X-Factor

X-FACTOR (chapter three) by reid

I didn't like talking about my father.

Other topics more enjoyable to me: partial-birth abortion, Nascar, female circumcision, getting broken class under your foreskin and/or eyelid, bloody noses, pap smears, Urkel, blood born infections, Yanni, women's curling, the subtle differences between sequels and parts of a trilogy, pubic hair styling of the elderly, Star Jones, anything involving Coreys Feldman or Haim, and the general state of the Star Trek universe.

My dad was worse than all of those.

He was a sociopath. A racist. A bigot. He didn't know how to wash dishes, do algebra, cook for himself, or raise children. But damn if he didn't still try that last one. Oh lord, did he try.

But he still sucked at it.

But Trey - he seemed to think he had it worse.

Old Trey Morgan from Phi Kappa Psi, Brown University Chapter, born July 9 1984 in Siaconset on Nantucket Island believed differently. He thought he had a case for having a worse father than mine.

So he said so.

"Your dad can't be worse than mine."

"You wanna bet?"

Trey looked at me, "Your dad could bomb an orphanage on Christmas Eve and he still wouldn't be as bad as mine."

That caught me off guard. Never before had anyone I'd known actually defended my father. Let alone someone who had never met the man. It shocked me that Trey would so fervently trash his own dad by inferring that my own wasn't the worst ever dropped onto the earth. There was something almost - sacrilegious about it.

He pulled the car through the intersection and onto the main drive of the campus. After my little consultation with the beer keg as his frat house, I'd fully expected Trey to shove me out the door in front of my dorm. Strangely enough, his asking if I was still hungry seemed to have some ring of truth to it. Only when he asked me about my family, did my guard start to lower just a little bit.

Trey shifted in his seat and I watched as his long fingers curled around the steering wheel. Something about him was just so inately watchable. I could have sat and watched him watch TV or read or do anything and never get bored. Of all the watchable things, his hands were definitely what attracted me the most. They were like paws, almost. I thought back to how I felt when he'd touched me - and then regretted not being conscious when he'd carried me onto the couch.

His touch. It was all about his touch. The feeling of his hands on my body. I remembered the sensation of his hand on the small of my back. When I thought of it, I could still feel the heat and the pressure of his palm. Then the coldness. Such stark, bleak coldness in such sudden, loveless fashion. I felt like singing a funeral dirge.

"You know, you never answered my question." Trey said, leaning his elbow against the car door.

His question. His probing, psychologically intrusive question.

Well, maybe not psychologically intrusive but it certainly attempted to expose a part of me that I'd closed off. Not the sort of thing I'd grown to appreciate in my eighteen years. Even more frightening was that I'd almost answered him. I'd almost opened up and been honest with another human being. Realizing I'd come so close to something so ghastly sent a chill up my spine like nothing else could.

'So did your dad get you started in golfing?'

Not so psychologically intrusive, I admit, but it still pulled the lever that I didn't like to have pulled: the dad lever. Talking about my father was something I always tried not to do. Try as I might, whenever I talked about my father, my facade would crumble and the frustrated, angry little boy inside me would emerge. Trey didn't seem like the kind of guy that needed to deal with Angry, 10 Year Old Cody.

Angry, 18 Year Old Cody was enough of a challenge already.

"So did he?"

I didn't answer right off. Instead, I sat in that lovely cushioned seat of the lovely sport utility vehicle driven by my love interest. I tried to think of some way to deftly avoid addressing the "father" aspect and instead, bring it back around to golf. Golf. The one thing that Trey and I had in common; our one uniting aspect.

"I just picked it up when I was younger," I said, clearing my throat, "Sort of a way to get out of the house and - occupy myself, basically."

"What does Trey stand for?" I asked.

"It means you're the third son with the same name."

"So it isn't your given name?"

"Oh Christ." He muttered.

"What?"

"If tell you my name, and you laugh - I will murder you."

I immediately felt the urge to laugh. But I held it in.

"Go ahead." I said, unable to keep from laughing even as I said it, just barely catching myself at the end.

Trey grimaced, "My full name is Albert Ames Morgan III."

I laughed out loud. Trey just nodded.

"So glad I told you that! I feel really good now!"

"I'm sorry - Albert."

Trey looked at me, "I'm gonna beat you up!"

I began laughing again.

"I swear to God, Cody! And in your weakened state, that wouldn't be a good thing."

I stifled a laugh and rubbed my head. Making a pained face, I whimpered pathetically. Trey looked at me, trying to seem pissed off and manipulated. But he wasn't a good enough actor. He was too - sweet looking to pull it off.

"So yeah - Trey. I'm only Albert when I get pulled over."

"Does that happen a lot?" I asked.

"Only once - and that was because my brother's girlfriend was trying to pee out the window."

I shuddered.

"Yeah - my family isn't great." He said genially.

I nodded.

"What about yours?"

There he went again. Wanting to talk about me and my family. Why couldn't we just make fun of his rich, drunk, fucked up family? My poor, emotionally retarded band of hillbillies couldn't even compare on a comedy level.

"What about them? They suck and they're across the country. Not much else to say about it."

He nodded. In the moment of silence, I looked down at his leg. As soon as he'd started the car, he'd draped his right leg over the median between the two front seats. Underneath the white sock next to the blue denim of his jeans, I could see the bulk of an ace bandage. Sue me, I was desperate to change the subject from something less expository.

"What happened?"

Trey seemed to understand my motives.

"I twisted it playing basketball," He sighed, "Hurts like a motherfucker but no permanent damage."

What a jock thing to say. What a totally jockish thing to say. But then again, something in his tone sounded a little off. At first, I couldn't discern as to what it was. Being so closed off and frigid left me little ability to read the tone of others, but I knew something was weird. His tone didn't sound mad - it sounded - God, it sounded almost hurt.

Had I hurt him?

I was ashamed to admit that I felt a little thrill at that. Imagine such a thing. The poor, white trash kid actually hurting the rich, preppy Ivy League jock. That shit never happened except in Mandy Moore movies and White Stripes songs. For something like that to go down in real life was just so incredible. For a brief moment, I had to stifle a shiteating grin like no other - I had quite a few saved up. The whole 'lack of opportunities' thing.

"So what are you in the mood for?"

I almost choked, "What?"

"Food. What are you in the mood for, food-wise?"

A simultaneous pang of disappointment and relief went off in my stomach like a depth charge. A comical combination to be sure. I swallowed and steadied myself, trying to think of something both witty and reasonable in terms of cuisine. Just my luck, nothing was coming to me! Big surprise.

"Uh - I don't know. You know the place better than I do." Yeah, that should be sufficient.

Trey frowned for a second, "We could go to the food court. They have some decent sit-down dining - or so I hear."

I nodded and Trey seemed to accept that as enough consent to turn towards the main drive. We rode on in silence for a little while, me trying to keep my brain from shorting out and Trey - trying to be as sexy as possible, I guessed. How the hell was he able to be so damn desirable with so little effort?! I hated him - and loved him at the same time.

Right as I felt compelled to find something to talk about, we pulled up in front of the student union. For a Monday evening, it looked appropriately quiet. Trey shut off the car and opened the door, climbing out and leaving me alone for a second. I said a silent prayer and tried to convince myself that it wouldn't screw this up in some form or another.

When I stepped out into the fresh air, the warmth hit my skin and I felt goose bumps raise on my bare arms. Other than the dull ache in my head from where I'd been assaulted by a beer keg, I felt pretty good. Even the nervousness of my situation wasn't having too much of an effect on me. I took another deep breath and walked towards the glass doors.

Trey held them open, of course. Like any good gentleman. When I walked through, I felt that odd emptiness when he didn't guide me through. How in the hell had he done that only once but still managed to make me crave it like smack?

The inside of the student union was fairly empty. The only people I could see were a group of students sitting inside the glass walls of the Taco Time. They were studying. I couldn't help but snicker in their general direction. Those poor bastards actually had to do work to make it here! Too bad for them!

"Yeah, they aren't lucky enough to be born gifted at sports." Trey said, noticing the direction of my stare.

I had to fight the urge to sass him back. Even in a voice I was pretty sure would be too low timbered for him to hear. Then, something told me he was probably kidding. Maybe he was even being self-deprecating. That was surprising. I wouldn't have thought rich frat boys could be self-deprecating. But then again, I didn't think they had a soul and while I wasn't ready to give Trey the benefit of that doubt - I still wanted to.

That was dangerous.

Not looking at him, avoiding further danger there, I looked around as quickly as I could. There had to be some suitably neutral place to eat here. Someplace we could just eat and not talk. Not get to know each other. Someplace I could curse Gina for telling me that he was gay. Someplace I could burn off the pesky spot of hope that was growing inside me.

But - luck wasn't in my corner right then. Trey had stopped in front of a small, rather intimate looking bistro-style cafe. Only one or two people in there and they were both buried in books. Perfect. Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what the doctor ordered for my psyche.

"Look good?" Trey asked, sounding somewhat interested in my opinion.

I nodded. Whenever I tried to look casual, it always ended up when I tried not to look drunk. I'd think I was coming off perfectly sober, witty, and charming right up until the bouncer took a hold on my arm. At that point, I knew I was coming off more than a little sketchy so I imagined Trey must have been looking for an escape route.

Of course, after I nodded, he had to hold open the door for me. Of course he didn't put his hand on my back. I was regretting calling attention to it because somehow, someway, it was more awkward without. In that second, I tried to remember how his hand felt.

I followed him to the counter, still trying to remember. The girl working the register was immediately knee-deep in flirt mode when she saw Trey. I don't think she even realized someone else was there. Not like I was with him. No need to start thinking crazy.

"Hi Trey!" She said, her eyes bright and unzipping his fly.

"Hey," He responded, sounding grossed out.

I didn't like that. I didn't like my pretend-boyfriend sounding grossed out.

"What can I get you?" She asked, a dopey grin on her face.

I noticed she didn't say 'you guys.' Why would she? Her dorsal fin was up and the wounded swimmer was flailing away, ready to be eaten. She hadn't looked in my direction once the entire time. Not like I blamed her. If Trey walked into where I worked, I'd probably-- no, I'd do my damn job.

Trey turned to me. He was deferring.

"What do you want, Cody?"

The girl behind the counter looked at me. The way you look at a little child trying to distract you from the television. Such annoyance and distaste she was able to communicate. I don't even think it was personal. Just hanging the wingman, I guess.

Then I realized I hadn't even looked at the menu.

It was scrawled on a big chalkboard hanging over the counter. All sorts of down-home-but-not-uncool sandwiches and soups were available. Without thinking much, I selected some sort of chicken and bell pepper wrap. I doubt I'd be too concerned with the taste of the food once I sat down. I did need food to keep the internal shields up, however.

She wrote down my order with disinterest. It still didn't seem too personal.

"How about you, Trey?" She asked and the day was sunny again.

I didn't really pay attention to what Trey ordered either. My id tried to tell me that if he ordered something with garlic and onions, things weren't getting romantic tonight. Yet more danger. My personality was interested in emotional shark feeding and bungee jumping.

After the girl took his drink order, she gave him the total. I expected him to flip open his wallet and produce a crisp, new twenty dollar bill. One that looked hot off the U.S. mint. It blew my mind that I was probably less than a thousand miles away from where they actually made money.

But Trey didn't flip open his wallet. Instead, he looked at her. His eyes were sort of squinty and he looked angry. Angry Trey was scary. His jaw set and the amazingly precise stubble on his jaw flexed with it. I wondered what the hell had happened. So did she. She looked scared but not especially close to knowing what exactly she did.

"You're not done." Trey said.

She looked at him. Dumb as a deer in the headlights.

Trey nodded towards me. Still it took her an extra second.

"Oh!" She said, and I could have sworn I'd heard a gong go off somewhere, "What would you like to drink?"

Even when she asked me, she still sounded sort of petulantly put on by having to talk to me. Not like I cared. I was too busy realizing that Trey had - stood up for me. He'd actually refused to accept the world being rude to me. Didn't he know that I'd long ago accepted and learned to deal with that fact? Who the hell was this guy?

"Uh," I stammered, "Pepsi?"

She nodded. Just barely concealed an eye roll.

Then, when she rang up the bill and set the order down on the counter, the wallet appeared. Black leather, it was. Once opened, it produced a crisp, new twenty dollar bill. Hot of the presses from what could very well have been less than a thousand miles away.

Even as she rang Trey up and gave him his change, she still weakly tried to flirt with him. All she got was a vague nod in return. That was definitely strange. My mind still reeling from Trey's gentlemanly behavior, I had to force my feet to follow him to a table.

Just to whack myself back down to size, I forced myself to see that Trey didn't pull out my chair for me. Maybe he wasn't that nice of a guy. Or maybe he was. Maybe the reason I couldn't convince myself otherwise was because - I knew. I knew he was a nice guy and no amount of 'rich frat boy' rhetoric could change it.

Trey immediately dug into his sandwich. He was hungry. It took lots of food to keep a body like his running smoothly. Then I began thinking about his body. My stomach did handsprings and I willed my hands not to shake as I unwrapped my own sandwich. Just eat, Cody. Just eat and don't talk and maybe things will be okay.

But then again, God didn't like me.

As soon as I took a bite, my head ached. I winced and tensed in my seat. Where I'd been hit, my head throbbed and the pain nearly brought tears to my eyes. Crying was the one thing I couldn't afford to do. So, just like that wacky God, crying was almost inevitable.

Trey noticed. Of course. He just would notice something like that.

"You all right?" Trey asked. It was the same thing he'd said to me the very first time. In the same concerned tone of voice. It didn't help the lump in my throat.

Speaking would push me over the edge. I just nodded.

See, I had my eyes closed at that point. I was rubbing the back of my head and clenching my eyelids shut as tightly as possible. Tears had a hard time escaping when I did that. The skill had come in handy quite a bit during my youth.

Having my eyes closed meant I hadn't seen Trey scoot around the table. Nor did I see his hand approaching the back of my head. But I felt it. I felt that huge, warm, soft paw on the back of my neck. Long, strong fingers. Massaging the back of my neck.

Weirdly enough, that made the lump go away. Just a bit, though.

I nodded again and blinked my eyes. That managed to get rid of a few of the tears that had escaped. I knew some others were there and pathetically hoped Trey hadn't seen them. If he had and I could tell, more tears would emerge. Tears I wouldn't be able to stop.

Because Trey was a nice guy, he didn't see them. Or at least he didn't let me know that he'd seen them. Maybe he knew. Maybe being a nice guy meant you didn't call attention to that kind of thing. Maybe love did that.

Where the hell did that come from?

Pushing it to the back of my mind, I nodded one more time and took a deep breath. It was then I realized Trey was much closer to me than I'd been able to tell. I'll be damned if his face was less than a foot and a half from mine. It was like I could feel the stubble on my face. Against my lips.

"Yeah. Just took me by surprise is all."

Trey didn't move. He just sat there, his hand massaging the back of my neck, his blue eyes staring at me. Feeling helpless, I looked back at him and tried to give him a reassuring look. Why I wanted him to stop touching me and move when really I wanted just the opposite - I would never understand.

Slowly, he relaxed his grip and let me go. Like with the hand on the back, I missed the contact as soon as it was gone. Not making eye contact, I saw Trey slide back away from me. Not to the other side of the table, where he'd been before, but far enough away to respect my personal space.

Finally, he spoke, "Is the chewing?"

I nodded, still rubbing the back of my head.

"Hold on a second."

Covertly, I watched as he got up and went to the counter. After a brief, clipped conversation, she handed Trey a paper cup. When he sat back down, he held it gently against the back of my head. It felt good. Soothing and calming.

"Try taking another bite."

I felt like a moron. A moron in love. But a moron none-the-less.

Taking things one step at a time, I tried taking a bite of the sandwich. The back of my head ached, but this time, the pain was much duller and not at all debilitating. I looked at Trey, unable to help doing so, and he smiled. That smile. The half-mouth smile that melted me so quickly.

"Is it numb enough?"

I nodded, "Yeah. I'll be okay."

Even though the sandwich tasted like dried glue, I didn't care. Even if Trey didn't like me, he - liked me, at least. Or at least he cared enough to make sure people knew I existed. That was sure nice.

We ate in silence for several seconds, weirdly comfortable with it. Something about Trey seemed to appreciate the silence. Maybe he got sick of having to talk in Jerry Maguire-esque clichés about winning. Maybe I just imagined it that way.

I wondered how being gay affected that. Was it an open thing or sort of an 'open secret?' Eli knew and so did Gina. Shane didn't seem especially in-the-dark over Trey hanging out with another guy. Maybe they were all involved in some conspiracy to make me look like a moron. Even if that was the case, I was determined to enjoy the scam for as long as possible.

Or maybe he really did-- no, never mind.

"So - basketball, huh?" I asked, overcome with a desire to hear him talk.

"Relax, Cody. I'm not going to ask about your dad again."

I paused. I didn't know whether to get pissy about it. He was paying for food, after all.

"I didn't mean anything by it." I said in my most neutral voice.

"Cody," Trey sighed, "I know what it's like to have a dad that sucks."

"You mentioned that."

"So - if you're embarrassed or shell-shocked, I understand," Trey paused, looking me in the eye, "But it's not like I don't understand."

I could just nod.

"So, you wanna talk about basketball?" He said, leaning back in his chair.

This was a little scary. Kind of like poking a sleeping tiger.

"Not if you don't want to talk about it."

"No," He shrugged, "I think if I don't talk about it, you're gonna keep trying to freeze me out."

"Uh - okay?"

Trey smiled. Not exactly a crazy smile but one that suggested - pathos.

"Basketball was my dad's idea. He wanted me to double my chances at a scholarship," He leaned forward on his knees, "I didn't have much choice."

I tried to wrap my brain around it, "Couldn't he have paid for you to go here anyway?"

Trey smirked. It was a tired, almost-bitter smirk.

"All four of my brothers went to college on his dime," Trey chuckled, "Not his dime. More like my great-granddad's dime. So me, being the baby boy of the family, he got a hair up his ass talking about how I 'need to do it myself.' Not by getting a job. Not by doing anything real people do. It still had to be something that made his name seem better than others. All four of my brothers can't do a damn thing other than get drunk, crash cars, and not take no for an answer."

He paused again. I felt frozen.

"So he decides to expect something out of me. He decides to latch on to the last of his five boys and actually expect me to do what my brothers didn't. He expects me to get good grades, play sports like a star, and marry some girl who won't get liquored up at Christmas show off her pierced labia to my ninety-year-old grandmother."

I couldn't help but grimace.

"So yeah, Cody," He said softly, his tone gentle again, "My dad sucks, too. The only way I've ever learned to get away from it is to not be him. To not be anything like him. To be the exact opposite of him in every way. Which I am."

I nodded.

"So yeah - I play basketball."

I chose not to respond.

Trey smiled. It was his goofy smile.

"Are you gonna say something?" He asked finally.

I knew what I said next was important. It could very well be the deciding factor in whatever happened next between Trey and I. This would be the big one. The moment that either sunk me or kept me a float.

"That sucks."

Touchdown.

Trey seemed embarrassed.

At that moment, if I could have dug a hole through the concrete and buried myself, I would have. He'd been hoping that I'd open up to him in a similar way and I'd just maintained the barrier. Not like I could ever be expected to change.

"Yeah," He sighed, clearing his throat, "It does."

We just sat there. Trey drummed his fingers softly on the table. I felt like drumming my head with a bought bullet from a rented gun. Nothing my family had ever done had made me feel so bad. That was the irony. Nothing they had done had made me feel this bad, they just helped me make such a painful decision.

"My dad left when I was six."

I was shocked that I heard myself saying it. All my life, I'd convinced myself that my dad had died heroically. In Iraq or Bosnia or some other noble, manly way. That he'd hadn't left my with my mom and my step dad. In a way, I was admitting it to myself and it scared me.

Trey looked at me, "Yeah?"

I nodded. I swallowed hard.

"Yeah - never really admitted it before."

Trey didn't say anything right away. I wished he would because the longer he went just sitting there, the more it felt like I was being judged. When he wasn't responding, it felt like a big, hearty laugh was on the way. That was something I couldn't handle.

"Did you know him?" He asked gently.

"Yeah," I said it softly, any louder and my voice would have broken, "I knew him really well."

"Miss him?"

I only nodded. Unable to make eye contact, I looked out the clear walls of the café. Trying to find something - anything - to distract me from the conversation. Twelve years I'd protected it and forced it into the pit of my stomach - and I wasn't sure I really wanted to bring it out. Least of all in front of Trey.

"Know where he is?"

I shook my head. I began to silently pray that Trey would drop it.

We sat in silence again. This time, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable. Maybe it was because we were finally even. Trey had opened up to me and I to him. His may have been more verbal but mine definitely had the extra punch to it. Usually, I would have been proud but not when the feelings were so - real.

"I'm really tired," I sighed, "And my head is kind of hurting."

Trey ran his fingers through his hair. Even in my frazzled state, it gave me a little tickle to see it. I swallowed hard again and rubbed my eyes. Suddenly, I really did feel tired and my head really did hurt.

"You wanna go?" Trey asked softly.

"If that's okay."

My legs moved and stood me up. I followed Trey out of the café, disregarding the farewell from the girl behind the counter, and through the student union. As we walked, I noticed that Trey got quite a few looks from the assorted students gathered. Longing, jealousy, admiration - all there and all very blatant. I didn't like the way it made me feel. It made me feel possessive. It made me feel like since we'd shared our "secrets", that meant he was mine.

Then I felt dumb.

No matter how nice Trey was to me, I couldn't let myself believe that he'd ever be mine. I'd realized that he wasn't an asshole. A meat headed frat-boy jock who hated everyone different. He hated his dad and wanted to be completely the opposite. But he wasn't going to be mine.

But maybe he could be.

There was dangerous, dangerous hope again.

Trey did the hand thing.

When he opened the door to the car, he put his hand on my back. When I first felt him do it, I almost froze. I'd become so fixated on missing the sensation that when it returned, I didn't immediately recognize it. But when I did, I felt like I'd won the Super Bowl.

It lasted for only a split second, but as soon as I was in the car, my heart soared. I allowed myself a big, dumb smile as Trey rounded the car and got into the driver's seat. Getting a lid on it before he could see, I settled in and buckled my seat belt.

We drove in silence for the most of the trip. I didn't know if I was supposed to say anything or wait for him to talk. I didn't know if the hand thing was meant as a peace offering or some sort of flirting maneuver. I just felt confused. The giddiness had worn off and I felt completely in the dark.

It wasn't a feeling I enjoyed.

Trey stopped the car at a light. He shifted in his seat.

"Hey, Cody?"

Here we go. Sink or swim.

"Is your head still hurting?"

"Yeah." I said mildly.

Was this leading to a discussion about a lawsuit?

"So - you might have a concussion maybe?"

I didn't like the sound of that. Concussions meant doctors. Doctors meant hospitals. Hospitals meant bills. Bills meant money. If I was laid up with a head injury, I couldn't golf. If I couldn't golf, I couldn't make money. Therefore, I'd be screwed. I'd lose my scholarship and I'd have to move back to--

Trey's voice interrupted my slippery slope of anxiety.

"I'm not saying you do or anything - but that's something you shouldn't be alone with, right?"

"I don't know."

What the hell was this?

"Shane would know if you had a concussion and if you needed help, he could probably - take care of you."

"Uh - okay."

I honestly didn't know what the hell else to say.

"So," Trey sighed, "If you're cool with staying at the house tonight, Shane could help you if you felt sick and then I could give you a ride back to your dorm and then to class - if you want."

Trey was kidding. He had to be. He had to be screwing with me.

"So - where would I sleep?"

"You can have my bed and I'll take the couch," Trey shrugged, "If you're comfortable that, of course."

"Sure - if you're comfortable with it."

Trey smiled, "Yeah. I mean, it's the least Shane can do. He kind of owes you, after all."

I smiled. A real smile. I was beginning to enjoy that.

"Plus if you die, I can blame it on him."

I laughed. When the hell did these frat boys get so funny to me?

Then I began to stew. The plans had changed. Trey had extended our time together. Not only was I not going back to my dorm, I was going to his frat house. The frat house. The one I was pretty sure housed bowling balls in the walls and piss on the toilet seats.

My mind feverishly tried to formulate some sort of plan. Not an escape plan necessarily, but some sort of plan of action. Some way to handle this new level of - whatever it was. I couldn't have described exactly what it was if my life had depended on it. All I knew was that I needed to be somewhat sharper than usual.

Trey brought the car back down Greek Row. I forced myself to take deep breaths and think calming thoughts. He wasn't leading me to some sort of execution. He wasn't kidnapping me.

He was just - taking care of me.

Jesus Christ, was that what he was doing?!

I couldn't help but watch, impressed, as Trey perfectly parallel parked the car next to the curb. My last experience with parallel parking had been when my step dad had told me that "only Jews" knew how to do it properly. Like everything else, I didn't believe it.

Wiping the sweat from my palm, I pushed the driver's side door open and stepped back out onto the sidewalk. There was that damn sea smell again. It tickled my sinuses. Then I wondered what Trey's bed would smell like and I felt a tickle somewhere else. He wouldn't really be letting me sleep in his bed - would he?

Trey beckoned me up the walk to the house. I looked around and saw that the neighborhood was hardly partying hard. I guessed that even frat houses didn't do much hardcore business when classes had started. Either that or they were all hung over and had another few hours before the date-rape began.

I paused on the porch and let Trey hold the door open. Before I could go in, he stuck his head in and looked around. Puzzled, I waited and when he stepped aside, I walked in.

The clothes pile was still there. As was the huge fireplace.

Then he did the hand thing. Again.

Before I could float away, he leaned in.

"I was just checking to see if anything dangerous was `tarding around."

Stifling a laugh, I waited for Trey to make the next move. I assumed that non-brothers weren't exactly encouraged in the house. Especially those that weren't drunken girls with gigantic breasts. Those of us with penises and underclass rankings wouldn't be quite the kind of houseguests the frat would allow.

"Come on," Trey said, poking me in the elbow, "I'll show the room."

As I followed him up the stairs, his steps heavy like before, I felt the sudden urge to hunker down. As much goodwill as Trey had built up with me, I still feel entirely exempt from hazing in enemy territory.

"Should I hide or something?" I asked.

Trey smiled, "Nah. Anyone has a problem, I'll just bring up how you were almost murdered by a beer keg. That's sort of a double whammy against the house."

I felt at ease again. Damn him for being able to do that.

Trey led me to a room at the end of the hall. Working a key into the lock and shoving against the door, he finally managed to get it open. Expecting a puff of acrid stank, I was pleasantly surprised when the room didn't smell bad at all. No cheap cologne, no GHB stink, nothing other than the slight scent of cologne.

It was, dare I say it, actually quite nice.

Trey held the door open. I went in. He did the hand thing.

Trey's room was even more surprising once I got inside. It wasn't especially neat or organized but it was very - pleasant. Assorted posters and pictures on the walls, a stereo and TV in the corner, an IKEA desk with a laptop computer. My God, it looked like an ordinary dorm room.

With all sorts of clothes. All over the place. Clothes that were different from the ones that Trey was wearing right then. That fascinated me. That he had different outfits. How weird.

"So yeah," Trey sighed, "Think you can crash here?"

"Sure," I said, not wanting to sound at all ungrateful.

Trey smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. It ruffled slightly and then fell back all perfectly, like the 'boy band rebel' look that it so perfectly captured. He put his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath. He expected me to say something. Yet again, I stumbled over my own brain, trying to come up with something brilliant.

"Nice room."

Grand slam! Red Sox in the pennant!

"You want to have a seat?" Trey said, pointing to the bed.

Taking my time not to break anything, I sat down on the bed. It's softness was quite appealing. Hoping Trey would sit next to me, I deliberately left him enough room. Instead, he sat down in the computer chair. The way he leaned forward on his knees made me tingle again.

Nervously, I shifted on the bed and heard a crinkle. Frowning, I reached under one of the pillows and pulled out a wrinkled paper. It was an old Krispy Kreme wrapper. I held it up and looked at Trey.

"Carbo-loading." He said matter-of-factly.

"This soon?"

"Oh, I think that's from last spring."

I dropped the wrapper and shuddered. Trey laughed.

"You need anything else?" He asked.

"No, I should be okay," I said, "Gonna hit the couch?"

"Yeah," Trey said, "Just give me a second."

I watched as he got up and leaned over his black suitcase. Almost thrusting his ass directly in my face he was. The tight faded denim of his jeans gave me an extremely intimate view of his hindquarters. Very tight, muscular, and appealing. So much so that I could tell that his summers at the Vineyard were spent swimming extensively.

Tearing my eyes away from his ass, I watched as he pulled several pieces of clothing from the bag. Then he stood up straight and turned back to me. For a brief second, I thought about trying to hint that he would stay. If he wanted to, of course.

"All right! Bathroom is fourth door on the left, Shane's room is the second one to the right, I'll be downstairs if you need anything. I mean, if you need me - you know where I am."

I nodded, "I'll be here."

Trey stood there for a second longer. I felt the urge to beg him to stay. To just tell him to stay with me and if necessary, we could lay on top of each other in the bed. It would conserve body heat and cut down on the power bill. Right?

"Well, I'll let you get some rest," He paused, "Okay?"

"Okay."

I felt like I was on the Titanic.

He stood there again. I wished he'd stop doing that.

"So - good night, Cody."

I smiled as amiably as I knew how, "Night, Trey."

He smiled and nodded. Silently, he opened the door and left. Then he was gone. I was all alone in his room with his posters, books, pictures, incredibly expensive golf clubs, and whatever the hell else was living in his dirty clothes.

This was crazy. Trey was insane. Either that, or it was a sting by the local police. But then, when a SWAT team didn't kick the door down and handcuff me, I felt a little more secure. Well, as secure as I was going to feel tucked away in a frat house two thousand miles from anyone any blood relation to me.

Maybe it wasn't so bad.

Cautiously, I laid down on the bed. First remembering to take my shoes off, I did my best to relax. Getting under the covers would have been a way too familiar move at that point. Let alone - removing any more of my clothes. Despite all my rational thinking, I felt a stirring between my legs.

Almost reflexively, I let myself take a gentle whiff of Trey's pillow. It smelled like cologne and Old Spice shampoo. I'd never encountered anything so pleasant in my life. Feeling daring, I took another sniff and felt light-headed. I imagined it was what his hair smelled like.

Despite my anxiousness and excitement, I began to feel drowsy. Almost turned off the light but thought better of it; in an unfamiliar situation, darkness can mean the difference between life and death. His covers were much warmer and fabric-softened than any I'd ever encountered.

After drowsing for a while, I woke up when I heard the door knob being turned. Immediately, I sat bolt upright in bed and rubbed my eyes frantically. This was it. This was going to be the death of me. I was going to be caught and apprehended in enemy territory. Game over.

But then Trey walked in. He was carrying a pillow and a blanket.

He'd also changed clothes. He was wearing a pair of green plaid pajama pants and white v-neck t-shirt. He looked apologetic at first and then puzzled.

"I'm back." He said.

"Okay," I said slowly, my body still unclenching.

"Somebody brought somebody back to the house and they puked on the couch. It smells awful." He said, sounding tired and old again.

"Oh!" I sat up and reached for my shoes, "Let me just put my shoes on and I'll get out--"

"Cody - you don't have to go." Trey said gently.

"I don't?"

"No. You stay in bed and I'll," He looked around the room, "Sleep on the floor. I can just pile the dirty clothes."

My first instinct was to suggest that we share the bed. For a brief, insane second, the "let's sleep on top of each other" idea sounded perfectly plausible. Then I forced it out of my mind. I'd just cheated death yet again - it wasn't the time to test the limits of luck.

So something else came out of my mouth instead.

"That's what you sleep in?" I asked, interested in how normal his sleepwear was.

Trey smirked at me as he pilled the clothes with his foot, "Yeah, normally I wear buttless chaps and a leather harness but - you know, I've got company tonight."

Trey in buttless chaps wasn't an image I needed.

"Why?" He asked.

"I don't know. I expected something more revealing."

Trey stood up, "I can do something more revealing."

I smirked as I laid back down, "No, that's okay."

Trey looked down at me. Before I could protest, he pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it on the floor. Before I could process that, he pulled his pajama pants down and stepped out of them. Just like that, he was standing in front of me in just a pair of red boxer briefs.

What struck me (like a baseball bat) about his body wasn't that it was perfectly lean and defined. It wasn't that every part of him was pretty much ideally proportioned. Wasn't the hefty bulge at the front of his underwear that was merely but twelve inches form my face Hell, it wasn't even that he was hairy - to a surprising degree, with a rather thick amount of dark, brown hair on his chest, stomach, and legs.

It was that he had a pierced nipple. Just one. Just his right nipple. Pierced with a small silver bar. I'd never known any rich kids with a piercing. That just seemed so utterly strange and alien to me.

Aware that I was beginning to gawk a little long, I maintained my unimpressed face. I nodded. Then I made sure to look like I was waiting for him to put his damn clothes on and stop being such a vain asshole. But I highly doubt he was all that fooled by it.

"Okay, put your clothes on." I said, forcing myself to look away.

"Why?" Trey asked, "You said you wanted something more revealing."

"I said I `expected' something more revealing."

Trey didn't say anything. He began to slowly rub his bare stomach.

"Stop that!" I said, trying to maintain my sanity and still sound `exasperated', "If I have to stare at your areolas, I'll puke. Puking is definitely a sign of a concussion."

Trey stopped but didn't put his clothes on. Instead, he sat down next to me on the bed. So close that I could feel the warmth of his mostly-nude body against the bare parts of mine. Instead of being a foot from my face, his bulge was a foot away from my hand. His hairy thigh was close enough to massage with my hand. His thick treasure trail could be reached by my tongue in a nanosecond or less.

This would definitely be one for "Cody's Jack Files."

"How does that work?" Trey asked, just as casually he had when we were in class that day.

"How does what work? Put your clothes on."

"How does staring at my areolas making you puke mean you have a concussion?"

"It does. Put your clothes on!"

"You think my areolas are that ugly?"

"Stop saying that word!" I whined, "And put your clothes on!"

"What word? Ugly?"

This was getting bad. Very bad.

"Trey - I'm tired."

He smiled. I tried to focus on that instead of his body. Hell, two fat naked biker chicks could be having dildo sex in front of me and I would have focused on that. Which only proved that Trey was driving me to sick, sick extremes.

"Oh well," Trey said, "Maybe my areolas will grow on you."

Okay, that one cracked me up.

Trey got up from the bed and pulled his shirt and pants back on. Immediately after he did so, I felt a sore longing disappointment. Both in my stomach and in my scrotum. Then, for the first time, I realized about my scrotum. See, my scrotum had subconsciously enjoyed Trey being in his underwear and openly speaking his areolas. Now my scrotum was irritated and achy.

Luckily enough, my next chance to relieve the pressure was at least ten hours away. Trey would be taking me to my dorm tomorrow and then to class. So my scrotum would be with Trey all morning tomorrow. I'd have to wait until being alone after class - if Trey even allowed that to happen.

That God. What a sense of humor.

Trey laid down next to the bed and pulled the couch blanket over him. The way he shifted uncomfortably made me wonder. Perhaps, was Trey's scrotum feeling discomfort similar to mine? Unsurprisingly, thinking of such a thing made mine ache even worse.

Feeling lightheaded, I reached up and switched the light off.

Even with the light off, I could still sense Trey in the room. After a second, my senses adjusted and I could hear his soft breathing from the floor. Like a withering, old man, I carefully lowered myself back onto the blanket. Struggling mightily, I got my breathing under control and shut my eyes tightly. Like vertigo, this was.

"Hey Cody?"

Trey's voice nearly made me jump.

"Yeah?" I responded, my voice painfully high-pitched and anxious.

"Are my areolas really ugly?" He asked, his voice almost laughing.

"Shut up." I whispered.

After a few seconds, I frowned in the darkness.

"Trey - did somebody really puke on the couch?"

No answer. Then he spoke.

"Yeah - but they'll clean it up before we get up tomorrow."

Oh, that's just great. The kid was the romantic type. The type to create whacky schemes to spend time together. Of all the people in the world God could have hooked me up with - it was one of those types. The type that actually put thought into relationships and want to learn from past mistakes.

How the hell would I make that work?

Then, despite my internal bitching, I felt very warm. In the pit of my stomach. It was a warm, fuzzy, lovey-dovey feeling. For the moment, my horniness was forgotten and whatever trepidation I felt about Trey and I and whatever would happen between us was gone. Just like that. Not permanently, I knew, but - for a little while, it was gone.

I smiled in the darkness.

Maybe things were actually about to get better.

TO BE CONTINUED ...