Schooling the Jock (Nerds Vs Jocks #1) - - Eli Easton Page 0,72

there.

He looked a little nervous. “So. I know how edgy making out in my room gets you. Like somebody’s going to bang on the door any minute. I was thinking we could take the night off, have a decent dinner, and rent a motel room in which we can make noise and do whatever comes naturally.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, and his gaze burned me down to my toes.

Holy crap. The idea made me breathless. “That sounds…good? But how much would the hotel cost? Because—”

“No worries. I’ve got this. My folks sent me a little mad money because I aced my exams. They said I should have fun with it, and I can’t think of a damn thing that would be more fun than getting you alone all night.”

I swallowed. “We could—”

He whispered. “Yep. I’ve got condoms, a bottle of lube big enough for a Pride parade, and, uh, I’ve been stretching since I figure you’ve got a toppy look.”

My cock in Dobbs’s ass. Jesus, just the thought had my dick straining my zipper. “That sounds like exactly what I need to help drive the team to Quiz Bowl victory.” I felt the crease pop between my brows. “Why do I say I’m going to be gone all night? PJ will notice, and he’s a blabbermouth.”

Dobbs shrugged. “Make up a good story. I’m going to say I’m staying with my cousin who lives in Shorewood Hills. The fewer details the better.”

“What if someone sees us at dinner?”

“We’re working on Quiz Bowl.” His voice sounded a little exasperated, and I winced inside at how paranoid I was coming across. “And nobody’s going to see us at the Greek place, right?”

True, we hadn’t seen one person I knew the last time we were there. I nodded and grinned. “I’m in. Just tell me the time.”

Getting through the next few days’ worth of classes with that level of distraction proved a whole new challenge. One professor actually called on me twice and asked if I was present and accounted for. The class laughed. But I answered her questions correctly, so it wasn’t too bad.

Fact: Quiz Bowl really was helping my grades, maybe because I was very motivated to get the answers right.

By the time I got back to the house on Thursday afternoon, I was on edge. Kamikaze butterflies divebombed my stomach, and my groin ached thanks to walking around with a semi all day. Fortunately, the house was practically empty. Right. Big flag-football practice that afternoon. PJ was also gone, thank God, so I shoved a few things into my backpack, penned a short cryptic note about getting a call from a friend of my family’s, and took off out of the house unchallenged. Amazing to have one thing go right.

I jogged to the back of the admin building parking lot where we’d met before, and there was Dobbs in his car, motor running, waiting. Dobbs, my boyfriend. Well, my secret boyfriend. Yeah, my motor was running too. Jesus, I was starved, but not for food. Well, for food too. The confused demands of being a guy.

I opened the door and slid inside the warmth. My hat was pulled down low against the cold outside, and I left it on. My hair was one of my most recognizable characteristics. “Hey.” I reached over and squeezed Dobbs’s hand, and he grinned at me, but he looked a little nervous—just like me.

Sure enough, nobody at the Greek restaurant looked even slightly familiar, and I started to relax a little. Maybe the universe would give us this respite without gut-churning anxiety. We didn’t talk a lot, too focused on our dicks to be distracted by feta cheese. Still, I shoved in a fair amount of food because it had been a light day, and I was a growing boy. Of course, at that moment I was growing out of my jeans through the fly.

It was a pretty fast dinner. We turned down baklava and were back in the car, tense and beyond horny. I knew because I reached over and gripped Dobbs’s dick and found it hard as a steel pipe. “How do you drive with that thing in the way?”

I got cute, snarky Dobbs’s face. “Just think of it as my stick shift.”

Wrapping my fingers as tight as I could through the thick denim, I said, “I remember the H pattern. Reverse—” I jerked him down. “First, second, third.” I mimicked the shift pattern I’d learned when I was seven on the