Auggie let a little grin break out. “I saw your Intro to World Literature paper last year, Orlando. ‘The symbolism of black is death.’ Four pages like that.”
A blush crept up behind the dark stubble, but after a moment, Orlando smiled. “Ok, smartass. Not all of us were getting private tutoring and boning sessions from the professor.”
“I wish that’s what I’d been getting,” Auggie said, and then both of them burst out laughing.
“Please, Augs,” Orlando said when the laughter faded. “Please.”
“Promise you won’t go anywhere near my homework.”
“Promise.”
“Promise you will not try to be my wingman.”
“Swear to God.”
“Promise you will never, ever, ever try to get me the hottest ass in town, which sounds a little rapey.”
Orlando rolled his eyes and put his hand over his heart. “Never, ever, ever.”
“If things get weird, we’re calling the police. Ok?”
“Of course. I trust you, Augs. I know you’ll do the right thing. And my parents really will pay you.”
The two thousand dollars would be a huge help; Fer liked to rub Auggie’s face in the fact that he was paying for his education, but the reality was that Fer was stretched pretty thin financially, even if he wouldn’t admit it. And although Auggie kept hoping for a marketing or advertising deal that would help him break out as an influencer, his agent told him that many big companies were still shy of alternative lifestyles—queers, in other words—no matter how many followers they had.
And then Auggie realized that this might be the perfect opportunity to deal with the other man in his life who perpetually made things more difficult for him.
“You’re not going to like this next part,” Auggie said.
It took a moment; then Orlando’s eyes widened. “Augs, no.”
“I didn’t solve that murder alone.”
“Not him. Please.”
“I’m going to at least ask him. If Theo doesn’t want to help me, I won’t bother him again.”
But Auggie didn’t think that would happen. Theo Stratford had an annoying—and occasionally breathtaking—protective streak. Auggie was smiling as he pulled on his sneakers.
6
After his morning visit to Downing to see Lana, Theo sat on the relatively new couch in his relatively new living room, ignoring his phone. The window A/C was making a pathetic yowling sound, like a cat was caught in the fan, and the house was hotter than hell. Theo had stripped down to a pair of jersey shorts, and he was still sweating.
He had planned on replacing the air conditioner before another Midwestern summer, but all of his savings—and then some—had gone to restoring the house. Much of the home’s interior had been destroyed earlier that year by desperate people looking for something they thought Theo had; after the chaos had ended, Cart had helped Theo repair the damage. Or, better said, Cart had fixed everything, and Theo had specialized in carrying things and opening beers. Since then, Theo had been slowly buying furniture at thrift stores and from garage sales, whenever his grad student budget allowed.
His phone buzzed again; Theo refused to look at it.
The night before, Cart hadn’t answered any of Theo’s texts. Theo had simply been checking in—was Cart safe, had the demonstration been peaceful, things like that. It was one o’clock in the morning when Theo had finally put the phone under his pillow, and it was almost two by the time he fell asleep. If Cart wanted to talk today, well, he could wait until Theo was ready to talk.
A part of Theo thought about the Bluetooth speaker with its removable panel, the picture frame with the gap between the glass and the backing, the light fixture that was loose in the ceiling. Lots of hiding places Cart never thought to look. Lots of opportunities to feel better for a little while.
Theo flipped through the Riverside Shakespeare he’d borrowed from the library, examining the prefatory material for their edition of Romeo and Juliet. Dr. Wagner’s class was one of the literary themes lectures that the department offered—every year, different themes. Dr. Wagner, big surprise, had chosen Adolescence and Erotic Love as the theme for his course. They were using anchor texts and then shorter companion pieces; Romeo and Juliet was the first anchor text, and even though Theo doubted he’d be in charge of anything besides turning on the projector, he wanted to be prepared. Besides, he was still considering a chapter on Romeo and Juliet in his thesis, and he wanted to read the play once more before he made that decision.
He was just finishing the scholarly introduction to the work when someone knocked on the door. It was Cart; he knew it. The dumb hoosier had come over to apologize and get a blow job—probably not in that order. Rolling off the couch, Theo dropped the Riverside Shakespeare on the coffee table and padded toward the door. In the heat and humidity, his feet made sticking noises on the floorboards.
“Listen,” Theo said as he pulled the door open, “if you can’t be bothered to answer one fucking text when I’m worried about—Auggie?”
“Um, hi.”
Auggie looked good. Auggie looked fantastic. His dark hair was still in the same short crew cut, and his soft brown eyes were exactly the way Theo remembered them. The combination of tank top, shorts, and sneakers left very little of Auggie covered. Very, very little. Auggie was still lean and toned, although his shoulders looked a little broader, and he had a scattering of chest hair that hadn’t been there a few months before. Even his legs looked more muscular.
Then Theo remembered he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he slammed the door. He stared at the door for a minute, not quite believing what had just happened. Then he stumbled over to the sofa and wriggled into the washed-out Lambert’s Cafe t-shirt. He turned toward the door. No. He turned toward the bathroom. His knee had stiffened up, but he hobbled as fast as he could. He pushed his hair behind his ears. He patted down his beard. Why the hell did it have to be so poofy? Then he hobbled back to the door.
When he pulled it open, he said, “I’m going to try that again.”
“Try what again?” Auggie said, his eyes wide and innocent.
“Hi, Auggie. I didn’t expect—I didn’t know—Jesus Christ, is that Orlando?”
“Yeah, he’s hiding over there because he thinks you’re still mad at him. I told him you weren’t. You aren’t, are you?”
Orlando peered around the corner of the house and gave a tiny wave.
Theo decided not to answer that. “Auggie, it’s nice to see you, but this isn’t a good time.”
“Because you’re having sex?”
Theo choked on something—he wasn’t sure what, maybe just spit. “No, I’m not—”
“Because you’re all sweaty, and your nipples look kind of bruised.”
“Just a second,” Theo said and shut the door again. He leaned his head against it. And then he pounded his head against the wood several times. Cart and his fucking needle-nose-plier fingers.