9. Jonah

CHAPTER NINE

jonah

It can’t bea coincidence that after Cullen has hockey practice, I have a spring in my step that lasts through to the following morning.

Dalton coaches three times a week, two days of classes and one day of private coaching one-on-one. Cullen only does the classes, but I’m seriously contemplating signing him up for the private sessions. Dalton did say I should encourage Cullen’s love of hockey, after all.

And maybe that’s getting desperate, considering ever since we slept together, all the interaction we’ve had revolves around Cullen, hockey, and fleeting looks.

Damn it. It’s been a long time since I’ve been infatuated with someone, but I can’t get Dalton out of my head.

It’s clear he wants me too. I see the way he checks me out. But whatever it is that’s holding him back hasn’t changed, and I’m trying to be respectful by not asking what it is—so I can fix it, get rid of it, do whatever I have to do with it—or if he’s changed his mind yet.

It’s Friday, which means I won’t see Dalton again until Monday. I wish I knew where he hung out or had his number so I could⁠—

I shake my head at myself. It doesn’t matter what kind of mood he puts me in; I can’t be the type of guy to chase someone unobtainable.

He was up-front about what he could give me. It would be greedy of me to ask for more.

That’s what I tell myself as I get in line at the Bean Necessities coffee cart, my permanent smile still in place.

All that good mood sinks when I see who’s in line about four people in front of me. My gut churns. My heart stops.

Because I’m starting to think I know the real reason why Dalton couldn’t have more than one night with me. He shouldn’t have even had that with me.

I knew I’d recognized him. I knew I’d seen him somewhere before.

For whatever reason, he lied and said he didn’t know me.

That fucker was in my class last semester, and the guy he always sat next to, the redheaded grad student auditing my class, is his boyfriend.

And there they are, mere feet away, kissing. In public.

I can’t believe I didn’t put it together before. I guess I was used to seeing him with his boyfriend permanently by his side.

Disappointment turns to anger.

I need to walk away. I’m undercaffeinated and can’t be late for class. I can’t get involved. And I did promise to never speak of what happened between us to anyone, but when does a deal like that become void? If I knew it was because he wanted to cheat on his boyfriend to carry out some fucked-up professor-student fantasy, I would never have invited him back to my place.

Damn it. Everything makes sense now.

His hesitation.

The way he called me Professor Brooks.

The way he lied about being kicked out of an entirely different school.

The man is psychotic.

Which is exactly why I shouldn’t march up to him and his boyfriend and cause a scene, especially in front of people who are in any of my classes.

And I won’t do it. I won’t.

Walk away, Jonah.

Walk. Away.

My feet half listen. They start walking. Just … in their fucking direction.

Don’t do this.

Do not risk your career, your reputation, or your dignity.

Do. Not. Do. This.

“Dalton,” I bark.

I guess we’re doing this.

Both Dalton and his boyfriend flinch.

The hazelly-bluey-green eyes I’ve had dreams about widen at me. Dalton’s gaze flicks between his boyfriend and me. “Y-yes, P-professor Brooks?”

“Oh, going to try to act all innocent? Like you’re not a cheater?”

Dalton’s mouth opens and closes rapidly. His boyfriend glances around frantically at everyone in line and those close by who might want to see a show.

“Maybe we should, uh, go somewhere to talk about this?” the boyfriend says.

I turn my attention to him. “Y-you knew? Was it some kind of sick game to both of you?”

“I-it’s n-not a game,” Dalton stutters.

“A bet? See if you can sleep with your professor?” I’m not going to comment on anyone’s relationship. If they’re open or whatever, that’s none of my business, but this is … this is⁠—

“What? I didn’t.” He turns to his boyfriend. “I definitely did not.”

“Oh, so now you’re a liar as well as a cheater. Got it.” I turn on my heel to leave.

“Wait,” the boyfriend says.

I don’t know why I do it, but I turn back around.

“Harrison, I honestly don’t know what he’s talking about,” Dalton says.

“I’m pretty sure you do.” Harrison stares at his boyfriend like he’s waiting for him to get it. “This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

Dalton’s mouth drops. “Emmy.”

What, he thinks he deserves an acting award for this bullshit? “Emmy?”

“Emmett,” Dalton says, like it’s obvious, but then … then he does something completely unexpected. His shoulders slump. “Emmett didn’t happen to mention he has a twin brother?”

T-t … twin?

It’s my turn to stutter. “B-brother. He mentioned a brother. Ben. Goes to Franklin.”

Ben raises his hand. “That’s me.”

“I’m guessing it’s your last name that’s Dalton, then.”

His nod is slight.

I run my hand through my hair. I had this all wrong. And now …

I glance around at everyone staring at us. At the drama.

Fuck, I did everything I said not to, and worse, I did it for nothing.

“I-I have to go.” This time, when they try to stop me, I don’t let them.

I practically run from campus, and it’s not until I’m almost home that I remember I was on my way to class, so I send out a class-wide email.

Hi all,

Won’t be in class today.

Do some of the formulas in your textbook and come see me during office hours if you have any questions.

Professor Brooks.

Why wouldn’t Dalton—fuck, Emmett—tell me he was a twin?

The memory of him saying “A little bit” when I asked if they look alike flits through my mind, only this time, it’s a hell of a lot more sarcastic than I originally took it.

I’m an idiot. The biggest idiot.

And I can’t believe I did that.

I caused a scene. Got upset over someone I have no right to get upset over. Made a complete fool of myself and have no way of getting in contact with Emmett to apologize in advance. His brother is going to tell him what happened, how I acted, and then I’m going to have to walk into that hockey rink on Monday and pretend like I’m not unhinged.

Sorry, Cullen, I think I’m coming down with a case of terminal embarrassment. I can’t take him back to hockey, or I will die.

Maybe I can convince Cullen to take up tennis or basketball or any other sport he hasn’t tried yet. Anything but hockey.