16. Grady

Icould feel my eyes strain in their sockets as I stared at my phone, watching what was unmistakably Cameron's hand shuttling up and down what was unmistakably his cock. I scrambled to close out the screen and fumbled the phone in progress. I froze in horror and shock as it clattered to the floor. I forgot all about Arthur next to me as I dove after it.

A wave of familiarly crisp scent preceded the outstretched hand that beat mine to the phone. Cameron canted his head as he glanced at the screen, then turned the phone facedown and handed it back to me.

"Here you go, Professor." He arched a cocksure brow before muttering, "Again," under his breath.

I could only attribute my quick recovery to the hundreds of hours I'd clocked dealing with students in various states of distress and rage over the years. I offered him a tight smile. "Thank you, Cameron." There were words written in the gaze locked onto mine, a hundred different messages within, that would take me hours, maybe forever, to parse. I couldn't prevent the heat rising in my neck, though, or the odd brew of frustration tinged with guilt that roiled in my stomach.

"Mm-hmm. See you in class tomorrow. I've been studying really hard." When Cameron moved smoothly past me, I fought back the urge to watch him go, my initial shock slowly superseded by ire.

Arthur eyed me circumspectly, then chuckled. "Never pegged you for the clumsy type." I wanted to smack him. "How about another round?" He gestured toward our nearly empty glasses.

"Sure," I said absently and slipped back into my chair, trying to shake off the daze that Cameron frequently seemed to bring over me.

Two sips into our next round, I realized I'd made a mistake in accepting.

Arthur was droning on about…something—I didn't know what because I wasn't listening. I couldn't stop thinking about Cameron's hand on his cock, the slow, luxuriating upward strokes. How could I relax now, fully aware that he was at a table some ten feet from me, joking with his friends when he'd just been in the bathroom touching himself?

Restlessness and distraction had been the motivating factors when I took Arthur up on his persistent offer to hang out over a few beers. He and I weren't the only queer professors on campus, and he'd been here a decade longer than I had, but for whatever reason, he seemed to find me intriguing from the start, and much more so once he'd found out I was single. I couldn't be sure that he was angling for anything other than friendship from me—he was careful that way—but the casual touches here and there were fucking annoying.

Academic professionalism kept a smile on my face and a laugh on my lips for another twenty minutes, and then I pushed my glass away. "I've got to get home. Early class tomorrow." Fortunately, it was true.

"What about a nightcap at my place?"

Fuck.

I stiffened at the offer, my hands clenching in my lap as I looked over at Arthur's hopeful eyes sparkling under the glow of the overhead lights, a hint of a smirk on his lips. My mind was stuck on Cameron, my senses still filled with the lingering image of his bare skin, the intensity of his self-pleasure, the fiery challenge in his gaze as he'd handed me back my phone.

I forced a rueful smile to my lips. "Afraid I can't tonight."

He prodded a finger at my near empty drink. "Come on, Grady, don't be a bore. It's Wednesday, you know. Hump Day."

Oh Christ, he'd even waggled his brows as he'd said the words. The man was a phenomenal academic, but his game was absolute shit, and now I'd somehow gotten entangled in it.

"I appreciate the offer." I tried my best to keep my voice steady and polite. "But I think I need to call it early tonight."

His expression soured before he hid it behind his drink, taking a long swig. Then he offered me a simple nod, disappointment replacing the hope that had flickered in his eyes. "Understood." He stretched out his hand for a shake as I rose. "If you change your mind…" He let the sentence hang open-ended, even as I nodded and bid him a good night.

My exit took me past Cameron's table, and though I tried hard to resist temptation and keep my eyes on the path forward, I dared a split-second detour to meet his gaze. A familiar charge passed between us, a shared understanding. His knowing smile tightened the knot in my stomach, reminding me of what had drawn me to him in the first place. He quirked an eyebrow, a silent question in his eyes, and it took everything I had to leave it unanswered and continue out the door.

The cold air hit me as soon as I stepped outside, a welcome chill against the heat lingering underneath my skin.

I drove home with the image of Cameron stroking his shaft carved in my mind's eye, resurfacing at every stop light and stop sign.

Once at home, I stepped into a hot shower, as if I could sear away the intensity of my desire for him, wishing that every drop of water cascading over me might dilute the sense of longing. But it only seemed to exacerbate the memory of his electric gaze and the hard planes of his body, his goddamn smile and our teasing banter, how he'd bucked into my touch, and the open-mouthed moans as we'd come together outside the library.

I leaned against the tile, groaning as I ran my hands through my hair, pulling gently at the roots while I throbbed with unfulfilled wants that grew more difficult to ignore each day.

In frustration, I turned the cold tap on full blast and stood under the deluge until every thought in my mind evaporated beneath a shock of icy spray.

When I finally crawled into bed, I left my phone on my dresser, far out of reach of the temptation to reread our messages and watch his video over and over again.