Page 56 of Puck Shots
“I’m counting on it. You know how much a maid would cost?”
He shoves me loose.
“Jerk, you know you love me for more than my cleaning skills.”
I scrunch up my nose.
“You sure?”
“Mean,” he says, tossing a pair of socks at me. I dodge them easily.
“Can’t catch the Flash.” I laugh, and he lunges forward, chasing me around the room, up and over the beds until he’s caught me in a headlock on the floor.
“Who’s the fastest now, Flash?” he asks as I wriggle and writhe trying to get free. Then I hear a tearing sound, and he lets go and jumps to his feet.
“Is it bad? Tell me it isn’t bad,” he asks, contorting his torso around to try to see the back of his pants while turning in a circle like a dog chasing its tail.
‘That depends.” I laugh. “How much of your ass do you want the big wigs at Boston to see?”
18
Eli
Okay, so I know that it’s cliché saying that teenagers only think about sex, but it’s basically the truth. I mean, at least for Cosmo and me, it is. The last three days we’ve hooked up seven times, once even in the stacks of the library. He came by to bring me a bottle of water on his way to practice, and we ended up giving each other a handy in one of the dark corners. I’ve never done anything like that before. It’s like when I get near him, reason leaves my brain, and all I can think of is kissing him, tasting him, making him moan my name. Urgh, see? There I go again, getting a semi in the middle of class, thinking about Cosmo’s perfect, thick cock.
“Who wants to give it a go first? Mr. Mores, how about you?” Professor Wexler asks, drawing my attention.
I glance at the board behind him for any clue to the thing I’m supposed to have a go at, but it’s got the same equation up there it’s had all lesson, and it was solved decades ago. It’s why we’re reviewing its principles.
“Sorry, Sir. What am I doing?” I reluctantly ask, and there are a few snickers from around the room, but they die down quickly enough.
“I just offered extra credit to the class. All you have to do is ask me something that makes me reply, excellent question.”
I don’t see how that warrants extra credit. It’s too subjective, there’s also no way to eliminate bias. He tilts his head a little to the side, one eyebrow cocked with an unimpressed frown, before turning his attention to look across the rest of the room. I close my laptop in my lap.
“What do you think makes a question stand out as excellent and therefore worthy of extra credit?” I ask, and his lips turn up in an impressed smirk.
“That, Mr. Mores, is an excellent question.”
A few people laugh, raising their hands to ask their own questions. I didn’t need the extra credit; I just figured it was the only suitable question. He doesn’t answer it, though, and after ten minutes of people trying to impress him, he gives only three others the desired response. The bell sounds, and I take my time packing up my things while the majority of the class makes an immediate beeline for the door.
“Please pay closer attention in future classes, Mr. Mores,” Professor Wexler says as I throw my bag over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”
“Good because you’re especially gifted, and I’d hate to see that potential lost to the follies of youth.”
He’s not even in his forties by the looks of him, but he dresses and talks like he’s in his eighties. His jacket is one of those tweed ones with leather patches sewn into the elbows that you see in old movies, and he’s wearing his burgundy sweater vest and dark green bowtie today. Each day is a different combination, I figure, based on just the ones I’ve seen already, he has to have at leasttwo dozen sweater vests and maybe three dozen bow ties. Where does someone even find that many bow ties?
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir,” I reply, moving to the stairs.
“I noticed you’re pledging Kappa Omicron Kappa.”
“I am. Is that a problem, sir?”
“Not exactly,” he replies, packing his things into his old brown leather briefcase. Its latch is broken, so he can’t hold it by the handle anymore or the flap will come open, so he slings the shoulder strap over his head and joins me on the stairs. “I would have thought a scholar such as yourself would have been better suited to one of the more…academic fraternities on campus. The Kappa Omicron Kappa’s are known for their predominantly jock inhabitants. The Omega Delta Phi’s, on the other hand. They have a long history of academic excellence at BU.”
I notice then, the small ODP pin on his lapel.
