By His Rules (13 page)

“You’re perfectly fun. I love having you here.

You’re pissy a lot, but who wouldn’t be after an

experience like yours. Just relax.”

Aiden tried, but it was hard. Especially once Sloane

let it slip that he was keeping her up at night.

He and Sloane were arguing about something

stupid—which set of knives could go in the dishwasher

and which had to be done by hand—when Sloane

suddenly stopped and apologized. “I don’t mean to be

so grouchy,” she said. “I’m just a lighter sleeper than the

other two, and you make it really hard to get a good

night’s sleep.”

“What do you mean?” Aiden asked.

Sloane shrugged. “We’ve all tried to be cool about

it.”

“Cool about what?”

“Come on. Are you telling me you don’t wake

yourself up, yelling like that?”

“What are you
talking
about?”

“Every fucking night, you scream in your sleep! It

wakes us all up. Or it used to wake us all up. Now it just

wakes me up. Kimmie and Hera are used to it.”

Aiden’s throat tightened, and he flushed. Was he

really shouting in his sleep each night? Why hadn’t

anyone said anything before now?

“Look,” Sloane said wearily. “I know you’ve had it

rough—”

“What do you know about how rough I’ve had it?”

Aiden demanded.

“I know your boyfriend beat you up and raped

you.”

Aiden slammed down the plate he was drying, too

angry to speak.

“Look… ” Sloane frowned. “Maybe you should

think about seeing a psychologist or something. I know

someone who—”

Aiden walked out of the room. He barely spoke to

Hera when she came home that evening, and he stayed

awake all night, afraid he’d fall asleep and scream.

Keaton was packing up his office for the day when

someone knocked on his door. “Come in,” he called,

hoping whoever it was wouldn’t keep him long. His

afternoon ceramics class had been fun. He’d had the

students do “picture rants”—illustrations, in a medium

of their choice, of something that had been bugging them

lately. He enjoyed teaching, but it would be a relief to

get home and spend some time alone in his studio.

He looked up as Hera Bennings, one of his ceramics

students, entered.

“Hi,” Hera said.

“Have a seat.” Keaton gestured to the chair in front

of his desk. Hera sat down. “What can I help you with?”

“I don’t know if you can help me or not. But I

thought I’d ask.”

Her seriousness alarmed Keaton. Usually Hera was

in high spirits, laughing, joking. He’d noticed she

seemed down today in class. “I’ll try my best.”

“When we did our picture rants today—” She

“When we did our picture rants today—” She

hesitated. “Your rant was about how you spent all that

money last year to have your guest room redecorated,

but you haven’t had a single guest.”

Keaton smiled. “It’s true. I painted those walls
by

hand—
and have yet to host overnight company.”

Hera picked at the chair’s upholstery. “I know it’s

completely out of line for me to even suggest this. I’m

presuming something about you that’s unfair and

inappropriate, and I’m sorry. But I was thinking about

the de Sade illustrations you showed us the other day,

and—”

The smile slipped from Keaton’s face.
There’s no way

she could know…could she?

“I have a friend who’s involved in the BDSM

lifestyle.”

She looked him in the eye, and he struggled to keep

his expression neutral.

“I thought—My friend thought maybe he’d seen

you at a leather club. Obey?”

Keaton didn’t answer. Letting the wrong people

know about his interest could cost him his job. Hera

didn’t seem like she was here to accuse him of anything.

He waited.

Hera sighed. “I’m making a mess of this. He—my

friend recently had a bad experience with his top. He

was injured, and now he’s… it’s bad. He gave up his job

was injured, and now he’s… it’s bad. He gave up his job

and his apartment for this guy, and he’s got nowhere to

go. I just thought… if you were part of the BDSM

community, maybe you understand more about these

things than I do. Maybe you could talk to him. I’m not

trying to like, pawn him off on you. I was just—Even if

you could just meet him sometime and—if you had any

ideas for—Shit.”

Keaton held up his hand. “Slow down.”

Hera stood up. “I don’t know what I was thinking.

This is so inappropriate of me. I just don’t know what to

do anymore. I’m so worried about him. And when you

said you had a guest room available… But this so isn’t

your problem. I’m an idiot.” She tried to smile, her

cheeks bright red. “I’ll go now.”

“Hold on. Your friend—is he—I mean, is he

physically okay?”

Hera nodded. “He’s healing. Or his body is. He’s

still pretty jumpy. I mean, his top beat the shit out of him

and practically raped him—well, I think he
did
rape him,

but Aiden won’t—”

“Aiden? Aiden Cole?”

“You know him? Aiden said he only saw you at the

club once, and you guys didn’t talk.”

It was Keaton’s turn to blush. “I—talked to

someone who knew him.” Keaton cleared his throat. “I

also saw him a few weeks ago at Jackson Pier. He didn’t

look so good.”

Hera shook her head. “He’s not eating, not

sleeping. Scott really messed with him. The man is

fucking evil—sorry. I keep forgetting you’re my teacher.”

“I think this conversation is already past the

bounds of appropriate student-teacher interaction.”

Keaton half smiled. “Where is Aiden living now?”

“He’s crashing with me. But it’s a little, uh—

crowded. I have—roommates.”

Keaton wrote his cell number on a piece of paper.

“I’d like to meet with Aiden. Tell him to call me and

we’ll set up lunch or coffee or something. If he needs a

place to stay, I’m more than happy to provide it. But he

and I need to talk things through first.”

“Talk things through?” Hera bit her lip. “You’re a

top, right?”

Keaton tried not to blush. “Yes.”

“He’s not—I don’t want you to think… I don’t think

Aiden’s looking for anyone right now. You know what I

mean?”

Keaton felt a rush of warmth toward Hera. She’d

done a risky thing, coming here to talk to him about this.

It was clear that she really cared about Aiden. “I know

exactly what you mean,” he assured her. “If Aiden comes

to stay with me, I won’t expect anything from him. I’ll

give him a place to rest and heal and figure things out,

and offer what guidance I can. As a friend.”

Hera looked relieved. “Thank you.” She slipped

Keaton’s number into her pocket. “I’ll have him call you

this weekend. Well, assuming he doesn’t freak out when

I tell him I talked to you.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here?”

Hera shook her head. “He’s not very good at asking

for help.”

Keaton smiled. “Well, luckily I’m good at giving it.

Even when it’s not asked for.”

Aiden reached the doors of the Corner Café and

almost kept walking—it would have been so much

easier than going inside. But he made himself stop, heart

thumping, stomach clenched. He was still pissed at Hera

for making him do this. He wasn’t interested in Keaton

Hughes—or any top, anywhere, ever, for that matter.

And no fucking way was he going to go
stay
in Keaton’s

house and mooch off him.

A vain part of him was ashamed that Keaton would

see him like this. He’d dressed nicely, but there were still

bruises fading on one side of his face, and he hadn’t been

to the gym since the day of the cast party, almost two

weeks ago.

Oh well. It was either this or the fucking boarding

house—or continuing to inconvenience Hera and her

girlfriends. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

He saw Keaton right away, sitting at a high table in

the corner with his notebook out. Aiden watched him for

a moment, amazed that he could feel the sense of calm,

of peace radiating from the man even across a crowded

café. Keaton looked up and spotted Aiden. He smiled.

For just a second, Aiden felt wonderfully happy, as

though nothing would ever go wrong for him again.

Then he remembered why he was here.

He made his way to the table, head down, wincing

as a waitress bumped him. He’d come to hate crowded

places—people brushing against him, bumping him. He

slipped into the chair across from Keaton. “Hey.”

“Hello, Aiden.” Keaton’s voice was so warm Aiden

couldn’t help but release the breath he’d been holding.

Keaton passed him a menu. Aiden opened it, hoping

Keaton wasn’t as fanatic about clean plates as he was

about wearing coats. Aiden didn’t feel the least bit

hungry.

“How has your morning been?” Keaton asked.

“Okay.” The pictures of soup and sandwiches on

the menu made Aiden queasy. He slipped off his jacket

and hung it on the back of his chair. “I wore a coat,” he

tried to joke. The words came out a sullen mutter.

Keaton laughed. “I am happy to see that.”

The waiter came, and Keaton ordered a lemonade.

Aiden asked for coffee.

“Do you know what you’re getting?” Aiden tried to

be polite. He felt angry for some reason he couldn’t

pinpoint. He wished he was back at Hera’s lying on the

couch instead of here trying to make small talk with this

man.

“I’m thinking seriously about a turkey club,”

Keaton replied. “You?”

“I might get that too.”

“You look like you could use three or four,”

Keaton teased.

“I’m fine,” Aiden snapped. What the hell is wrong

with you? he asked himself. When did Keaton imply you

weren’t
fine? “Sorry,” he mumbled.

When Keaton didn’t reply, Aiden looked up to find

the blue-gray eyes watching him with—not pity, not

amusement. Just a steadiness, a quiet understanding.

Aiden blushed and looked back at his menu.

They ordered, and Keaton tucked his journal back

in his bag.

“What do you write in there?” Aiden asked.

“Oh. Thoughts. Anecdotes. Ideas for projects.”

“You’re an art teacher?”

“A professor of visual arts. At Florence Community

College.”

“Hera’s in your class.”

“Yes.”

“She hates school. But she wanted to work in a real

studio. She likes your class.” Aiden felt like he was

babbling but didn’t know how to stop.

“I’m glad she’s enjoying it.” Keaton took a long

drink of lemonade. “She says you’re in a bit of a situation

with your apartment.”

Aiden’s head shot up.

“Your tenant won’t move out for another month

and a half.”

Aiden nodded.

“Did she tell you I’ve got a guest room in need of

appreciation?”

“Um… ”

“Last year I spent an embarrassing amount of time

redecorating my spare bedroom. I hand-painted the

walls, got a new queen-size bed, new carpet, new

curtains, the works. And I haven’t had a single guest. I

have family and friends who keep promising they’ll

visit, but they get too caught up with work or school, and

so far nobody’s made it.”

“Oh.”

“So if you’re willing to do a poor art teacher a favor

and occupy it for a little while, I’d be most grateful. It’s

rent-free. All I ask is that you help me cook dinner

occasionally.”

Aiden shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I

can… ” Keaton waited. “It just—doesn’t seem fair. To

you.”

“It’s perfectly fair. You need a place to stay, and I

need someone who can appreciate my decorating.”

Aiden managed a half smile.

Keaton grew serious. “Hera told me a little bit

about your experience with Scott. I don’t know the

details, and I’m not asking you to share unless you want

to. In which case I’m happy to listen. But I imagine an

experience like that is difficult to recover from, both

psychologically and physically. I can offer you a place

that’s private, quiet, and safe. I won’t pressure you, but

the offer is on the table. All you have to do is say the

word.”

Aiden picked a hangnail under the table and stared