“S-sorry, Oliver, but I ran out and I remember that you had—”
Ben ignored the fact that Oliver had entered the room against Ben’s specific orders. “Did you seriously break into his room to steal his nuts?”
“They’re good nuts! Nice and salty and—what?”
Oliver snorted from behind Ben. “Nothing, nothing. Go on, Jeremy.”
“I knew you had a stash and I—I couldn’t help myself.”
“Bullshit,” Ben growled.
“He’s a squirrel,” Oliver said.
“I don’t care. No one has the right to steal your nuts, Oliver!”
Oliver pressed his lips together and nodded, shaking a little. Poor guy.
Ben marched forward and wrenched the can from Jeremy’s grip. One last cashew, or maybe it was an almond, went flying. “Get out of here. No more nut stealing.”
“Yes, right, of course.” He darted a glance at Oliver. “Sorry.”
Oliver smiled at him, far kinder than Ben would have been to find out someone had broken into his room for nuts. “Just ask next time, okay?”
Ben followed Jeremy to the door and into the hallway, his instincts demanding he see the threat away from his…well, his herd. The hallway was full of teachers and students, and Ben glared at all of them. “Did you hear that?” he demanded, holding the can aloft. “Oliver’s nuts are off-limits. Got it?”
His declaration was met with snickers and solemn nods. Point made, he turned back to Oliver to find him redfaced, with tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Oliver hiccuped and brushed a hand over his eyes. “You mean, other than you declaring that my nuts are off-limits?” He snorted. Ben realized he was laughing.
And then it hit him what he’d said. “Oh shit.”
“‘Oh shit,’ he says,” Oliver whined through his tears.
Ben spun on his heel and poked his head out into the hallway again. The crowd hadn’t dispersed much, too caught up in their laughter. “Not those nuts,” he amended. “I meant these nuts!” He shook the can, but there was nothing left in it to make a sound.
“Oh my god, Ben,” Oliver wheezed.
“Ahem.”
The throat-clearing dragged his attention away from the rest of the observers to focus on… Oh, crap. The Director. Alyce Cooper. Ben had only seen her once, but she wasn’t the sort of person you forgot. Tall—almost six feet—with dark brown skin, straight black hair, and a “don’t mess with me” attitude that was right in line with her inner llama. Her purple power suit turned her willowy form into a work of art.
Ben swept the empty can of nuts behind his back. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Ben Beaufort, correct?”
He swallowed. “Y-yes, ma’am.”
Director Cooper peered around her shoulder to look into Oliver’s quarters. “Mr. Zuraw? I’d like a word with you and Mr. Beaufort. In my office, if you don’t mind.”
“No, ma’am. I mean, yes. Of course.” Oliver’s voice had none of the laughter left in it, and all of the trepidation Ben felt.
Getting called into what amount to the principal’s office couldn’t be good.
All the way to the director’s office, Oliver wracked his brain about what the purpose of the meeting could be. Fraternizing with a student? Except they hadn’t been. Not really. Oliver could see Ben becoming a friend—he was well on the way there already—but there hadn’t been anything inappropriate between them.
Not that he hadn’t thought about it.
Okay, fantasized about it regularly. Nightly. Maybe hourly. But it wasn’t as though anyone could see into his brain or understand why he needed to adjust himself more frequently than the average male shifter at the academy. That was private. He hadn’t acted on anything, and that was what counted. Right?
By the time he and Ben took a seat in the office, across from the imposing Alyce Cooper, Oliver’s hands were sweaty and he could feel feathers wanting to pop out across his skin. Ben, who was normally quiet and stoic, both verbally and physically, seemed unable to sit still.
God, they were both acting like they’d gotten caught smoking in the boys’ bathroom or something.
“Thank you both for joining me on such short notice,” Alyce said with a smile as she settled behind her desk. Her office illustrated her power perfectly, with its innate put-togetherness. Nothing out of place, everything neat and tidy, and furniture designed to make a statement. Right now, Oliver was imagining that statement to be, You fucked up.
“I can explain what I was doing in Oliver—uh, Mr. Zuraw’s quarters, ma’am,” Ben said, his knee bouncing.
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yes. He’s been tutoring me in yoga.”
“I am aware.”
“Oh. Okay, good. He’s also been something of a—a mentor, as well.”
“A