1. Logan

1

LOGAN

I t had taken me a mere two days into my freshman year to figure out that most of the athletes and jock types on campus rolled into the U’s cafeteria at approximately 12:23, swarming the serving lines en masse. I’d tweaked my arrival time accordingly so I could get through before they carb and protein loaded, leaving only wilted vegetables and gristly meat cuts until the cafeteria staff could catch up again.

“Mmmm, perfect timing,” Jesse all but purred as he sipped a glass of watery tea and watched the main entrance.

He had also noticed this pattern, but for wholly different reasons. Either way, by sophomore year when we ate together we’d already be sitting with our meals, Jesse judging the day’s offerings with his signature amateur chef’s disdain, as the guys rolled in. Jesse had become an expert at determining the athletes and their sport by body type. Sometimes it was gimme when one or a few of the guys would amble in wearing a shirt with the sport arched beneath the U’s logo. And despite my decided lack of interest in sports-minded types in general, I’d grown to enjoy listening to Jesse’s running commentary, which was far more forgiving with men than with food.

Today’s first wave consisted of what I assumed was the U’s football offensive line, going by the hulking refrigerator-like builds. The second wave, I wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint except that one of the guys was wearing a U Lacrosse shirt.

Jesse’s gaze ping-ponged back and forth between the two groups as they queued up in the serving lines, before settling on the lacrosse guys.

“Into the stick skills today, huh?” I teased. “What happened to your infatuation with ball-handling prowess?”

“I’m over football players. And basketball guys, for that matter,” Jesse said with a dismissive sniff. “Lacrosse is where it’s at now.”

I tilted my head skeptically. “Have you ever even watched a lacrosse game?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the players. That’s like doubting I would enjoy a cheese Danish just because I haven’t actually eaten one. I know I would enjoy it because it looks fucking delicious.”

“You had cheese Danish for breakfast,” Nate, Jesse’s roommate, chimed in. He joined us on occasion and seemed as amused by Jesse’s comments as I was.

“And it was delicious.” Jesse waved a hand. “You know what I mean. Quit with the semantics.”

What I did know was that Jesse had a new crush seemingly every other week. I absently listened to the two roommates banter back and forth while I eyed the rambunctious lacrosse guys huddled around the baked potato bar. One guy in particular, with wavy chestnut curls that just barely dusted the collar of his Henley, had caught my attention.

“Pickett!” Nate yelled, lifting a hand, and the guy I’d been eyeing turned around, lifting his chin in acknowledgment to Nate when he spotted him.

I tried to angle away, but it was too late. Josh Pickett’s gaze slid from Nate to me, lingering for a two second beat, as if trying to place me, before one of his teammates bumped his shoulder and pointed back to the potato bar where one of the servers was trying to get his attention.

“How do you know him?” Jesse whisper-hissed across me to Nate.

“He can’t hear you, you know,” I pointed out.

Jesse gave me the stink-eye then turned his attention back to Nate. “But seriously, how do you know him?”

Nate squirted a tiny dollop of sour cream onto his baked potato and speared a bite into his mouth. “He’s a Sigma. Pledge brother, actually. We work out together sometimes, too.”

“Awww, how sweet.” Jesse cocked his head and grinned. “Bonding over brotherhood and free weights.”

Jesse, like me, was what was known as a GDI, a goddamn independent. Jesse had said he didn’t have time for all the bullshit, and I was similar, with the added layer of having decided that I wasn’t really the frat type anyway. I liked parties and stuff just fine. But as an introvert, the constant keggers, organized socials, and doing grunt work as a pledge weren’t really my thing.

“Cool lifting technique, bro. Is that how it goes?” I joked, doing my best jock impression as I flexed my meager bicep. I had what I called a decidedly “bookish” build. I wasn’t completely lacking in muscle definition or tone, but I didn’t put a lot of effort into my physique the way Nate did, or even Jesse, who was a yoga addict. I preferred helping people lift their grades over lifting weights.

Jesse snickered as Nate flipped us both the bird. He and I were more casual acquaintances, but Jesse and I had become friends in freshman comp when he’d been Nate’s roommate in the dorms. Now they shared an off-campus house with some other guys, and he and Jesse were close, so Nate appeared every now and then when we ate in the caf. We knew each other well enough to talk shit, though.

“Y’all can both come with me sometime and I’ll show you how it all works,” Nate teased.

“Gym equipment gives me hives, sorry.” Jesse shuddered dramatically.

“You wouldn’t risk it even for all the eye candy?” Nate, as far as I could tell, was straight as an arrow, but Jesse said he’d never been anything other than cool and supportive.

“No.” Jesse and I both answered in unison.

My gaze slid back toward Josh as the server handed him a plate. “Pickett always struck me as lazy, anyway.” I spat out the total non-sequitur with a little more irritation than intended. I didn’t have a true beef with Josh, just that one little thing. I didn’t even know why I’d said anything aloud.

Jesse’s gaze swerved in my direction. “You know him, too? Like, well enough to get him to introduce me to that guy he’s talking to?”

I craned my neck to see the tall blond he was pointing at and shook my head. “Nah, I doubt he even remembers me, anyway. We were on a group project together last year, that’s all. I ended up having to do his part myself when he bailed last minute. It sucked.”

Jesse hummed sympathetically.

“The blond dude is Trace,” Nate said, steering us away from my sudden fit of discontent. “He’s dating a cheerleader, though.”

“Figures. Blonds are such a rare catch.” Jesse huffed, then straightened in his seat abruptly. “Sweet Apollo descending Mt. Olympus, he’s coming this way!”

I thought he meant Trace, but I glanced up to see Josh weaving through tables and chairs, heading in our direction. I subconsciously straightened in my seat, too, then realized what I was doing and forced myself to relax back into what I hoped was a casual sprawl as he stopped in front of Nate. Josh Pickett was easily over six feet, and leanly built, wearing a waffle-weave navy Henley that clung to his defined biceps and broad shoulders. Not that I was paying close attention or anything.

“Did you hear they’re replacing all the treads at the gym?” He was all casual cool-guy as he spoke, the outside of his thigh leaning against the table, his other hand draped around a tray weighed down with a giant baked potato. How the hell he could make carrying a baked potato look sexy was beyond me.

“Yeah?” Nate frowned. “What’s wrong with what they have now?”

Josh shrugged, his gaze moving to me, then jumping quickly to Jesse before swerving back to Nate.

“Dunno. But they’re doing those super high-end ones with the flatscreens and games. There’s a zombie chase one that’s pretty cool.”

His eyes darted to me again and a shadow passed over his expression. I might’ve mistaken it for sheepishness or remorse, but no way a guy like that had thought twice about me or the fact that he’d slacked on our project. He was part of the U’s Athletic program and therefore his main job was to win, not make academic achievements. I was a nobody anyway.

Still, in spite of the blandness of their exchange, an unwanted thrill shot up my spine as I caught a whiff of Josh’s deodorant or aftershave. It was the same delicious scent I’d noticed last year every time he’d plop down at the table in the library where we’d usually gathered to discuss the project. Something pine-y and clean. I might even say refreshing, except he wasn’t a beverage, even if I was drinking him in against my best intentions. And yeah, he was gorgeous. Also lazy, and I’d lost eight hours of sleep once bailing his ass out. Ugh. I just needed my dick to catch up to my brain, because it’d acted the same way back then, too, and apparently hadn’t learned its lesson.

“I know you.” His voice came out softer, thoughtful as he cocked his head at me, a friendly half grin playing over his face that showcased a small dimple.

I offered him a tight smile. “Western Civ. Last year.”

“That’s right. We were in that group project together.”

“Mm-hmm, we were.”

He shifted, and I couldn’t tell if it was discomfort or the extra-super-duper loaded baked potato he was carrying. “Logan, right?”

“Yep.” I tried to keep the shock that he’d even remembered out of my tone, well aware of Jesse’s eyes boring into the side of my face.

“I’m Josh.”

“Yep, I remember, because I considered leaving your name off the project altogether since I spent an entire night doing your part.” Oops, politeness fail.

He grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine.” I waved a hand, almost knocking over my water bottle and fumbling to keep it upright. “Water under the bridge or whatever.” The bottle gave a loud crack as I squeezed it, reminding me that I needed to stop talking. And moving. Maybe breathing.

“Oh, okay good. Yeah I…I’m…” He thumbed over his shoulder, “Gonna go eat lunch now. Catch you at chapter tonight, Nate.”

Nate offered him an up-nod in return and, with one last glance in my direction, Josh spun around and wandered off in the direction of his buddies.

“What the hell was that?” Jesse squinted in my direction with obvious disapproval.

“Saying hello to someone.” Nate offered obliviously. “I believe they’re referred to as social skills.”

“Nooooo, I’m asking Logan. Hot Lacrosse Guy was trying to be nice. When a guy that hot is trying to be nice, you be nice back—even if they’re a slacker—not squeeze a water bottle like you wish it was his neck. That’s in the gay playbook of life, for fuck’s sake.”

I definitely didn’t wish the water bottle was Josh’s neck. In fact, there was a horrible split second where I’d wondered how the thickness of his cock might measure up. “No, it’s not. I’m not going to be nice to some slacker jock just because he’s hot.”

“I don’t think he’s really much of a slacker,” Nate said thoughtfully. “I mean, he holds down an athletic career, almost never misses a chapter meeting unless there’s a game, and barely ditches class. I mean, that I remember.”

I pointedly ignored his logic.

Jesse shrugged. “I’d have locked that down in five seconds, given the chance.”

“Last week you were all about that guy on the soccer team.” Nate reached over me and swatted him.

“By the end of the year, it’ll probably be someone on the bowling team,” I chimed in with a chuckle, glad to get the attention off of my awkward moment du jour with Josh.

“I hate both of you.” Then Jesse grinned. “But do we have a bowling team? I can actually bowl!”