3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“You look disgruntled, even for you,” Jane said as she slid into the booth across from Malcolm. It was just after ten, and Jimmy’s was still more than half full with students and staff eating a late breakfast. Just like him and Jane.

Last year, he and Jane had shared a hallway, living in singles next to each other.

This year, they were sharing an apartment on the other side of campus.

Jane was on the dance team, and her practices and Mal’s practices often meant they rarely saw each other if they didn’t make specific plans. And Jane always made sure they made plans.

Malcolm didn’t know how this girl, two years younger than himself, sweet with a spine of steel, had ended up deciding he was worth her effort, but he considered her one of his best friends.

Okay.

His only best friend.

Your only friend. That voice wasn’t his own, but apparently belonged to Elliott. He swatted it away. Annoyed the guy had not only invaded his quiet, ordered life, but his brain now, too.

“Coach called me into his office last night, after practice.”

Jane arched a blonde eyebrow. “Is this why when I got home from my date you were barricaded in your room?”

“I was barricaded in my room because I was studying,” Mal claimed, but it was annoying how right she was.

Jane knew how important his studies were to him—one of the many reasons they got along and he liked her so well—so if she came home and his headphones were on, she’d generally leave him be. He hadn’t felt the need to close the door in ages.

But he had last night.

He still wasn’t sure why Coach’s request had upset him so much.

“Bullshit,” Jane said succinctly, stirring sugar into the cup of coffee Mal had ordered her. “What’s going on? Why is Coach B upset with you?”

“He’s not upset with me . Jones is failing statistics and Coach wants me to tutor him into a miraculously non-failing grade.”

Saying it out loud did not make it magically suck less.

Mal ground his teeth together.

“Well, that should be fun,” Jane said brightly. “Should I expect to come home one day and see the apartment building reduced to rubble?”

“ No ,” Mal said emphatically.

“Just asking,” she said in a light, casual tone.

Mal glowered and then felt guilty for glowering. It wasn’t Jane’s fault. “I can control myself. I don’t want to physically attack him or anything.”

“No? You sure about that?”

“Jane—”

“You know my theory.”

He knew her theory. She’d imparted it last year, in the late spring, just before the semester ended, after she’d gotten drunk on coconut rum and confessed that she was pretty sure Mal’s annoyance with Elliott Jones was mostly frustration that he wanted him so badly and had decided he couldn’t have him.

Him . Wanting Elliott fucking Jones.

“That’s ridiculous.”

And okay, Elliott was good-looking. That was a factual thing, not an opinion, even. And not even Mal’s opinion—more the opinion of the many, many guys desperately panting after the jerk.

Otherwise, he could barely stand to be in the same vicinity as Elliott.

“It’s not ridiculous, it’s clear as day,” Jane said bluntly. She leaned in. “You’re in major denial. He hit on you, and you froze—”

“He hit on me in the most ridiculous, smug, egotistical, over-the-top way. I was never even tempted to say yes. I did not freeze,” Mal reminded her. Especially since after that night, more than a year ago, Elliott had had what felt like hundreds of guys looking at him and he’d hardly stopped himself from looking back.

Mal hadn’t been special. Elliott hit on everything that moved and breathed and had a freaking dick.

“You should’ve said yes,” Jane said sternly. “Maybe that would—”

“Don’t say it!” Malcolm yelped. “God, don’t say it out loud.”

“You have a real problem, Mal, and he could help ,” Jane said with a sigh.

“It’s not a problem,” Mal insisted, though it kind of was, at this point. “It’s a situation, and I’m not unhappy about it. I don’t mind.” Though, yes, he kind of did mind.

At twenty-two it would be kind of nice to have someone touch his dick besides his own right hand.

“You’re lying to yourself. You’re not a virgin out of choice. You’re a virgin because one bad experience soured you and then you got caught up in the bullshit your dad told you was real and you didn’t know how to untangle yourself.”

“I wish you would stop saying that word,” Malcolm said. Ignoring the rest of what she’d said about his dad.

He didn’t know if it was true.

He didn’t know if it was not true, either.

Jane leaned back in the booth. Crossed her arms over her chest. She was wearing a baby pink sweater today. It should have made her look like a delicate prima ballerina, priming to get on stage. Instead, she looked more like a drill sergeant, ready and willing to kick his ass.

“You wish I’d stop because it bothers you and you don’t even know how to go about dealing with it. That’s why. You know how to solve every problem in your life except this one. I’m begging, let the two of them solve each other.”

“I’ll tutor him and that’s all,” Malcolm said with finality, and he hated how much he sounded like his dad.

Jane had only met his father once, but she probably heard it too, in the inexorable, iron edge to his voice. She might’ve said it, too, but there was evidence of just how much Jane loved him, because she didn’t.

“And you also reserve the right to change your mind,” Jane said lightly even though they both knew how infrequently Mal changed his mind.

The waitress showed up, they ordered, and then Mal decided it was time to change the subject.

“How was your date?”

Jane rolled her eyes. “A complete waste of time. He spent the whole date staring at my boobs.”

“I hate men,” Mal said. “I told you he wasn’t good enough.”

“You love men.”

“I’m sexually and romantically attracted to men,” Mal said firmly. “That doesn’t mean I love them. They kind of suck, most of the time.”

“Oh, you’d like them to suck more ,” Jane teased.

Malcolm flushed, in spite of himself. Did not imagine Elliott on his knees in front of him, his never-ending bullshit finally silenced because his mouth was full . . .

He cleared his throat.

“Can we not talk about sex?”

Jane laughed. “That’s what we do when we’re not having any, Mal. Anyway, no, the guy was a waste. But there’s plenty of fish in the sea. I’ll find someone, someday. Until then?” She grinned at him. “There’s always my dear, darling Malcolm.”

He didn’t know how she’d come by her relentless positivity, but he’d gone from finding it a waste of energy to a nice change of pace.

Anthony McCoy had told him after the single time he’d met Jane that he wished Mal had been interested in her as more than just a friend.

She’s a good one , he’d said.

After that conversation, Mal had forced down another round of guilt that he hadn’t been the son his father had wanted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mal told her. Not just because he genuinely liked her, but because she was so sweet and relentlessly optimistic, he felt she needed protecting. People took advantage of people like that, and damned if they’d do that to Jane on his watch.

Jane shot him a warm smile as the waitress set their food down in front of him.

His dad wasn’t homophobic necessarily—just very set in his ways. And he’d raised Malcolm to be unflinchingly honest, so he’d seen no problem voicing, at age twelve, just how he didn’t feel a thing for girls, but liked guys instead.

Never taking the easy path. That’s my Malcolm, his dad had said then, patting him on the shoulder.

It hadn’t been reassuring, necessarily, but at least he hadn’t done something terrible?

Jane would have said that was hardly anything to applaud Anthony McCoy for, but then her feelings on his father were hardly a secret.

“I think I’m going to get the lead in a new piece in the winter dance showcase,” Jane said as they finished up their food.

“Really? That’s great.” Mal didn’t understand anything about dance, but he’d learned—because she’d been forceful enough to insist, finally producing a twelve slide PowerPoint presentation, that dance was just as athletic as a regular sport was—that it wasn’t easy.

There was an excellent dance program here at Portland University, and he was proud how Jane, still just a sophomore, seemed to be one of the brightest lights in it.

“Yeah,” she said, “there’s a new choreographer coming up from U of O, kind of an exchange, and Orla said that he really loved my audition. The one you filmed last week?”

Mal nodded. “It’s a guy?”

“Don’t worry, he’s probably gay. Almost definitely gay,” Jane said wryly. “Maybe I should introduce him to you.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “I don’t have any time for dates. Or meeting choreographers. Especially not now that I’m going to be tutoring Jones three times a week.”

“Three times a week?” She raised an eyebrow.

Mal realized he’d made a tactical error by returning his friend’s attention back to Elliott.

“He’s failing statistics, Jane. He needs help. A lot of help.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “Oh, I just bet he does.”

“That’s enough about Elliott. You’re so caffeinated you’re becoming delusional. No more coffee for you today,” he said, with mock sternness as he grabbed the bill off the table, ignoring how Jane made a face at his highhandedness.

She laughed. “I’m not sure I’m the delusional one.”

“We’ll see tonight.” Though Malcolm already knew he wasn’t laboring under any illusions that this would be painful and ugly and if it ended without them wanting to strangle each other, it would be a miracle.

“We sure will,” she said knowingly. She put an arm around his much bigger frame as they walked out of Jimmy’s. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”

Outside the private room Mal had reserved, Elliott took a deep breath and then another.

He’d spent the whole day—since he’d gotten Mal’s text with the room number—telling himself that he wouldn’t poke or prod him. That he’d be appreciative and grateful that Mal was willing to do this.

He’d even focus—and not on the way Mal’s curls fell over his forehead, or the dark intensity of those gorgeous blue eyes, or his broad shoulders and meaty biceps.

Pushing open the sliding door, Elliott met those blue eyes as they eyed him, top to bottom. Normally, Elliott might interpret that thorough examination as interest.

But he knew better.

Mal was cold as ice.

He glanced down at his watch. Elliott didn’t need to look at his to understand the gesture.

“So, you are capable of being early,” Malcolm said.

He seemed even colder than normal today.

I wanna be burned by all that ice.

Elliott pushed the thought away. He wasn’t thinking about sex. He definitely wasn’t thinking about sex in conjunction with Mal. He was focusing .

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Elliott said, sitting down opposite Mal. He pulled his laptop out of his bag, and then his statistics book.

“You don’t need either of those things,” Mal said firmly. “We’re starting more basic today.”

“More basic? I don’t need more basic. I need to pass this freaking test.”

“And you will. But statistics builds on basic principles and if you don’t get the basic principles, you’ll never be able to understand anything more advanced.” He glanced down at a paper in front of him. “If Dr. Prosser is following the same syllabus she was two years ago, then this test is about standard deviation.”

Elliott nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Alright, we’re going to start with the basic concepts and I’ll work through up to that point. The idea’s by that point, with the right, focused preparation, it shouldn’t be an issue to understand standard deviation.”

Elliott stared at Mal.

He should’ve guessed that Malcolm wouldn’t approach this problem like anyone else. Anyone else might’ve just pulled up the textbook exercises on standard deviation and pounded them into Elliott’s brain until he sort of understood. Until he got the concept well enough to pass the test.

But Mal wanted to actually teach him.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’d be a good teacher?”

Mal looked surprised. “No.”

“You didn’t have to go to all this work—”

“Yes, that’s me. Malcolm Workaholic McCoy,” Mal interrupted. “We’ve long established I like to do things by the book. That I’m too serious. That I’m too committed. I get it, Elliott. Trust me.”

Elliott opened his mouth and snapped it shut again. He’d actually meant it as a compliment, but naturally, Mal was so fucking prickly he’d thought Elliott was poking fun at him again.

“Actually, it’s a good idea.”

Normally, Elliott might’ve rather died than admit to Mal that any of his serious over-preparation was good.

Mal didn’t need more encouragement in that direction.

But for someone he didn’t want to help and a task he didn’t want to do, he’d still put the time and effort and thought into this.

It was impressive. And interesting.

“Are you okay?” Mal asked, staring harder at him. “Are you really Elliott or are you a shapeshifter just pretending to be Elliott?”

“Elliott can take some stuff seriously. Like passing this class,” Elliott said bluntly.

“Alright then.” Mal nodded. Pulled out a notebook. “Let’s start with the basic building blocks of statistics.”

The next hour might’ve been the most boring of Elliott’s life. At the end of it he still didn’t like math, but he did understand it a little better.

Malcolm pushed the notebook away and leaned back in his chair. “Good job,” he said. “If I’m being really honest. . .I didn’t expect that to go so well.”

“I’m not stupid,” Elliott retorted. Telling himself that he wasn’t upset, not in the least, by the surprise on Mal’s face. Maybe he had thought Elliott was stupid. That wasn’t another fucking blow to his ego, or anything.

“No, you’re not,” Mal said dryly. “But I was more talking about your ability to be focused on one single topic that isn’t hockey or a hot guy or a beer pong tournament or a party on frat row.”

“Ouch.” Elliott winced. “I’m not that bad.”

Mal shot him a look.

Okay, maybe he could be, a little. But this was college . Shouldn’t he be having some fun, too?

God knew Malcolm’s general personality could be improved by some fun.

“Maybe I was focused on a hot guy,” Elliott teased, leaning in a little, just to see how Malcolm would react.

Would he freeze him out? Or would he melt a little?

Mal stiffened and shifted away, looking down as he slid his notebook into his backpack. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said firmly.

Elliott had actually gone out of his way not to check out Malcolm during their tutoring, but now that it was over, he let his gaze sweep over him. And his cock still loved the way he looked. His body still wanted to get as close as possible.

See what he looked like—what he felt like—when he lost some of that serious reserve and got desperate.

“I’m not being ridiculous. You are, factually, hot .”

Malcolm glared. “You just behaved for a whole hour. Don’t start that shit again.”

“Jesus, you can’t even take a fucking compliment,” Elliott retorted. “With how much you hate me even telling you that you’re attractive, I’d think I was some gay guy hitting on a straight bro who didn’t even look at his own dick.”

Mal’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? Just because I don’t want you means I don’t want any guy? I gotta go, because if I’m being honest, I’m not sure there’s room in this room for me and you and your fucking ego.”

He picked up his backpack and before Elliott could attempt to explain—though he wasn’t going to fucking apologize for thinking the guy was hot, okay?—Mal was gone, storming through the door.

“Well, that went fucking wonderful,” Elliott said to the empty space where Mal had been sitting only a moment before.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Typed a text to Ramsey. Let’s go grab a drink.

Spoiler alert: you’re not twenty-one, Ramsey texted back.

Then let’s get a smoothie at Sammy’s.

Ramsey sent a thumbs-up.

Ten minutes later, he was sucking down his favorite peanut butter banana smoothie—and wishing it had a nice shot of peanut butter whiskey added to it—when Ramsey slid into the booth opposite him.

“It go that badly?” Ramsey asked mildly. “I swung by the library. It was still standing, so it couldn’t have been that terrible.”

“Have we ever taken a swing at each other?” Elliott demanded.

No, they hadn’t. Because if he touched Mal, it wasn’t going to be with aggressive intent.

Ramsey considered this. “Maybe you should,” he suggested.

“Are you crazy? I’m freaking trying to pass this goddamn class so I can stay on the team. If I took a swing at Mal, I’d be off it in point five seconds.”

“Or, option number two, you could just tell him you want to fuck him, badly,” Ramsey said bluntly.

“Or he could fuck me . I’m not picky. But you were there the first time I tried that. You saw how it went.”

“Yeah, you pulling out the cheesy lines and trying to flirt with him. With Mal . AKA a block of ice. You don’t flirt with a wall. You break it down. You melt him down .”

They’d talked about Elliott’s frenemy status with Malcolm more than once since Elliott had come to Portland U. Okay—a bunch of times. But Ramsey had never been this blunt before.

“I think I was plenty clear—”

Ramsey sighed, running a hand through his short blond hair. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

“Oh.”

“I mean actually seduce the guy. You’re cute. You know you’ve got moves. But every one of them that works on all these other poor suckers I see you move in on at the Gamma Sigma house every Saturday night—they’re not going to work on Malcolm. You should know that by now.”

“Aren’t you worried that we’re going to finally fuck and it’s going to ruin the team?”

Ramsey shot him a frank look. “I’m worried that if you don’t fuck, you’ll kill each other instead and then nobody’s going to be scoring any fucking goals.”

Elliott stared at his smoothie. He understood what Ramsey was saying. Sometimes it felt like there was a rubber band stretched tight between them, and it kept straining harder, until one day it was just going to snap.

Would there be collateral damage if that happened? Elliott didn’t want there to be, but he was beginning to think it might be inevitable.

Still, it didn’t feel great to have Ramsey—practically his hero—lecturing him on how to pick up a guy. He knew how to pick up a guy.

“Well, don’t hold back or anything,” Elliott complained. “I’m not trying—”

“Lie to yourself if you want but don’t lie to me. You still want him. You wanted him the moment you showed up at that first party. Your eyes lit up when you saw him there. I saw it. And I saw the fucking aftermath. I’d tell you that he doesn’t want you, because past experience is generally an indicator of future success.” Ramsey paused, and Elliott knew there was a but there.

Waited for it.

And not just because he wanted to finally get Malcolm McCoy naked, in his bed, scratching the itch that had been tormenting him for ages now.

“But . . .” Ramsey sighed profoundly, like he already knew he was going to fucking regret saying the rest. “ But, I’ve been playing with the guy for four years and I’ve never seen him get pissed off. Not once. Not until you.”

“So, you think I should seduce him.” Elliott grinned around his straw.

“I’m sorry, haven’t you been trying to do that this whole time? I mean, don’t just spout some nonsense and lean in and then yank his string when he doesn’t immediately fall to his knees in front of you.”

Elliott winced. “Ouch.”

Ramsey reached across the table. Patted him on the shoulder. “You have potential, Jones, but you’re not me. Not yet.”

Elliott rolled his eyes. “And people say I have an ego.”

“Is it ego if it’s true?” Ramsey laughed. “But seriously. It’s in everyone’s best interest if you two can figure your shit out. Besides, it’s good for a guy to learn to work for it every once in awhile.”

“I hate you,” Elliott said. “You won’t even tell me how?”

“How I’d crack Malcolm?” Ramsey laughed again and shook his head. “Hell no. You want him? You gotta figure out how to get him. And don’t tell me you’re not interested, because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be constantly needling him for any kind of reaction.”

“I really hate you.”

Elliott sucked down the rest of his smoothie as Ramsey chuckled.

“Well, how ’bout this? What went wrong tonight?”

“It was fine. He’d totally pulled a Malcolm and done all this prep work to tutor me. It was actually . . .” Elliott took a deep breath. “It was actually really thoughtful, especially considering how much he didn’t want to do it.”

“So he was typical Malcolm—maybe even more than that. And you bit his head off.”

“I did not . We studied together for a whole hour, and it was fine. Actually more like good. A whole hour with no bickering. And then he says something about how shocked he was, that I could pay attention for a whole hour to something that wasn’t drinking or partying or hot guys.”

“You did not,” Ramsey said, before Elliott even had to admit how he hadn’t been able to let the opening go.

“I . . .it’s not like it was really even true! Though it wasn’t a lie either. If I could take him, who is absolutely smoking hot, or another tutor who wasn’t , you know what I’m picking. That doesn’t mean that I . . .or that I didn’t . . .” Elliott trailed off. Buried his face in his hands.

“Not that Malcolm isn’t attractive, ’cause he is, but honey, I got to tell you, the only one who’s obsessed with his business is you . But here’s the thing—you hitting on him? It’s not going to work.”

“You said that already,” Elliott said sullenly.

“What you said tonight, that pissed him off, didn’t it?”

Elliott shrugged, not wanting to say it out loud— he had an ego too, thank you very much, Ramsey, and this was puncturing it more thoroughly than it had been in a long, long time.

Maybe since early last year, when he’d hit on Malcolm and he’d just brushed him off.

“You gotta stop telling him you want him, that you think he’s hot, etcetera etcetera, and make him want you . Make him think you’re hot.”

Elliott opened his mouth but Ramsey just shook his head. “Please don’t claim those two things are the same.”

“I wasn’t going to. I get the difference,” Elliott retorted. “But you just said, I should ask him to fuck me.”

“I did, but what I meant was ask him after you’ve gotten him. Now, for the love of God, please use some of this gold fucking star advice.” Ramsey slid out of the booth. “See you at the game tomorrow night.”

Elliott sat there for a long moment. Then another. And another still.

Long enough the guy at the register craned his neck to make sure he was still sitting there.

But the whole time Elliott was thinking of what Ramsey said.

If he could be right.

Not just that, even.

But if Elliott wanted him to be right. If Elliott was willing to figure this shit out, and even if he did, if it would make any difference whatsoever.

This was a lot of fucking work just to get a guy underneath him—when he could have nearly anyone else.

He could swing by the Gamma Sigma house tomorrow night after the game and pick up anyone else he wanted. Even guys who claimed they were straight—he could tempt them onto their knees.

Finally, he left Sammy’s and on his way back to his dorm room, he decided once and for all that he was done with lusting after Malcolm McCoy.

He was too much work. Too difficult. Too prickly.

Elliott ignored the voice that said what he was really afraid of was trying and failing, again .