Two

two

Odium: general or widespread hatred or disgust incurred by someone

SPENCER

Three days later, it’s my second day of my new job at a café on the edge of campus. The owner is Fiona, a nice lady who believes in equality. Therefore, her employees have to take turns in covering every single task around the café. This morning, I’m the busboy.

The pay is slightly better than the cleaning job, plus I can ask for more shifts if I want, two reasons why I don’t mind the mundane tasks at all. It allows my brain to work on autopilot, so I can recite the points for my next exam on child development while gathering empty mugs and dirty plates.

It’s fucking cold when I check the few tables outside. The campus is slowly clearing. Students are leaving or preparing to go home for the holidays, there are only a few classes left. Soon it will become deserted.

I like Christmas if it means having some peace around here. Lori invited me to join him and Gabe’s brothers since I don’t have a family to be with this winter break, but I much prefer to spend these holidays as I always have. Alone. I feel a physical and mental lassitude lately, taking a break in solitude is going to replenish my energy.

Three more weeks. Hopefully this job will be less eventful than cleaning locker rooms. Famous last words.

When I walk back out from the kitchen, tray in hand, my eyes are quickly caught by a mountain of a man. His long blond hair is covered by a gray baseball cap, a red down jacket over his wide shoulders, and gunmetal sweats wrap his bubbly ass. He’s standing near the counter, trying to grab a straw with his pinky finger while holding a cup of coffee in each hand.

I grit my teeth, crushing the chewing gum inside my mouth. I’d smile at his cute artlessness if he wasn’t a colossal asshole.

“Spencer, can you give him a hand?” Clarissa, from the till where she’s taking care of other costumers, is pointing at TJ, who’s now staring at me. Fuuuck my luck!

Filling my eyes with contempt, I move the green tray under my arm and make my way to the counter, slow and unfazed—outwardly. Because inwardly, I want to slap his privileged, prejudiced, hypocritical dick of a face.

I push a bell decoration out of the way and grab a straw before sliding it oh so very slowly and suggestively into the small space between his palm and the cup he’s holding. He sucks in a breath and widens his sweet, deceiving eyes.

thoughts are whirling inside my head. Socking him on the jaw and discovering how big his dick is, equally tempting me at the moment. But I won’t do anything to jeopardize my scholarship—not with people present anyway.

Instead, I chew hard on the gum and amble away when I hear, “Thanks…Spencer.”

I turn my head and scoff at his fake demureness, before leaving him standing there. He thanks me for a straw but shoved me away for helping him out of the shower. I still feel the ache in my knee as testimony of what a total ass he is.

Not going to lose another second thinking about him.

A few minutes later, I’m clearing a table when I hear an “oops” just before a plate crashes on the floor. When I look up, the angry jocks from the locker room—all wearing the same red and white jacket with the team logo of a wolf—are sitting with a few girls. TJ is surprisingly not among them. They are sneering, sending me glaring looks. One mouths the word “fag” at me.

Charming.

Poorly concealed insults it is, then.

I turn to their table and give them a coy smile. “You keep dropping stuff on the floor.Uhm. Aren’t you supposed to hold on…to the ball? That’s ominous.”

The guy stands up, looking all hostile; the sound of his chair scraping the floor is quite annoying. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“It’s bad luck,” I slowly explain while standing my ground. The air has turned electric, filled with tension and imminent frenzy. My hand goes to the tray I left on the table behind me. There’s five of them and only one of me, but I can still do some damage. I like my odds.

“Yo! We have class in ten minutes.” Out of the corner of my eye I see TJ and three other guys near the door calling their dickish teammates.

The jocks all begrudgingly move away from the table and file toward the door. One of them bumps my shoulder while another stops a foot from me. “We’ll see you aga—” He tries to finish his bombastic little threat, but I jerk back.

“Dude, a mint before you start a conversation,” I exclaim out loud. A couple of girls giggle, sending me curious glances. Never got a stiffy for a woman. My type is usually silent and packing.

The guy glowers but, being the last one left, doesn’t try anything before stomping outside. I shake my head at his lack of braincells.

I walk over to check the mess they left on the floor more closely. Feeling the ache flare inside my knee for a moment, I lean down to massage away the pain.

“Why are you limping?” TJ’s sonorous voice makes me jolt with surprise.

“Fuck!” I spin, finding only two feet between us. The air is suddenly filled with the smell of spice and cinnamon. My body turns tense remembering how strong he shoved me.

“Are you hurt?” He is sporting that frown again on his face.

What’s with the sudden interest in my well-being? “No.”

“Did I do it? In-in the shower?” He lowers his voice on the last part.

I sniff at his remorseful tone. “You should go back to your witty teammates. I have a floor to clean.” I dip each word in contentious sarcasm. I don’t wait for his retort, though. I head to the back to get a mop and whatever else I need to clean while trying hard to forget a pair of annoyingly worried brown eyes.

TJ

I ache everywhere thanks to the most excruciating football practice in history. Coach Morgan worked us hard and kept me on the field for extra training afterward since my head hadn’t been in the game.

It’s the holidays. I hate this time of the year. And what I know will come during winter break. The thought of going back home to endless dinners and boring meetings creates a dreadful sensation in the pit of my stomach. My father likes to parade me around like a peacock in front of his friends and colleagues while my mother pretends everything is swell. It makes me nauseated.

Maybe I should stay on campus . I snort at my idiotic thought. My father will never let me do that.

I place my palm on my hurting abs as memories of Spencer falling on top of me fill my head. He’s tall and slim, but I definitely felt lean, warm muscles under those loose clothes. Under my fingers. I can’t stop thinking about it, how my body reacted to him. To all that hard weight covering mine.

He went from grumpy to playful in a matter of seconds. His quick comebacks left me speechless. At the café today, I saw his kindness as he helped an old lady out of a chair and paid for a coffee for a student who forgot his wallet. Then he handed me the straw, after the way I treated him. I didn’t want to do it. I was just trying to avoid a mess with my teammates. But he doesn’t know that.

I could clearly see the disdain in his hazel, almost yellow orbs this morning. It didn’t stop me from studying the little freckles peppering his nose and part of his cheeks, the wavy dark red hair curling on his nape, and the low-waist jeans hanging dangerously on his narrow hips.

He has a peculiar way of talking too. He is clearly from Chicago or nearby—his accent is unmistakable—-but he uses fancy words I sometimes don’t know the meaning of.

The eye tattoo on the back of his hand is pretty dope. Makes me wonder if he has any others.

I need to stop this. He clearly hates me.

I look around the quad. There’s no one out at this time of the evening. It’s lightly snowing, but I don’t feel the cold after the training I had. My jacket is open at the front, hair damp from the shower, and my gloves are inside my backpack with my lucky gray cap.

I keep walking for a few minutes. I have my jeep, but I prefer to move on foot when I can; it helps me clear my mind. The café where Spencer works is closed, the yellow Fiona’s sign off. But I hear voices coming from the alley on the side.

A bitter laugh reaches my ears followed by a whimper and an oomph. Hit by a sense of dread, I jog toward the noises and stop dead at the sight of four of my teammates surrounding Spencer. are on the ground, Greg in a fetal position holding his groin and Stan his leg. Spencer has blood near his mouth, and his shirt looks wrinkled at the collar under his open jacket. He’s standing with his back to the wall and his fists high. His eyes are cold and filled with anger.

Damn, he looks tough as nails and sexy.

“Stay out of our locker room and away from us, you piece of disgusting shit!” Josh is threatening him, getting closer, with Nolan doing the same on the other side.

“I got the message when you jumped me, four against one.” Spencer spits near Josh’s sneakers, smiling like a loon. “By the way, you couldn’t be more clichéd and your point more trite.”

“What the fuck is going on?” My body finally decides to work again.

“Clearing the air, TJ,” Nolan answers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap at him. My teammates should be my family, but some of them, just like my biological ones, are pricks.

“He started it by disrespecting the locker room,” Josh barks.

That’s bullshit! If they caught me in the shower with a girl, they’d have given me a pat on the shoulder and left us alone. But it was a guy, and since they are too afraid to come at me—I’m built like a tank and the son of Taylor Moore—they went for Spencer.

“I didn’t start it. But I’m happy to show you how I finish homophobic motherfuckers like you.” Spencer sounds almost excited at the prospect. “A hint? Look at your friends moaning on the ground.”

Josh and Nolan are about to attack him when a tall wave of protectiveness washes over me, and I growl, “Get the fuck away from him!” This is not right. Spencer has only helped me.

“You’re defending…him?” Nolan spits out.

I clench my fists. We are supposed to always have each other’s backs, something they didn’t do during practice today, tackling me to the ground more times than I can count—their way of letting me know what they thought about the shower incident.

We have out-and-proud players on the team, and apart from some unhappy faces, there’s no problem usually. I’m still figuring things out. I’ve only ever been with girls, but what happened with Spencer tells me another story. It’s fucking private, anyway, and no one’s business but mine.

“After the way you acted on the field today, you guys expect me to defend you ?” I growl.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Josh tries to look ignorant.

I scoff at that. “If Coach Morgan gets a whiff of this, you’ll all be benched. Is that what you want? It’s five months to the draft.”

Nolan grits his teeth and shakes his head, taking a couple of steps back. Josh does the same, but then he suddenly utters, “Fuck it!” and punches Spencer in the face.

I drop my backpack and grab Nolan’s arms, pulling him back so that he won’t go and help Josh. I’m much bigger than him, so it’s no hardship to hold him.

I turn my head toward Spencer in time to see him elbowing Josh in the face, then kneeing him in the gut, and, finally, backhanding him across the jaw so hard he drops to the ground. He wipes away the blood from the corner of his lips and crouches down near a whimpering Josh, his booted foot moves on top of his hand.

“No!” Josh cries out when Spencer’s sole presses harder. Nolan jerks his body, trying to make me release him, but I tighten my hold. I’ll stop Spencer myself if he overdoes it.

“I’m no snitch,” Spencer says in a colloquial tone, checking the chipped black nail polish on his nails. “But since I’m dealing with cowards and snakes, look up and smile at the security camera.”

He waves at the one mounted over the café’s back door. Fuck, they are big ass idiots!

Nolan groans incredulously in front of me. “You said this was the best place to rough him up, Josh!”

Josh replies with a groan filled with anger and pain.

“Try pinning anything on me, and I’ll show everybody what disgusting pieces of shit you jocks are, comprende ?” Spencer presses more weight on Josh’s hand, making him scream a loud “yes.” He then stands up and takes a step back. Looking at Nolan and the other two guys on the ground, he adds, “Come at me again, and I’ll end your football careers.”

I get only a scathing glance before Spencer grabs his messenger bag from the ground and walks away without looking back.

I let go of a cussing Nolan, and after picking up my backpack, I jog after Spencer.

“That was…” I blow out a breath. “Are you okay?” I ask him.

“Fuck off,” he replies. He’s still limping slightly. I see him bend down to retrieve his bike, and I move closer, intent on helping him. He stops me.

“Stay back!” he snarls. His hazel eyes are sparkling with fury, body trembling with it.

I raise my palms up in a yielding move. He stares, nostrils flaring, body alert. My dick twitches at how hot he looks all disheveled and badass while my mind is fucking enraged about what happened.

This is partly my fucking fault. I feel responsible. I should have been the one to clear the air with those four fuckers—even though it would have probably made it worse. But I saw the way they were glaring at him this morning, and I didn’t do anything, too lost in my little mental, bi freak-out.

He lifts the broken bike, cursing at it. Both tires are slashed and the back wheel is bent. Did Josh and the others do this? I want to ask if he knows, but it doesn’t look like he’ll give me an answer.

After looking at the damage for a bit longer, Spencer hoists the bicycle onto his shoulder and starts walking. After witnessing his fighting skills, I know he has trained muscles under the purple tie-dye t-shirt and black jacket, but his limp has worsened.

“I can carry the bike,” I tell him.

He keeps walking ahead of me like he didn’t hear me, which is impossible. His loose black jeans have fallen lower, putting on display the upper curve of his round ass and the waistband of a pair of black boxer briefs.

“Why are you following me?” he asks. “You want me to beat you as well?”

“I’m sorry, okay? Didn’t know their intentions.” I jog ahead of him and spin, walking backward, facing him.

He studies my face and then makes an incredulous sniff. “You’re being glib! Are you telling me that I didn’t lose my job because of you?”

He lost his job? That’s why he didn’t show up the last few nights. Not that I waited for him by prolonging my training in the gym.

He pushes me unceremoniously to the side and lowers the bicycle to place it under a bike shelter. Then he moves toward the two-story building.

I expected a cheap student accommodation, instead, Spencer is climbing the stairs of a nice four-apartment complex. I follow him. He stops on the second-floor landing, and while he takes out the keys, he says without turning my way, “You and your jock friends are pathetic. You know that, right?”

“I’m not like them,” I automatically retort, even though I know there’s truth in his words. I am pathetic.

“Don’t worry, getting hard when brushing against a hot body means fuck all.” He pats my shoulder with mockery as he opens the door.

His bold if patronizing statement takes me off guard, and I start stuttering like an idiot. “I… It…didn’t…”

“Riiiight, denial from a macho guy. So cliché. Go back to your bunnies, groupies, or whatever the fuck you call them, jock. Good luck.” He uses the word jock like a curse.

I open my mouth, hoping to give him a comprehensible reply, but he has already closed the door on my face.