For chapter one click here.
Just my luck that I recall all of the previous night. Everything from making an ass of myself at Claude’s Burgers, to drunkenly clinging to Adam as he drove me home, to telling him how attractive I thought he was, to how eagerly he ripped off my clothes once I invited him to stay. Stop thinking about him, I order my brain. We had a lot of sex. We ended up in the bed, but that certainly wasn’t where we started.
I spend most of Sunday scrubbing cum stains from the couch, the kitchen cabinets, and the hallway. Adam’s youth was certainly to his advantage—he could get hard quickly and often, and every time he came he shot like an Uzi. For pity’s sake, get your mind on something else. I have lessons to plan. For children. Sweet, innocent children. I just need to think about my students.
On Monday, right as the last student exits my classroom my phone rings. Adam’s name flashes across the display, and I answer with, “When the hell did you put your number into my phone?”
“That night, just to be sure,” he replies, and I can tell he’s smiling. “I know, it was totally a middle school move, but you were shitfaced and I needed to cover my bases.”
There’s a muffled sound in the background, and I can hear Adam telling someone to fuck off. I keep glancing toward the door, praying that no one walks in to see me standing in the middle of my room with a stupid grin on my face.
“Hey, uh, Lyle, I was thinking…hang on a second.” His voice becomes more distant. “Seriously, you asswipes. I don’t fucking need a fucking audience.”
I hear an “Ow!, Motherfucker!” from another male voice, then, “Hey! Adam’s trying to get a gay date! Fucking queer!” and laughter from multiple sources.
In a threatening tone Adam says, “I know where you sleep, Smitty,” then tells me, “Sorry, some guys from my hall are messing with me.”
“Yeah, so, uh, I’m starting midfield at our game tomorrow night, and I was wondering, you know—fuck off, Ryder, your girlfriend’s a cow—if you don’t have parent-teacher conferences or something, if you want to come.”
I love that he sounds nervous, knowing that I’m not the only one who’s new to this. Still, I hesitate. I’d feel like a soccer mom, and what would happen after the game? Wouldn’t he want to hang out with his college friends?
“It’ll be nice,” he sounds like he’s fending off or delivering punches, “to hang out with someone afterwards who won’t give me shit about sleeping with dudes. These fuckers are afraid it’s contagious.”
In the background someone is chanting, “Lyle, Lyle, Queer Crocodile!”
“Isn’t there a GLBT Alliance on your campus, or at least a community?” I ask dryly.
Adam snorts. “Sure, the vigilantes. I just want to hang out and not talk about ‘the issues.’ You coming or not?”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Yeah, sure.” Lyle, what the hell are you doing?
“Sweet. It’s at seven-thirty. I’ll leave the ticket with Devlin, do you remember him?”
“I do now.”
“Awesome. He’ll be waiting outside the main gate. Okay, see ya.”
I don’t have time to say goodbye before he’s hung up the phone.