Chapter 9

9

Luke

"Hello, ladies," I singsong as I walk through the front door. A chorus of high, female voices answers me, and I wave off an invitation to join them. "Sorry, I'm a one girl kind of guy."

I lope up the stairs two at a time and knock on Margot's door before pushing inside without waiting for an answer. She's stretched out on her bed, bowl of popcorn balancing on her stomach, and hair tied up in an alarmingly high bun. Her laptop is resting on the mattress beside her. She scowls at me, popping one headphone out of her ear.

"I could have been naked in here," she protests. I snort, climbing into bed beside her with the laptop between us.

"That would have been terribly exciting for me, I'm sure."

"Hey," she smacks me in the chest, almost overbalancing the bowl of popcorn.

"Careful, there," I snatch the bowl and grab a handful of popcorn, grinning as she scowls at me. "Don't give me that look, you love me. "

"God only knows why," she grumbles, reaching out and closing the laptop. I move closer to her and offer her the bowl.

"You coming to my game Saturday?"

"Of course. Oh, and I've got you two tickets for my show, in case you want to bring someone." She moves the laptop to her side table and closes the distance between us so that she doesn't have to reach as far for the popcorn.

"Cool. I'll see if Max wants to go."

She looks at me sideways. "Hm. So, you came to a decision, then?"

"Yeah. I decided that I like him and I want to see where this thing goes. He deserves somebody who will be good to him and keep him safe, and that somebody is me. I'm going to make sure he doesn't have any reason to be scared or stressed about being with someone. And if your brother ever finds out who hurt him, I call first dibs. I want to kill the fucker."

"Deal," she says, holding her fist out for me to bump. "But seriously. I'm glad to see you finally growing up."

I choke on a mouthful of popcorn. "Excuse me?"

"You can't be a fuckboy forever."

"I'm twenty years old!"

Shrugging, she pops a kernel in her mouth and chews. "Don't you have class, like, right now?"

"It got cancelled. Figured I'd come and annoy you for a second before I head to the gym."

"God, I'm so lucky. Give me back the popcorn and get out of here, I'm too busy to deal with you right now. This is Margot's happy time." She flutters her fingers toward the door. Passing the bowl back over to her, I open the laptop cover and laugh. She's watching Star Wars .

"Margot's happy time, huh? Nerd."

"Seriously, go away. I can't concentrate with you leering at me and eating all my popcorn. Go bother Max."

I blow her a kiss as I leave the room, jogging back down the stairs and out the front door. Whistling, I stroll across campus toward the gym, taking my time since I have the afternoon unexpectedly free. I skirt around the science building, taking a new route for the hell of it. It's deceptively warm today, I've got a date with Max in a couple days, and I've been playing the best baseball of my career this season. I feel fucking great .

When I open the door to the athletic center, I pass the large cork board hanging just inside. A large poster I've never noticed before catches my eye; stopping, I look at it, reading the words three times through before moving closer to read it again. The top of the sign says SPEAK UP! in blocky, bold writing. Underneath that is a photo of a woman and a man, both with duct tape over their mouths. The caption next to the woman reads: 1 in 5 undergraduate women experience sexual assault while in college. Next to the man, it reads: 1 in 16 undergraduate men experience sexual assault while in college. Between them the numbers for emergency services are listed, and somebody has handwritten a note as well, advising students that they can come to office 3b if they need to talk.

I can't fucking look away, barely even noticing the door opening and closing, and people walking past me. The man on the poster looks nothing like Max, and yet there is something in the eyes that resonates with me. Sad, vulnerable eyes. Coming to a split-second decision, I note the office number once more and set off down the hallway. I have to climb two sets of stairs and end up backtracking twice before I find the correct room: 3b .

Knocking, I crack the door open and peek inside. There is a woman seated at a desk, grey hair cut into a bob and thick framed glasses. There is a massive potted plant on the shelf behind her, leaves cascading all the way down to the floor. The wall behind her desk is completely obscured by an abstract art piece: slashes of blues and green, with a hint of purple thrown in. It reminds me of something you'd see hanging in a doctor's office.

"Hello," a soft, female voice distracts me from the painting. The woman at the desk has turned away from her computer and is looking at me, smiling in a polite but reserved way. I clear my throat, unsure of what I'm here for now that I've arrived.

"Hi."

She stares at me, patiently waiting for me to continue. When it becomes clear that I'm not going to, she fills the silence. "May I help you with something?"

"Oh, well, maybe," I laugh uncomfortably. "Uhm, I saw your poster? Downstairs?"

There is a barely perceptible change to her posture: a slight narrowing of her eyes and a straightening of her spine. She looked curious before, but now she looks serious. She gestures for me to come inside.

"Have a seat…?"

"Luke. I'm Luke."

"Hello, Luke. My name is Eloise Price." She rests her hands on the desk in front of her, fingers loosely linked and looks at me. I fidget, trying to get comfortable in the chair. I wish I could remain standing without seeming rude.

"Hi."

Again, she waits for me to offer some sort of explanation for my visit. Again, I leave her hanging. Even I don't know why the fuck I'm here. She compromises by plucking a business card from a tray and reaching out to hand it to me. I take it. "I'm a sexual assault victim advocate."

"Oh," I say, nodding. There is a cell phone number listed on her card, with 24/7 written next to it. "I saw your poster downstairs, and…"

I look around the room, tapping the business card on my leg. And what, Luke? What the hell are you doing here?

"It's all right," she says cajolingly.

"So, a friend of mine—a really close friend of mine—was raped," I stumble over the word, embarrassingly, "or they think he was because he was roofied. And, uhm, him and I are kind of dating now and I'm a little out of my depth here. I don't know what I should do, you know? Or, not do. And I can't just ask him outright because…well, he's not the one who told me about what happened. I heard it from someone else."

The tapping of the business card has become frenetic against my leg. I see her look down at it, and wonder if she's regretting giving it to me.

"Would you like something to drink?" She asks, and I nod. Bending over in her chair, she opens a mini fridge beside her desk and pulls out a bottle of water, sliding it over the desk to me.

"Thank you," I say, immediately cracking it open and drinking half of it down. I'm parched.

"I'm sorry to hear about your friend," she says solemnly.

"Yeah, me too." I frown down at the business card. I'm the one who called him my friend, but that isn't fucking right, is it? It doesn't feel right—friend is a lesser version than what Max and I are. I can't quite bring myself to use boyfriend, though, or even partner. I don't know enough about serious dating to even know when those labels come into effect.

"Luke," she says, drawing my eyes back to hers. "Unfortunately, there isn't a brochure I can give you that will help with this. There isn't a cut-and-dried way of healing—everybody is unique. Therefore, their interactions and the things they need are unique."

I nod, giving her a self-depreciating smile. "I was hoping you'd be able to give me a list or something. Maybe a pamphlet."

She returns the smile, kindly. "I know. But the most important thing to remember, Luke, is that there's nothing wrong with your friend. He's not broken, or different in any of the ways that matter. You can treat him the same as you usually do, while also being respectful of boundaries and listening when he tells you things."

"Yeah, okay, that makes sense."

"And consent is important," she says, voice hard as she stares at me. "It's important that you receive it at all stages, and that you understand it can be revoked at any point. It doesn't matter if you've been together a week or five years, a no is a no, Luke."

"Yes, ma'am," I swallow, nodding.

"He doesn't need you to try to save him, he just needs you to be there for him."

"Okay. I can do that," I reply confidently. Because that is something I know I can do. "Thank you."

"Do you feel better?" She asks, and I laugh under my breath.

"Yeah, actually. I hadn't even realized I was so…" I swirl my hand around in front of my stomach, trying to indicate th e general feeling of queasiness. "I don't want to do something wrong, that's all."

"You might," she says, "but what's important isn't that a mistake is made, but how it's fixed."

"Right." Nodding, I stand up and tuck her business card safely into my wallet. "Okay, thank you. Thank you so much."

She smiles, kindly. "Of course. Anytime you, or your friend, need someone to talk to, I'm here. And that card has my personal number on it—I'm available any hour of the day."

"Thank you," I say, again, and gently close her office door behind me on the way out.

I feel…better about my decision to move forward with dating Max. Don't treat him any differently is advice I can handle. I wish I could go see him right now; hell, I wish I could see him all the time. It's unusual for me to become attached to men this quickly, or deeply, and I'm a little unsure of how to navigate this depth of feeling. I've always been a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy, no matter how much I tried to be otherwise. But every time I've thought about not being with Max these past few days, I'm filled with a sick, sticky sense of dread.

I have a disturbingly caveman-esque voice in the back of my mind, chanting: Max Kuemper is mine, touch him and die. Ironic, really, given I was the one giving him shit about being possessive.

After changing into gym clothes, I head over to the rack of free-weights, catching the eye of one of my teammates in the wall mirrors. He nods at me and continues working at the leg press. After a few minutes, he joins me, grunting out the usual gym-bro greeting, and getting down to business. I end up doing a double workout, wanting to build up a good sweat before heading to work; Margot has plans tonight and Max has an away game, which means I'm on my own at the diner tonight—no special visitors.

After hitting the gym shower, I do a quick check of my bank account to make sure I've got enough funds to cover a smoothie from the bar. I'm fucking starving and a man can't live off of greasy diner food alone. I send Max a good luck text just as I'm walking through the door of the diner, lifting my smoothie in a silent salute to Wendy, who's near the door and assisting some customers.

"Is your boy coming tonight?" She asks as she joins me behind the counter, sliding the order through the window to Reggie, and leaning a hip against the wall.

"Nah, he's got a game. I brought my laptop, though; do you mind if I set it up and watch?"

She waves a hand. "Do what you want, as long as the silverware gets wrapped and the customers get served."

"You got it, Boss," I say, grinning and saluting her.

Setting up the laptop, I get the livestream playing just in time to see Max score a goal. The camera zooms in on his smiling, sweaty face as the team converges on him in a mass of hugging and back-slapping bodies. I'm grinning like a fool, watching him skate the length of the bench, tapping the gloves of his teammates.

Propping an elbow on the counter, I lean my chin in my palm and enjoy a few minutes of uninterrupted watching. It's impressive, the way Max moves like smoke through the opposing team, using footwork that shouldn't be possible with skates on his feet. He's got a look on his face that I've only seen once or twice; it's almost peaceful, like stepping onto the ice aligns something in him that had been off-kilter before. I wish he could feel that comfortable all the time, and not feel he has to hide beneath too large clothes and a desire to be invisible.

I take the stairs at Max's apartment building two at a time, arriving at his door and giving a quick series of knocks. I'm bouncing on my toes, unable to contain my excitement for the evening, until the door opens and I'm greeted by Marcos' scowl. I barely hold myself back from rolling my eyes at the ceiling and groaning, but I manage it; honestly, I should be given an award for my impressive self-control.

"Hey," he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. It's not lost on me that he's effectively blocking me from gaining entrance to the apartment; ergo, no access to Max.

"Hey," I respond, trying to keep the bite out of my tone. We've never exactly been friends, but up until now we've always been civil to each other at practice and school when we crossed paths. To say things have been tense since I've started going out with Max is an understatement.

He sighs, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at me. "He's in his room," he says. "He'll be out in a second."

"Cool. You going to give me a speech about treating him right and having him home before midnight?"

"No," another sigh, and he looks down at his feet, "I know he'll be all right."

"Yeah," I agree, "he will."

He nods, straightening and pushing the door wide. Stepping back, he waves at me nonchalantly and shouts toward Max's room. "Have a good night, Max."

He disappears down the hall, leaving the door wide open in what I assume is an invitation to come inside. I close it gently behind me and step immediately toward Max's closed door. When I open it, he's standing near his closet door, jeans halfway on as he pulls them up.

"I'll be out in a—," he calls, but stops once he sees me. "Oh, hey. Sorry, I'll be ready in just a second. The bus was late getting back or I would have been ready by now."

"No worries, take your time." I sit down on the end of his bed and do my best not to get turned on by the way his briefs hug his legs and package. If I didn't know Marcos the Grouch was in the apartment, I might suggest we stay here so I could undress him and worship every inch.

"Jesus," he breathes, and I shake my head. I have to adjust myself; apparently, I wasn't successful in fighting the boner.

"What?"

"You," he laughs, buttoning his pants and stepping toward me. "Surprised I didn't spontaneously combust, with you looking at me like that."

I grin, reaching out to hook the backs of his knees and pull him to stand between my spread legs. Tipping my head back, I look at him, running my thumbs absently along his knees. I wish his pants weren't in the way and he could go back to the state of undress he was in when I first arrived. "Sorry. Wasn't prepared to be smacked in the face with your dick the second I walked into the room."

Laughing, he puts a hand on my head and runs his fingers through my hair, effectively trashing all of my careful styling. "First of all, my dick hardly slapped you in the face, you drama queen. Secondly, this is my room, and you entered without knocking. Nobody's fault but yours if you get an eyeful."

"Well, I wasn't complaining ," I tell him, and squeeze the backs of his legs in a way that I hope conveys please bend down and kiss me .

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkled in mischievous amusement as he bends down and kisses my nose. I screw up my face in exaggerated disappointment and he takes pity on me, kissing me for real this time. Oh boy, oh boy ; my entire body hums with delight at the contact, and it hits me how fucking wild I am for this man.

Before I completely lose control and pull him into my lap, I give his lip one last caress of my tongue and pull back. "You taste good," I tell him.

"I'll make sure to write a thank you letter to Colgate," he replies, like a fucking smartass. I run my hands appreciatively up and down his jean-clad legs.

"You're going to want to wear something a little comfier," I tell him, and enjoy the surprise that dances across his face.

"For our date?"

"Correct."

He looks at me, eyes scanning my black joggers and SCU Baseball shirt. "Mm. So you're not just telling me to change because you want me to take my pants off again?"

"No. Although, that is an unexpected bonus."

Snorting, he undoes the button on his jeans and shimmies out of them. Leaning back on my hands, I shamelessly enjoy the show. He pulls on athletic pants almost identical to mine and roots around in his closet until he finds plain navy-blue shirt. When he's done, he holds his arms wide for inspection.

"Better?" He asks.

"Perfect."

We take my car because I want where we're going to be a surprise. Max pretends to cross himself and say a prayer when it takes a couple of tries for my car to start, and we spend nearly the entire drive roasting my old beater. I'm a pretty happy guy generally, but there is nothing quite like spending time with Max. His reserved exterior hides a quick wit and a sharp sense of humor, and his laugh is to die for. I'm nearly shitting myself with excitement, as we pull into the parking lot. Putting the car in park, I turn in my seat to get an eyeful of Max.

"Uhm," he says, leaning forward and looking at the building incredulously. "Are we at a trampoline park?"

"Sure are," I tell him, leg bouncing with excitement that I can't contain. Max's mouth slowly curves up into a smile.

"What the hell are we waiting for?"

Laughing, we push out of the car and I grab his hand as we head toward the front door. He sidles closer, forearm brushing mine as we stroll through the parking lot. When he holds the door open for me, I brush a thank you over the inside of his wrist with my thumb. We tuck our shoes into the cubbies and stand at the edge of the first trampoline. I look down at Max's socked feet, my stomach performing a strange, swooping motion.

"Jesus, even your feet are sexy," I tell him. He looks at me and then down at his own toes.

"You are the horniest motherfucker I've ever met," he says, and I shove him onto the trampoline. He hops away, laughing, before turning around to face me and giving a few experimental jumps. "You coming?"

I knew when I planned on coming here for our date, I was taking a risk. It would either end up being a blast, or a complete and utter failure; it winds up being the former, thank god. Max and I spend hours—far longer than I'd planned—jumping around, doing backflips, and laughing so hard our ribs feel like they might crack. My cheeks and stomach hurt from the general outpouring of joy, and I am pretty sure this is the most fun I've ever had.

I try to grab his hand again as we walk to the car, but he slides his arm around my waist instead, causing my heart to skip a couple romantic beats. He's holding me tighter to him than is strictly necessary, and I am so fucking here for it; I return the gesture, and take it one step further by leaning in and kissing his cheek. He blushes, which is so cute I think I might die.

"Where to now?" I ask, as we slide into the car and I start the laborious process of getting the engine to start.

"It's pretty late, do you want to just…eat at home?" He stumbles over the request, as though I'm going to say no to literally any suggestion he might have.

"Your home or mine?"

"Driver's choice."

"Mine, then. I'll make you a sandwich that will make you fall in love with me, and then I'll kiss your fucking brains out," I tell him, as I successfully get the engine to start and put the car in drive.

"Careful what you wish for, Luke Kelly," he warns, holding his hand out to me palm up across the center console. "You'd be an easy person to fall in love with."

I smile, trying not to feel too pleased with this. Glancing over at him, I take in his copper-brown hair and light eyes; his tall, muscular frame and lean hips. He's gorgeous, and has the personality to match. You'd be easy to fall in love with too, Maxy.

True to my word, when we get to my place, I put a pair of sandwiches together in the kitchen while Max sits at the island watching, chin resting in his palm and a small smile on his face as he listens to me talk about baseball. Only one of my roommates is home, from what I can tell, moving around upstairs but not interrupting. Good, I want Max all to myself.

Grabbing the two plates, I skirt around the counter and perform a motion that is something between a curtsy and a bow. "Dinner shall be served below, my liege."

"After you, peasant," Max replies loftily, and waves me in front of him. Cackling, we traipse downstairs to my bedroom, where I open the door with my hip and hold it wide for him. He brushes his hand across my hip as he passes, and he might as well have done it with his teeth with the way my skin zings with pleasure.

There aren't many places to sit other than the bed, so we settle there: Max with his back to the headboard and legs stretched out, and me cross-legged in front of him, not wanting to sit directly next to him and not be able to see his face. I hand him his plate.

"So, this is it, huh? The sandwich to beat all other sandwiches. The main ingredient to Luke Kelly's love potion," he muses, eyeballing the perfectly normal peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"That's it. Not to brag or anything, but I'm something of a PB my thirstiness for this man knows no bounds. Max, who is contentedly munching away on his sandwich, doesn't appear to have noticed. I watch him for a few seconds, pleasure inflating my chest like a balloon as he eats. When we first met, I could barely get him to choke down a forkful of pie—now, he's sitting on my bed and eating a peanut butter sandwich so fast I wonder if he's even chewing.

"So, hey, are you my boyfriend?" I ask, and he chokes a little bit because of my unfortunate timing.

"What?" He asks, after successfully clearing his throat of peanut butter.

"What's our thing? Boyfriends, lovers, partners? Sex cowboys?"

" Sex cowboys? "

"I don't know," I laugh, "I just couldn't think of any other relationship terms, so figured I'd make up some of my own. Sex cowboys sounds like it might be a good time."

"Sure, if either one of us was a fucking cowboy," he says, hand shaking so hard with laughter he has to set his plate on the nightstand. His empty plate, I'm pleased to note.

"Do you want another sandwich?" I ask, temporarily diverted by the fact that I just watched him inhale his food. "I'll make you something else, what do you want?"

"No, I'm good."

"Are you sure? If you're hungry?—."

"Really," he interrupts, "that was perfect, thank you. And, circling back to your question from before. You tell me what our thing is. I'll be here for as long as you'll have me, so call us whatever you want."

He scuffs his heel back and forth on my bedspread, golden brown eyes on mine. I wrap my fingers around his ankle to keep him still, thumb caressing the inside of his heel.

"Boyfriend, then. Whichever label means that we're exclusive, and that nobody can touch you but me, that's the one I want."

"All right," he says, smiling softly. "Boyfriends. You sure you know what that word means?"

"Property of Luke Kelly—anybody who checks out your fine ass that isn't me, dies a slow and painful death."

"You got it in one," he laughs. "I take it from that statement, you might be a tad on the jealous side?"

"Hm, maybe. Less jealous, and more protective, I think. I guess we'll find out, won't we? Not like I have a lot of relationship history to go off of. Buckle up, Maxy, you might be in for a wild ride."

He laughs, shaking his ankle out of my grip and scooting closer to me so that he can put a palm to my cheek and kiss me. He tastes like peanut butter; I want to kiss him until the taste is gone and nothing but Max remains. Leaning over to set my plate on the floor, I palm his neck and bring him with me. He laughs against my mouth, both of us tilted to the side as I reach over the bed. I drop it the last few inches, because, fuck it, and then get back to the important business of kissing Max.