Seducing Professor Coyle (13 page)

Scotty beamed. “Good to know. He’s fucking cute, too, isn’t he?”

As the alcohol pleasantly numbed his senses, Ben grew bold. “So who was that guy I saw you with at Thorn’s party?” he asked.

Scotty did a double take at him. “I thought you said you didn’t remember me.”

“I just remembered,” Ben lied. “I did see you there. You were in the pool, right?”
What are you doing, Ben? Shut up. Leave it alone.

“Oh.” Scotty rolled his eyes. “
That
guy. Peter something. He’s a good friend of Thorn’s. Great fuck, but kind of a weirdo.”

“How is he a weirdo?” Ben asked. He looked up as Dom appeared beside them, and suddenly regretted opening up this can of worms. He didn’t want Dom to hear him grilling Scotty about Peter.

Scotty smiled up at Dom. “Hey sexy.” He turned back to Ben and leaned in. “How is he a weirdo. Let’s see.” He wrinkled his nose, sneering. “I told him my name like three times. But he kept calling me
Benjamin
. It was sort of creepy
.
”

Ben almost fell off his stool. What the...

“What’s your name, by the way?” Scotty asked.

“His name is Benjamin,” Dom said. Ben looked up. Dominick stared at him, his face hard. “And he should probably be going now.”

Scotty stared at Dom, then turned to Ben. “
You’re
Benjamin? Wow, trippy.”

Ben stood. “Yeah, I think I will head out.”

“I’ll walk you to the door. Be right back, Scotty.

When they were out of earshot, Dominick leaned in, grasping his arm. “Obsess much? Why did you have to ask him about Coyle?”

“What’s the big deal? I was curious.”

“Yeah, well you’re not the only one who doesn’t want to think about them together. So would you just fuck off? Or better still, go fuck your teacher and get it over with. You’re starting to get weird, Ben.”

He gave one final glance at Dominick, then walked out of the bar. When he got in his car, he leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes and sighing.

But he kept calling me Benjamin
.

Ben shook his head. Was it possible? Was Coyle thinking about him while he...

It was sort of creepy
.

Yeah. It sort of was. But also sort of hot. No, not sort of. Incredibly fucking hot.

Of course it could have been another Benjamin on Coyle’s mind. It wasn’t that uncommon a name. But most people went by Ben, as he did. But that’s not what Dr. Coyle called him. He nearly always called him
Benjamin
. Ben loved the way he said it. He’d called him Benjamin when they...

His face heated, groin stirring. He
had
just met with Coyle that afternoon before Thorn’s party. His cock swelled further as he realized what this meant. If it had been him that Coyle was thinking about...shit. While Ben was getting a blowjob from that Wayne guy, he was thinking about Peter. While Peter was banging Scotty, he was thinking about
him
. Damn, it was like he and Peter had already mind-fucked before they ever actually fucked.

And it meant something else too. Coyle was a lot more interested in Ben than he let on. It emboldened Ben, and as his erection lifted, so did his spirits.

When he got home, he sat at his computer and brought up the email Dr. Coyle had sent him about his grade. He knew it was too risky to use the college mail system to say anything suggestive. But he had to contact him. He leaned back in his chair, scratching his head. Staring at the screen, he finally hit reply. He typed in the address of his personal email. Beneath it, he wrote, ‘
Contact me
.’

He waited a while for a reply, but none came. Why would it? It wasn’t like Peter Coyle was sitting home on a Friday night like a big loser, checking his email. As he headed to bed, the thrill wore off a bit, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Dominick was right. He was obsessed. And it made him feel weak and out of control.

The next morning, he doddered around, making coffee, trying to keep from running to the computer to check his email. Nervousness fluttered in his gut. He didn’t want Peter to think he was a stalker. But what the hell? They’d had sex. Serious fucking sex. He had a right to contact him. The worst Peter could do was tell him to buzz off.

Finally, he could wait no longer, and set his coffee down on the desk. When he opened his email, his heart leapt. A message from
PeterC
, and the address was different from his campus email. Taking a deep breath, he clicked open and read.

‘What can I do for you, Benjamin?’

He smiled.

Hitting respond, he began to type, ‘I need to see you’, but stopped and deleted it. Too desperate. Too whiny. Thinking, he set his fingers on the keyboard.

‘I’d like to talk. If that’s all right with you. If you don’t want to see me, I understand.’

He lingered on the computer after sending it, but no reply came. So he made breakfast and forced it down, though his stomach was giving him hell, clenching with nervousness. When he went back to the computer, there was still no reply from Coyle.

He distracted himself by working on one of his school projects, trying to get lost in the code, to forget everything else. He kept working for over an hour. When his eyes grew bleary, he shut the program down.

He checked his email again, and there was a new one from
PeterC
.

He sucked his breath in, pulse racing. “Okay,” he said softly. “Here goes nothing.”

He braced himself for rejection as he clicked open the email. He stared at it for a long time, trying to make damn sure he wasn’t misreading. There was a street address. Beneath it, Peter had written: ‘
7pm. Park in the garage
.’

“Holy shit,” he whispered. Peter Coyle, his lit professor, had invited him to his home.

Chapter Eleven

Ben used his GPS and found the house easily, a white colonial set back from the road. The garage door was open. Heart pounding, he pulled the car inside. The space was nearly empty, save for a stack of boxes in the corner. He shut the engine off and examined himself. He’d wished Dom had been there to help him pick out his clothes; he wasn’t sure if he’d chosen well. Too dressed up would make him seem overly eager, but he didn’t want to show up looking like a slob either. He’d settled for dark jeans and a green and white striped tee shirt. Peter had commented on the color of his
evil
eyes, might as well play to his strengths.

The house door to his left opened, and there he was. Dr. Coyle, looking mouth-watering, and very different than he did at school. In casual jeans and gray tee shirt, his hair was a bit looser than he wore it in class, not as neatly combed. He looked rugged and cozy at the same time, and Ben almost forgot he was expected to get out of the car. Trying desperately to slow his heartbeat, he took a deep breath and opened the car door. As he stepped out, Peter pressed a button on the wall and the garage door closed. Ben watched it, a pleasant tingle running through him. Locked in the Bat Cave with Dr. Coyle. This he could handle.

“Find it okay?” Peter asked. His tone was formal, and Ben’s heart sank a bit.

“Yeah, it was easy. Nice house. You lived here long?”

“Just moved in,” he said. “So you’ll have to excuse the mess, still haven’t fully unpacked.” He turned and went inside the house. Ben stood awkwardly for a moment, then followed, closing the door behind him.

He stepped into a large foyer. There were boxes strewn about, but Peter wasn’t there. Ben moved through the entryway and was greeted with a huge room with shelves of books lining each wall, tasteful furniture and gleaming wood floor. He looked around. Peter wasn’t in here either. Was he supposed to follow him? Go wandering through the house to find him? Screw that. He walked over to the shelf, admiring the books. There were very old volumes, tattered gems of classic literature. Modern novels shared the space with the classics, everything from Nick Hornby to Chuck Palahniuk. He was still perusing the books when he heard footsteps approaching, and his nerves danced anew.

Peter stepped into the room holding two glasses of white wine. He smiled as he handed one to Ben, then he sat down on one of the leather chairs.

“Thanks,” Ben said.

“You’re welcome. I figured you needed it, you looked terrified when you got out of the car.”

Ben met his eyes, pleased to see a smile there. He grinned and took the chair across from Peter. “Was it that obvious?”

Peter shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even come. I suppose I was calling your bluff.”

“You didn’t want me to come?” Heat flushed through Ben at the thought that he might not be welcome here.

Peter made a sour face. “Of course I wanted you to come. I wouldn’t have invited you otherwise. Will you relax, please? You’re making
me
nervous.”

Peter’s at home demeanor was different, more relaxed, Ben thought. It wasn’t only the sexy casual attire. His gestures were a bit more natural, the way he leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over his knee. He looked freshly showered, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, his eyes a more brilliant sapphire blue than Ben remembered.
Damn
, he thought.
I want this man
. This gorgeous, sophisticated man sitting in his comfortable chair, surrounded by books. It was all such a turn on. Ben found suddenly that he didn’t know what to say to him. And Peter was watching him expectantly. He took a large sip of wine, avoiding Peter’s eyes.

Suddenly, Peter laughed, a full, hearty laugh, something Ben had never heard from him.

“Something amusing, Dr. Coyle?” Ben grinned, couldn’t help himself. Peter’s smile lit his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I’m amused,” he said, nodding. “It’s just that the last time you ah, stepped into my domain, you were all piss and vinegar. Very
mouthy
, as I recall. Now you’re as quiet as a mouse.”

Ben laughed nervously. “Yeah. I was on a mission that day.” He flushed, glancing at Peter.

“Indeed. What’s your mission now, Benjamin?”

You’re my mission. I want you to take me to your bed and never let me leave
. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “I just...I just wanted to see you, to be honest.”

Peter’s eyes seemed to soften a bit, and he took a sip of his wine. “Well, you said you wanted to talk. So let’s just talk a while. That all right?”

Ben nodded.

“What are your plans for after graduation?”

“Tammy’s arranged a couple interviews for me. I’d like to work for that healthcare place down in Fairhaven, Icon Industries?”

“So you want to stay in the area. Where did you grow up?”

Ben chuckled. “Everywhere. I’d tell you all about my past as a poor, starving orphan, but it’s all too Dickens, let’s not go there.”

Peter smiled, and Ben began to relax. But not fully, he was still kind of a nervous wreck. He wondered how it was that he’d been less nervous trying to fuck his professor than he was trying to simply converse with him. “What about you?” he asked.

“Me.” Peter shrugged. “I went to school in Boston. Got a job at UVM, teaching. Left that job and came to Kelsingford a few years ago. Bought a house two weeks ago. And here we are.”

“Oh. Have you had many...I mean, I’m surprised you don’t have a boyfriend.”

He huffed softly. “It’s been several years. Single life suits me well right now.”

“Do you like being a teacher?”

“Sometimes. Not as much as I used to. Life tends to sour things a bit after a while. Don’t waste your twenties, Benjamin. It might feel like everything’s life or death right now, but savor it. It goes by fast. Career is important, but so is enjoying your life.”

Ben chuckled. “I feel like I’m meeting with my guidance counselor. Maybe you could stop treating me like a student for a while?”

Peter sighed. He set his wine down then leaned back again, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “But you are a student. You don’t want to talk about your past. You don’t want to talk about your future. What do you want to talk about?”

Ben glanced around, then looked back at Peter, grinning. “We could talk about books.”

Peter chuckled. “You don’t strike me as a bookish type.”

“I love books. I just haven’t had much time to read for pleasure with all the schoolwork. I look forward to reading more once I’m settled in and have a job.”

“Any family coming to your graduation?”

Ben flinched involuntarily.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “Bad question?”

Sighing, Ben forced himself to relax, leaning back in his chair. He wanted to get to know Peter Coyle better. And to do that, he had to talk. “I don’t have any family, not really. My last foster parents were all right, but we weren’t exactly close. I was one of several kids they took in, and I haven’t heard from them in a couple years.”

“And your parents?”

Ben shook his head. “Mother died when I was nine. Dad became a drunk and a druggie. I had to...” He stopped, shaking his head, and took another sip of wine.

Peter leaned forward, and gently brushed Ben’s knee with his fingers, sending a thrill up his spine. “You don’t have to talk about it. But if you want to, you can trust me.”

Ben looked in his gorgeous blue eyes, wanting to fall into his arms. “My father let everything go to shit after Mom died, he was never home. I had no food or heat that last winter, and finally had to go to the neighbors for help. That’s when I went into foster care.”

Peter’s dark eyebrows lowered, and he let out a soft breath. “Wow. I’m so sorry. That is quite Dickens. You seem so put together, so confident. I’d never have guessed you have so much pain in your past.”

The words surprised Ben. “Pain? Funny,” he said. “I’ve never really thought of myself as someone with a painful past. Maybe because I’ve always been so focused on the future. I worked two jobs after high school. It was good for a while, then my foster parents told me I had to move out, I was a legal adult and they weren’t getting money for me anymore. So I had to get my own place. Pay rent. I was forced to work a year longer than I’d planned. But finally, with some financial aid, I saved up enough for college.”