Page 13 of Me Three
“Brute,” he mumbles, and I laugh.
“I’mthe brute? You’re the one who keeps telling me I’m obsessed with Carter and Everett just because I slept with them almosttwoweeks ago. I’m not,” I say.
“Really? Then why have you been moping ever since you found out they’re your teachers?” he asks.
“I’ve not been moping,” I say.
“Whatever.”
“You have,” Julian adds without turning to look at me.
There’s a knock on the door and since both my friends have decided they’re both assholes, I pause my player and go get the dorm door.
Harry, a tall, ginger marvel of a man is standing there. He looks at me and then to the TV behind me.
“Hi, Harry,” I say and let him in.
He nods and walks in, taking his jacket off.
“You guys started without me? Not fair,” he says and sits at my spot with my remote in hand.
“Babe, that’s Tru’s remote. Here’s yours,” Freddy says and passes it to him.
Harry reaches for it and grabs Freddy to plant a kiss on his lips.
“Sorry, Tru,” he says when I stand next to the couch.
I shrug and gesture for him to stay where he is. Freddy has leaned back between Harry’s legs, and Harry is holding his remote in front of Freddy’s chin.
I can’t imaginethatbeing very comfortable, but itlooksromantic.
“It’s fine. I was gonna grab something to eat, anyway,” I say. “You guys want anything?”
“Pizza,” Julian shrieks in a button-pressing frenzy, making both Freddy and Harry flinch away from him.
“Dude, relax. We’re right here,” Freddy says.
“Sorry,” Julian apologizes. “You guys want pizza?” he asks in a lower, more human tone.
“I can do pizza,” Harry says, and Freddy agrees.
I get their order and Harry gives me some bills from his wallet, and off I go to the closest pizza place.
The evening is dark and chilly, and my hands stay deep in the pockets of my jacket until I reach the warm safety of the Dough Bros.
As expected, it’s quite crowded and busy, but thankfully the line for takeout isn’t too long.
I give my order to the person at the counter and hang about the waiting section, scrolling through Cinderfella on my phone.
As usual, there’s a bunch of eligible guys around, but I can’t bring myself to hook up with anyone even though it’s been two weeks since I got laid. And that is two weeks too long.
It’s not like I’m not spoiled for choice in New Harlow. My hometown is one of the biggest LGBTQIA hubs in Virginia, partially thanks to Harlow U’s reputation across North America. So plenty of queer men for my androsexual self to do the deed with.
But call it fear, or plain stupidity, I can’t get Everett and Carter out of my head. I don’t want to make a mistake again by sleeping with a teacher, but I can’t even imagine anyone else being half as satisfying as they had been. Which is quite the conundrum, isn’t it? Considering I can’t sleep with them again, especially now that I know they’re my teachers.
“Oh… hi,” someone says behind me, and I turn to find who else? Everett Spencer. Professor of Art History and crush number one.
“H-h-hi,” I say, elegant as always.
