Chapter 2

“What sort of papers do you have to get through? Better do them tonight if you want to watch the big game on Sunday.”

“Freshman essays discussing whether or not Sacco and Vanzetti had their political civil liberties violated,” came the automatic response. He glanced at Tre, his frown back. “What big game?”

Tre couldn’t bite back his grin at the man’s entirely innocent question. “Nothing. Not important. So, do you teach freshman history or freshman literature?”

“History.” The bartender set the ginger ale down in front of him, prompting the stranger to reach for it. “Literature would be a blessing at this point.”

“I was just a credit short of a minor in history. I don’t think I could ever teach it, though. Seems like a pretty thankless job.” Tre watched as the man took a swallow of his drink, then set it down, licking his lips. He had nice lips. And once Tre noticed how nice the man’s mouth was, he couldn’t stop noticing. A part of him knew it would be safer, wiser, to walk away now. “Let me make up for the hell I put my profs through and buy that ginger ale for you.”

The man’s surprise came as a soft flush across his cheeks, a slight rise in his brows. “That’s really not necessary. I’m sure you weren’t that much hell.” His gaze darted over Tre’s broad shoulders, the powerful forearms visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Tre would have sworn they lingered for a second too long on his legs before jumping back to his face. “Or at least, not as much as the lot I’ve been cursed with this term.”

“It would go a long way toward soothing my guilty conscience,” Tre said, gesturing to the bartender. “Could you please put his drink on my room? And anything else he orders.” Turning back to the stranger, he extended his hand. “I’m Tre, by the way.”

The man took it, fingers long and curving lightly around Tre’s. “Michael.” He held up his glass in a salute. “And thank you.”

Tre was momentarily captivated by the way Michael’s fingers felt against his. And by the way his pale skin contrasted against Tre’s darker tones. He knew what the problem was. It had been a very, very long time since he had been with another man. Celibacy made more sense than the alternative, most of the time. He’d rather do without than risk getting caught with his dick in the wrong hole.

“It’s no problem.” Tre took a long sip of his beer. “What are you doing grading papers in a hotel?”

“Because it’s preferable to staying at my parents’ house and fielding endless questions on why they aren’t grandparents yet.” His smile was rueful, and the way he ducked his head, as if he were embarrassed, adorably cute. “I’m in town for a family get-together this weekend. It’s just easier if I’m not around them more than I have to be.”

Tre nodded, doing his best to dampen the spark of hope at Michael’s casual words. He was notgoing to pick up some strange man tonight. Even if the man didn’t know anything about football. Even if the man didn’t look at him with disappointment, like Tre had done something to betray him personally. Even if Tre was lonely, and Michael had smooth skin and a nice mouth.

Still, it would be good to know if he could pick him up, if that was what he wanted. “My parents are the same way. Well, they would be, if I ever brought home a nice girl.”

Michael smiled, and his speculative gaze swept over Tre again. “Sometimes bad girls have their advantages,” he commented.

“At this point, Mom would certainly be happy with a bad girl.” Tre looked at his companion carefully. “She’d argue bad girls are better than no girls at all.”

The long seconds their eyes locked told Tre all he needed to know.

Shifting on his stool to face him a little more directly, Michael reached in front of Tre for a handful of peanuts. “My mother would likely pose the same argument. If I thought it wouldn’t give her a heart attack, I’d probably show up with a date to the get-together this weekend to put an end to it, once and for all.”

“I actually did that once, a few years ago. She refused to believe he was anything but my good friend and the issue was dropped.” Which was mostly true. She told him she wouldn’t believe Roger was anything except his teammate, and if he kept insisting otherwise, he wouldn’t be welcome home again. It was the first, and last, time he’d had the courage to try that stunt.