Chapter 1

I’m leaning against the wall out of the flow of traffic and thinking this party’s a bust when I see Bobby Montague through the crowd. He’s my height but muscular, on the crew team, and probably the sexiest guy I’ve seen on campus since I enrolled at Rutgers two years ago. There’s something golden about him, an aura that makes him seem perfect, and seeing him reminds me that I’m not. It’s the weekend before Halloween but no one comes to these fraternity keg parties in costume and I sure as hell didn’t dress up. The whole thing just isn’t my scene. I take a swig of lukewarm beer from the bottle in my hand and give myself two more minutes before I head back to the dorm and my essay on Blade Runnerthat’s due Monday.

And then Bobby backs into me.

It’s accidental, I think, but I slosh beer down the front of my shirt and I’m sure he felt my budding erection through both our jeans. With a damp napkin, he wipes at my shirt, all smiles. “Hey man! I’m so sorry. Didn’t see you there—”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. It’s the most I’ve ever said to a guy as hot as Bobby, and I’m sure I’ll lie awake for hours tonight, kicking myself for not adding something more. I love you, perhaps, or fuck me. I’m not picky.

So it surprises me when Bobby glances at my face and does a double take. Guys like me don’t usually get that second look. “Weren’t you in Fuchs’s film class last semester?” he asks. The fact is that I’m in everyfilm class because it’s my major, and Fuchs is head of the department. But yeah, I took an intro course last term and Bobby sat three rows over, two seats up. I spent most of the lectures staring at the back of his short blonde hair. Searching for my name, he tries, “Is it Jake?”

“Jacob,” I correct. I barely weigh one twenty and look five years younger than I really am, thanks to the mop of unruly black curls that cover the top of my head. I don’t look like a Jake. Because he’s smiling at me and because I can’t think of anything else to say, I try, “You’re Bobby.”

He nods, still smiling, and I wonder if he’s drunk. The intense way he’s staring at me makes me want to do something, a card trick or maybe a handstand, something to break that smile into laughter and keep him amused. This close, he’s intoxicating. The strong scent of Obsession emanates from him like pheromones, and I shift from one foot to the next feeling awkward and gawkish. He makes me horny, have I said this? Whenever someone passes us by, he steps closer to me, pressing his arm against mine and nudging my knee with his, until my dick is hard and aching in my jeans. Revised game plan—forget the essay and jerk off tonight. The mere fact that Bobby remembered my name, or some derivative thereof, is good for a few wet dreams, at least.

I swallow down what’s left of my beer and wonder how much longer I have in the spotlight of Bobby’s gaze before he drifts away. I can’t think of anything to talk about—what’s his major? What class were we in again? Oh God—but Bobby comes through. “Are you in her class this semester, too?” I nod, and his grin turns wicked. “What’s the theme this time?”

From his leer, I know that he knows, and he just wants me to say it out loud so he can get a kick out of it. I consider not answering, but Bobby’s got a way about him that gets him what he wants, so in a low voice, I mutter, “Gay film.”

With a laugh, Bobby claps me on the shoulder, and my skin burns beneath his touch. “You’re a braver man than me,” he says, which can be taken in so many different ways. His hand still rests on my arm, as if he’s forgotten he left it there. “You watch anything porno in there yet? Or is it mostly just artsy crap?”

I hesitate, because I can’t think about porn with Bobby two feet away, I won’t, and in that moment he moves closer as someone brushes by. Through our shirts, I feel one hard nipple rub against my upper arm. The fact that this is the highlight of my evening underlines just how much this party isn’t for me. Though I hate to do it, I take a step away and begin, “Look, I really should go—”

From somewhere down the crowded hall, a girl’s voice rings out. “Bobby!” He half-turns, fingers tightening around my arm, and raises his beer bottle in greeting as she emerges in front of us. I hate her already. Long hair, blonde of course, straight and wispy with curled bangs. Big eyes ringed with too much makeup. A grin like a crocodile. Each finger tipped in blood-red polish that shines when she motions with her hands. When she reaches us, she breaks into breathless giggles. “Ohmigod, Bobby! Have you seen Ryan? He’s around here somewhere…” She raises up on her toes, which isn’t much higher than her height in the heels she has on, and makes a show of looking over the crowd. “We’re so out of here. I thought this was supposed to be a party, you know? Who invited all these freshmen? There he is—Ryan! Ryan!” She shouts again and waves frantically, as if anyone could possibly miss her.