The Right Move

1

“Please don’t touch me,” the guy snapped.

“Sorry!” Trevor jerked his hand back from the shoulder he’d grabbed for balance, which had the unfortunate side effect of throwing him off-balance and turning him ass over backwards. That would have been fine, except he was holding an open Scrabble box—tiles went flying (4,1,4,1,1,2). Thirteen points overhead.

Trevor’s ass took the brunt of the fall and he winced, although at least it was well padded for the job. Around him, the tink tink tinkof tiny wooden squares hitting tile could be heard like literary rain, despite the noise of the dorm’s common area. He grimaced and watched the little suckers bounce and skitter. Fuck.

“Graceful as ever, Trev!” Jorge shouted across the room.

“Helpful as ever, fuckhead,” Trevor shouted back.

“I’m so sorry!” the guy who was partially responsible for the mess said, now twisted around in his seat and staring down at Trevor, blue eyes wide and plump lips parted.

Holy shit, he was beautiful. He had clear, sun-kissed skin with a smattering of freckles (did freckles come in anything else?) and luminescent blue eyes. His long black hair was in a ponytail, hanging over his slender shoulder, with ends that had visibly been bothered by distracted fingers. As Trevor stared, the guy’s fingers found the frayed ends and fiddled. Long, slender fingers. The type pianists had. Or maybe models. Was this guy a model?

“Are you okay?” The big blue eyes blinked owlishly at him.

Trevor shook his head and pushed his glasses up his nose, trying to recalibrate himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit bruised.” He tried for a playful smile, but it probably just showed off his not-quite-buck teeth.

“Sorry.” The model hesitated, then looked around them. In addition to the scattered alphabet tiles, people were staring at them. Not helping pick anything up, of course. Just watching the display. Fuckers. A fiery red blush splashed across the guy’s face like an artist had painted it on. “Sorry. Um. Do you want help picking them up?”

Trevor would be more inclined to take the offer if the guy hadn’t sounded like it was akin to torture. “Nah, that’s all right.” Even if it was sort of your fault.

The guy hesitated again, before slipping from his chair, crouching down, and picking up a tile that he then deposited in the Scrabble box with its brethren that hadn’t made an escape.

“Thanks.” Trevor joined him in picking up the game pieces—in between dusting off his pants. “Sorry if I startled you when I grabbed your shoulder. I just lost my balance when I tripped on my shoelace.”

The guy shrugged stiffly, then darted a glance over his shoulder. Another shrug.

Oookay. Trevor shuffled under a table to get a wandering D.

The guy picked up a few more pieces and returned to the box. When Trevor joined him, he got a little smile. “Maybe you should tie your shoes.”

If it weren’t for that smile, Trevor would have thought the guy was scolding him for being a klutz—not like he would have been the first. But that smile. It wasn’t vicious or snarky. It was like the dude was a friend and they were sharing a joke. Not a particularly funny joke. Trevor looked down at his laces, which were still untied.

Or maybe he gave good advice.

Trevor tied his shoes while the guy continued picking up tiny squares. And Trevor was getting sick of thinking of him as the guy. “My name’s Trevor.”

The guy froze, hand reaching toward a tile.

Trevor waited.

And waited.

“His name’s Chase,” Jorge said, as he joined their little hunter-gatherer party.

“He could have told me that,” Trevor said.

Jorge shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Chase, why don’t you tell him your name?”

The model stood and spun on his heels so he was facing them, looming over them. Damn the guy’s tall. Chase. Chase is tall. And slender. Maybe he really is a model.

Model or not, Chase grabbed his messenger bag and scurried off.

Trevor watched him go. He had a delectable ass. “Nice job, fuckhead.”

“Dude wasn’t going to tell you. Probably thinks he’s too cool to talk to the likes of us.”

Trevor snorted. “Likes of you, maybe.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re so much cooler than me.” Jorge meaningfully set a tile in the box. “Done collecting all your scattered Scrabble pieces yet?”

Trevor cast him a side-long look, then glanced around the room. They seemed to have gotten all the pieces. “Yup, good to go. Although if we suddenly can’t ever spell ‘queen,’ we’ll know why.”

“God, there’s some sort of joke in there, but I don’t know what it is.”

Trevor rolled his eyes and heaved himself to his feet. “You gonna play with me or not?”

“Speaking of queens,” Jorge grumbled as he followed Trevor to the table where they often played their board games. It made them feel social. Also, as the only seniors in the dorms still (thanks shitty lottery system!), they were getting a little stir-crazy in their room. They could go to Rita’s room, but it was a long trek just to play a few rounds of Scrabble, then haul themselves back for dinner.