1 Chapter 1

Jonathan sat back in his desk chair and surveyed his dorm room. Everything was perfect, starting with the fact that his roommate Connor, he of the kinky red hair and fondness for cannabis and vintage Led Zeppelin albums, was gone for the weekend, headed out to celebrate the three-day President’s Day weekend at home in Cincinnati.

So he and Kyle could be alone—all weekend, all the time. Occasions like this one—where they had some blessed solitude—were rare in the couple’s months-old romance, so Jonathan wanted to make the best of it.

He closed his eyes and savored this moment, this anticipation. Kyle would be arriving within the hour, just as soon as he finished his work-study job in the dorm’s cafeteria.

Jonathan adjusted the music on his iPod dock so that it would continue to softly broadcast the playlist he had created for the weekend, a mix of trance, electronica, and classical music he knew would be the perfect background for the music he and Kyle would make themselves. He had stocked the little mini-fridge in the corner of the room with a nice Alsatian Riesling and a bowl of fresh strawberries. There was cream for their coffee come morning and, atop the refrigerator, a box of flaky croissants from the local bakery, two plain, and two chocolate chip. Jonathan had made sure his dresser drawer was stocked with condoms and a fresh bottle of lube, and he’d put clean sheets on the bed. Jonathan grinned and thought, But they won’t be clean for long.

He had even ventured to the seedier side of town where he’d rented two hardcore gay pornos and bought a bottle of poppers. Although he and Kyle certainly didn’t needadditional stimulation, he thought it would be fun to have as background and to maybe give them a few new ideas. Hell, they could even make a game of it and sync what was taking place on the screen with what was going on in Jonathan’s bed.

He almost didn’t hear the tentative knock when it came, so absorbed was he in fantasizing about the weekend to come.

Jonathan got up, grinning, and crossed the room, ready to fling open his door and his arms to Kyle. He could picture his boyfriend in his mind’s eye: the short muscular build, the hazel eyes, the mop of curly sandy hair that blended so perfectly with the constellation of freckles across his nose. He thought of the little tragus piercing in Kyle’s ear that for some inexplicable reason, Jonathan adored and could always be counted upon to play with his tongue, which drove Kyle nuts. The knock sounded again, and Jonathan took exactly three seconds to check his image in the mirror above his dresser. His blond hair had been cut that morning and, with a little dab of gel, looked stylish and alluring, the classic combo to his pale blue eyes and dark lashes. He wore only a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plaid boxer shorts. He figured they’d be naked soon enough, so why bother with a complicated ensemble that would only slow them from getting to the main course?

Jonathan would swear his heart began to beat faster and he got a little breathless as he approached the door. He couldn’t stop the beaming smile that spread across his face as he reached for the knob.

But that smile vanished when he saw Kyle standing out in the hallway, staring down at the floor and radiating dejection. His shoulders slumped and there was about him an overall lack of energy. When he managed to tear his gaze away from the tile floor, he looked at Jonathan with sadness. Jonathan frowned too when he could discern no excitement, no joy to see him, in those hazel eyes.

This was not the picture he had been anticipating when he swung open the door.

“Good God, Kyle, what’s the matter? Is everything okay?”

Kyle’s gaze returned to the floor and Jonathan shook his head, reached out and forcibly pulled his boyfriend inside the room, closing the door behind him. Jonathan cocked his head, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He smelled cooking grease on Kyle, the after-effect of toiling in the Hamilton University student cafeteria. Normally, he would suggest the two of them slip down the hall and into a shower together—a nice, sudsy, both clean and dirty beginning to their three-day weekend.

But the game plan seemed to have changed. Kyle’s bad mood, so rare and unexpected, cast a pall on the anticipation Jonathan had felt only moments ago.

Kyle didn’t answer.

Jonathan turned down the music, which was Moby’s “We Are All Made of Stars” and said, “Sit down, Kyle. Let’s talk. It’s obvious from your face, hell, from even the way you’re standing there that something is very wrong. What is it? Trouble in one of your classes? Is that Psych bitch giving you problems again?”

Kyle slumped down in one of the desk chairs, his long legs extended before him, the rest of his body sort of curled into itself. Jonathan wondered why Kyle didn’t take a seat on the bed, so they could at least sit side-by-side, but he let the move pass without comment.