floor as I nodded and thanked him. “Wow, sir. Thank you so much. I will definitely email you.”

He nodded and waved away my thanks. “I think you’ll find that Google can be just as competitive with salaries as the firms you’re applying for. Especially if you’ve got other offers. We’re all about recruiting the top talent. And any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine.”

I was absolutely flabbergasted. “I really can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“No problem, Jack. Now enough work talk. What’re you two drinking?”

I fought a blush at the thought of the tequila shots I’d recently licked off Peter’s arm and neck and looked over to see Peter turning red as well. Jim looked between us for a moment but seemed to brush it off.

I rushed to fill the silence. “How about a round of Fireball? My treat.”

Jim and Peter shared a grin. “You have been hanging out with Peter! He’s got you on his ‘sniffers!’” Jim said.

I laughed. “Guilty as charged. So, we’re in agreement that he made that up?”

Jim nodded. “Oh, absolutely. But the kid’s got taste!” He motioned to the bartender to place our order. I took the opportunity, while his back was turned, to widen my eyes at Peter. Holy crap! This dude wants me to work for him at Google!

Peter grinned and raised his eyebrows, clearly happy he’d been able to make the connection for me. There was just no end to wonders with this kid.

I felt lit up from the inside even before the Fireball seared its way down my throat. What a night.