Chapter Three
There’d been a time last year when Brandon had dreamed of living in the Alpha Delta house. Not anymore though. It was nicer than the Phi Sig house, no question, but it had never felt as welcoming. And the atmosphere was so charged with testosterone it was probably a biohazard.
Some song Brandon didn’t know was blaring from the common room.
“’Sup, bro?” Gay Sean threw the football the length of the front hallway.
Brandon caught it against his chest. “Hey. Is Mark in?”
“I don’t know.” Gay Sean—the apparent need to distinguish him from Alpha Delt’s Straight Sean didn’t seem to bother him—gestured for the ball, and Brandon threw a decent pass back. “I think maybe he went to the library.”
And apparently while a boy had been kissing Brandon, hell had frozen over.
“This is Callum,” Gay Sean said, hooking his arm around a kid and rubbing his knuckles in his hair. “He’s a pledge. You guys extended your bids yet?”
“Tonight, I think,” Brandon said.
Gay Sean tightened his grip. “Callum, this is Brandon. He’s Phi Sig, but do not fuck with him. He’s, like, supervillain smart.”
“Hi,” the pledge said from the vicinity of Gay Sean’s armpit.
Brandon snorted. “I’ll go see if Mark’s in his room.”
He wasn’t buying that library thing for a second.
One thing Alpha Delta had and Phi Sig didn’t was money. There were even a few private rooms in Alpha Delt, and Mark’s was one of them. It was on the third floor, at the end of the hall. Brandon knocked on the door and then opened it.
It looked like it had been broken into and looted, with drawers open and clothes strewn from one end of the floor to the other. Perfectly normal, in other words.
Sometimes Brandon didn’t know how Deacon put up with Mark. Sometimes he thought it would be nice to have someone who didn’t care about all his faults, or at least didn’t care about them enough to let them stand in the way of a relationship, but Brandon’s faults were bigger than bad grades and a messy room, weren’t they?
Just like sometimes he thought it would be nice to have someone to hold, before he remembered that touching other people made him sick.
He closed Mark’s door and headed back toward the stairs. Nausea caught him before he got there, and he detoured into the third-floor bathroom just in case. Stood with his hands on either side of the sink, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Looked at what Alex had looked at, and wondered why he wanted him.
Alex was cute. With those dark eyes and that full mouth, that messy, tousled hair… There were plenty of guys who’d be interested. Guys who didn’t want to vomit when they pictured kissing someone. Guys who wouldn’t freak out touching another guy’s junk—or their own.
His own pale face stared back at him.
“Coward,” Brandon whispered at it. “Freak.”
“Hey, little bro!”
Brandon spun around. “H-hey.”
Blake Dawson had just walked into the bathroom. Six feet five inches of muscle, and Prescott’s answer to Marqise Lee. The wrong answer. Blake had Lee’s build, but not his skill. There was a reason Prescott was known for its academic record instead of its athletic record.
“You looking for Mark?” Blake tugged a towel from the top of the door. The door swung shut. “I think he went to the library.”
“Really?”
“That’s exactly what I said!” Blake grinned and slung the towel over his shoulder. “Anyhow, I just spilled a soda all over my floor, so I’d better go clean it up.” His grin faded. “Are you okay? You look kind of pale.”
“I’m okay.”
“My cousin Randy saw a ghost once,” Blake said. “He looked just like you did now. But that was probably the meth.”
Brandon had no idea how to respond to that.
“I’ll catch you later, dude.” Blake rattled the doorknob. Then took his hand off it and stared at it for a moment. Then rattled it again. “Shit.”
“What?”
“We’re stuck.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Brandon walked to the door and tried the knob. It turned, but didn’t open.
“I think the spindle’s snapped,” Blake said, and Brandon remembered Blake was an expert at this. There was no small space on campus Blake hadn’t gotten stuck in. He had an uncanny, almost spooky ability to get accidentally locked in places. Bathrooms were his specialty. “Fuck. I left my multitool in my room.”
“You carry a multitool?”
Blake crouched down and squinted at the doorknob. “Chelsea got it for me for my birthday.”
Chelsea and Blake were the unlikeliest couple on campus. Chelsea was an honor student on an academic scholarship. She was beyond smart. She was politically active and passionate about social justice. And Blake, as Brandon’s grandmother would have said, didn’t have a brain to bless himself. But they worked. The same as Mark and Deacon worked. Opposites worked.
Not for Brandon though. His opposite would be someone confident and outgoing and popular. And someone like that would never notice Brandon. Once, he’d thought if he joined Alpha Delta and surrounded himself with guys like that, he’d somehow become one of them. But all it had done was throw his deficiencies into sharp relief.
He wasn’t that guy, and he was never going to date the popular girls.
Or guys.
Shit.
“Let me try.” Brandon had a feeling the problem was Blake, not the doorknob. Blake straightened and stepped aside, and Brandon tried the knob. Nothing. He felt nauseated again, and closed his eyes briefly.
“You okay, dude?” Blake’s brow creased in worry.
Brandon made it to the basin. He turned on the water and splashed his face, telling himself he was not going to vomit. “Yeah.” He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Pale, wide-eyed, his face dripping with water.
He lifted his hands and touched his mouth. Remembered the pressure of Alex’s lips against his own. And, despite telling himself not to, lost his lunch right there in the sink.
“Dude!” Blake exclaimed. He patted Brandon’s back. “Did you eat something bad?”
Brandon, hands braced on the counter, shook his head miserably. He was trembling. He cupped his hands under the water and rinsed his mouth out.
“You drink too much last night?”
Brandon spat in the sink. “I don’t drink.”
“Maybe you’re getting the flu or something.”
“I’m not— I’m not sick.” But he was, wasn’t he? His skin was clammy and his guts were churning, and all he could hear above the sudden buzzing in his head was the sound of his dad’s drunken sobs from all those years ago. Brandon glared at himself in the mirror. Fucking sick. Fucking weak. Fucking ruined. “A boy kissed me!”
His voice echoed in the bathroom.
Blake met his gaze in the mirror, and patted his back again. “Oh. Dude.”
“What?” Brandon couldn’t believe he’d been dumb enough to tell Blake that. The frat-boy football player. Which was unfair, because it didn’t look like Blake was going to beat his head in or anything, and he was friends with Mark and Gay Sean…and why the hell was Brandon automatically putting himself in the same category as Mark and Gay Sean? “I’m not gay!”
“Dude.” Blake sighed. “Little dude, can I ask you something?”
Brandon straightened and shrugged. He couldn’t imagine how much worse this moment could get anyway.
“Did you just vomit because a guy kissed you?”
“Um…yeah.”
“That’s not good, little dude.” Blake stepped back and held up his hands. “I mean, I’ve never kissed a guy, except that one time that doesn’t count because it was to win a bet, but it wasn’t that bad. Anyway, you’re Mark’s best buddy and you think the gay stuff is that gross?”
“Maybe.”
Blake frowned. “Are you in the closet?”
“No!” Brandon’s heartbeat quickened. “I don’t know!”
“Is that why you came looking for Mark?”
“Yeah.” He was shaky and wanted to cry. “Which is dumb, because what the hell am I going to say to him anyway? Oh shit. He’ll hate me.”
Blake’s eyebrows shot up. “He won’t hate you.”
But he would, of course. How had Brandon not seen that he would?
Oh, hey, Mark, guess what? A guy kissed me—you know, that thing you do that is an integral fucking part of your identity—and it made me vomit. Yes, teh gay makes me literally sick. Still want to hang?
“Please don’t tell him.”
“I won’t. But, dude, Brandon…” Blake shook his head. “You’ll talk to someone about this, right?”
No. Brandon was pretty sure he’d carry this to his grave. “I guess. Whatever.”
Blake folded his massive arms across his even more massive chest. “I’m gonna check up on you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Give me your number, right now.”
“Blake, I’m not in this fraternity anymore, and you were never my big brother and—fuck. You’ve got your phone?”
Blake stared down at it for a long moment, and then grinned sheepishly. “Um, yeah.” He scrolled through his contacts and selected one. Held the phone up to his ear while it connected. “Yo! Straight Sean, my man! Third floor bathroom, dude. Little help!”
Brandon sagged against the counter again as he waited to be rescued by Straight Sean.
* * * *
Alex was really not looking forward to going back to Phi Sigma. Not after what had happened with Brandon. Actually he’d been shocked as all hell to get the call that Phi Sig was extending him a bid.
“Wait,” he’d squeaked to Tony. “You really want me to pledge Phi Sig? Really?”
Tony had laughed. “Of course we do. Why wouldn’t we?”
Alex could think of at least one reason, but obviously Brandon hadn’t told him that not only was Alex gay, but he had the world’s worst gaydar. The worst.
Alex fidgeted for a moment on Phi Sig’s doorstep. God. He should probably find a way to man up and apologize to Brandon. Except from the look on Brandon’s face after it had happened, Alex figured Brandon didn’t ever want to think about it again. And, conveniently, Alex didn’t want to humiliate himself further by mentioning it, so maybe he wouldn’t mention it at all.
Except, if a lifetime of After-School Specials had taught Alex anything, it was that doing the right thing was never convenient. He was going to be in Phi Sig now. Brandon was going to be his brother. So he’d apologize. As soon as he figured out what to say, he’d apologize.
He squared his shoulders and walked inside.
* * * *
Phi Sig’s ceremony was about as adrenaline charged as a senior citizens’ book club meeting. And way too serious. But part of Brandon wanted to believe what Tony was saying to the pledges. That Phi Sigs were dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, honor among brothers, and the betterment of society. Wanted to believe that being in a fraternity meant something.
Mark would have laughed at him.
No, that wasn’t true. Mark had known from the beginning how much Brandon wanted to be in a fraternity. And he’d never laughed at him for it.
Brandon tried to pay attention to the ceremony, but he kept sneaking glances at Alex. Shit, they were going to be brothers in a few months, and Alex was never, ever going to forgive him.
And why should Brandon want forgiveness? Alex was the one who’d kissed him, when Brandon hadn’t asked, hadn’t said it was okay.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brandon noticed Deacon staring at him from down the row. When Brandon looked over, Deacon offered a tentative, concerned smile.
Brandon wondered what he’d been letting show on his face. If his pupils had been dilating and contracting Gollum-style as he warred with himself.
We hates Alex. Alex is a nasssty boy who gives us kisses we don’t want.
No, no. Alex is our friend. Alex has gorgeous lips and an endearing dinosaur crush.
Alex is wicked, tricksy, false!
And so on.
Where the hell had gorgeous lips come from? Brandon had never had thoughts like that about guys.
To be fair, he hadn’t really had them about girls either. Like that girl in geology class—he’d known she was nice looking, but he’d known it in almost a clinical way. He hadn’t thought gorgeous lips or hot tits or I’d like to pound that ass into next week.
He’d thought she looked like a nice person. He’d liked her curls. She was proportional and she dressed well.
She’d been pretty.
And Alex was pretty too. From a totally objective standpoint, he was well put together.
Brandon just wanted to leave it at that.
And the dinosaur crush was weird. Not endearing.
The ceremony ended with a lot of clapping, and then everyone headed into the kitchen for food. Brandon busied himself at the ice cooler. First he got his own ice, then he offered to scoop ice for the guy behind him, which turned into him doing everyone’s ice, and that felt good, having a simple duty where he didn’t have to say anything but “You’re welcome.” He wondered if he could get away with doing this all night.
Of course he couldn’t, because suddenly Alex was in front of him, and it took all Brandon’s effort not to turn away and pretend that if he couldn’t see Alex, Alex couldn’t see him.
He dipped the scoop into the cooler.
“I don’t need ice.” Alex’s voice was low. “I just wanted to say…” He took a deep breath. “That I’m sorry. I was out of line. Way out of line. But I liked you, and you know that now, and I know the feeling’s not mutual, and that’s fine. I just don’t want to spend the whole pledge period—and, you know, two years after that—avoiding you.”
Brandon stood there, holding the ice scoop, no idea what to say. He’d fixated on one word: liked.
“I liked you.”
Until you treated me like shit.
Crush decimated.
Fear shot through him, branching out until no part of him felt untouched by it. Someone had liked Brandon, and he’d ruined it. “I’m sorry too.” The words came out too fast, and jumbled. “I didn’t mean to…”
I didn’t mean to apologize to you. When you’re the one who shouldn’t have kissed me.
Alex smiled tentatively. “So we can move on? Be brothers? Well, if I make it through pledge period, that is.”
Brandon tried to smile back. “Sure.”
Peter Modan, in line behind Alex, cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, can I get some ice?”
“Sure.” Brandon’s face burned. He glanced at Alex without knowing what the hell else he could say—
No problem.
I’m cool.
I’ve already forgotten it.
—and found he didn’t have to lie at all, because Alex turned and walked away.
But not before Brandon saw the look on his face.
The one that made Brandon feel like despite everything they’d just said to each other, that somehow he’d ripped the kid’s heart out and stomped on it.
* * * *
“Alex, right?” Tony kept shaking his hand. “Alex Kekoa?”
“Yeah.”
“The Alex Kekoa who was in the finals three years running for the Combined Academic Pentathlon?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Alex said.
Tony beamed like he’d won the lottery, and kept pumping Alex’s hand. “Oh, man, we’re really glad you’re pledging us. I’ll bet Theta Chi really wanted you too.”
“Oh,” said Alex. He hadn’t even gone to the Theta Chi mixer. He’d been way too intimidated by their reputation. It hadn’t even occurred to him that they might have welcomed him.
Alex had approached Rush Week with two goals in mind.
Step One: find a fraternity with a nicer house than your dorm.
Step Two: hope they like you.
Really, he hadn’t looked any further than Phi Sig. And he’d only looked at them in the first place because Evan had wanted company for the mixer. And from that moment Alex’s mind had been made up.
Reason One: they have a nice house.
Reason Two: they have a dog.
Reason Three: Brandon Mills is so fucking hot.
And none of those were very sound reasons for choosing a fraternity. Well, maybe the first one.
“Wow,” Tony said. “Alex Kekoa and Reuben Smith. With you guys on board, we stand a real chance of kicking some ass in the Prescott Academic Challenge.”
“Oh,” said Alex again. He’d kind of hoped to leave his nerd status behind in high school, along with his virginity, but he wasn’t having a lot of luck shaking either one at the moment. He’d somewhat successfully morphed from nerd into hipster before arriving at Prescott, thanks to his sister Mara’s intensive training course, but that virginity thing was sticking to him like a wet tissue. He sneaked a glance across the crowded common room at Brandon and caught him looking back. Alex’s stomach clenched, and he tore his gaze away quickly.
God, he was stupid. Why did he have to be so stupid? No way would these guys have wanted him in the fraternity if they knew how stupid he was. He wasn’t smart at all. Smart guys didn’t try to shove their tongues down other guys’ throats. Smart guys had gaydar that worked. And, you know, asked before making out with someone.
“Anyway.” Tony released Alex’s hand at last. “We’re going to pair you up with a big brother who’ll see you through the pledging process. It’s totally painless, I promise.”
“Okay,” Alex said uncomfortably. Shit, he should never have read those “true confession” stories online about the frat pledging activities that started off with blindfolds and paddling and turned into “Yeah, take my fat cock, pledge slave” in three paragraphs or under. Because Brandon was absolutely not going to be his big brother, and was absolutely not going to take him into the basement and fuck him. However much Alex wanted him to.
Still.
Shame washed over Alex, hot and itchy. He wiped his palms on his jeans, and wondered if every fantasy of Brandon he’d cultivated would be tainted now. If, instead of imagining Brandon kissing him back, he’d only ever see that look of disgust and horror on Brandon’s face.
It would serve Alex right if he could never jerk off again.
Tony waved someone over. “Hey! Deke, this is Alex Kekoa. Alex, Deacon Holt. He’s going to be your big brother.”
“Hello,” Alex said, holding out his hand.
Deacon Holt shook it and smiled, and that was when Alex made the connection. He should have made it quicker; he was the world’s most incompetent stalker, apparently.
Brandon’s best friend was Mark Cooper, and Deacon was Mark’s boyfriend.
Alex was two tiny degrees of separation from Brandon. Yesterday, he would have celebrated something like that. Tonight, it felt like a bad omen.
Alex Kekoa, recovering nerd and probably perpetual virgin, was going to have a pretty awkward first semester.