The Academy Read online

  Was that a rhetorical question, or did he expect Nick to answer?

  Nick told the truth. I don’t know.

  I think I do, and it terrifies me.

  That one sentence sucked all the air out of Nick’s lungs. He couldn’t begin to think of what to say back. He wasn’t even sure what Sebastian meant, exactly, and yet he did.

  Fortunately, Sebastian texted him again. Come to my party. Please?

  I can’t. I’m not going to wear the outfit.

  That’s not why I’m inviting you. I want to talk. Will you please come? I want to apologize to your face. I’ll sweeten the deal: you can yell at me all you like.

  That last part made Nick laugh despite himself. When he analyzed his feelings, he was surprised to discover he was considering it. If he could get Sebastian one-on-one, he stood a better chance of getting it through Sebastian’s thick skull that he needed to back off.

  Is that really why you want to see him? a voice in the back of his head asked. Are you that determined to lie to yourself?

  Damn it, he couldn’t give in now. He needed to show Sebastian that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. Not this time.

  Holding down a button on the side of his phone, he watched with satisfaction as it powered off. There. If Sebastian couldn’t reach him, he couldn’t tempt Nick into coming to his party.

  Nick would have preferred to keep his phone on, in case Deen needed him, but Deen wasn’t driving, and the party was only a few blocks from campus. He could be trusted to make it home safely. Plus, Nick didn’t think he could resist if Sebastian kept saying such confusing things to him. Such thoughtful, genuine-sounding things . . .

  He shook his head. This was for the best. He’d go to sleep, and in the morning, he’d think all this over. It would seem clearer in the light of day.

  Sans laptop, he climbed into bed, clicked off his lamp, and willed himself to sleep. He spent a few minutes listening for his phone, though he knew it was off, before he rolled over and forced himself to clear his mind.

  When he finally dozed off, he was plagued by odd dreams. In one, he was back home. The streets were empty. Chicago’s towering buildings bled into a steely winter sky. The city looked different to him now. The streets. The skyline he knew so well. Like a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces for. Was he forgetting it already?

  In another dream, he was staring directly into a pair of dark-brown eyes. He thought they might be Deen’s, or maybe Dante’s, but they blinked and were gone before he could decide.

  The last dream he remembered before he woke up was the most upsetting. He was standing next to a picnic bench, looking down at his feet. Next to him, Sebastian sat on the bench, head in his hands. He was clearly crying, his shoulders heaving with sobs. Nick tried to lift his hand and comfort him, but his arm was paralyzed. Sebastian cried so much, he dissolved and was gone.

  Nick’s churning stomach woke him. He might as well have stayed up all night, because he felt less rested than he had before. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he tried to make sense of his dreams, but they were fading from his memory faster than he could analyze them.

  With a yawn, he realized he hadn’t heard Deen come in last night. He glanced over at his bed.

  Deen was passed out on top of his covers, clothes still on, with a big smile plastered on his face. Nick had to stifle a laugh. Deen was probably going to have a hell of a hangover, but it looked as though it’d been worth it.

  Damn, it seems I really did miss out on a great party. At least Deen got to have fun.

  What time was it? For once, he didn’t know. He grabbed his phone off the desk and pressed the home button. It wasn’t until it failed to come to life that he remembered he’d turned it off. Good thing today was Sunday and he had nowhere to be. And that no one ever called him. And that he still hadn’t made any new friends.

  Besides Theo and Deen, he thought as his phone came back to life. And maybe Dante, if we end up studying together.

  That raised an interesting question. How was he ever going to avoid Sebastian if they ended up having the same friends?

  Nick shook his head as his home screen loaded. The time popped up, declaring that it was after nine in the morning. That was good. He was waking up and going to bed at semiregular times. Maybe he’d avoid becoming nocturnal this semester like he usually did. At least, until finals week.

  He was about to set his phone back down on the desk and get dressed when it vibrated in his hand. His heart leaped into his throat. Was Sebastian calling him again? No, it couldn’t be. What were the chances he’d call right when Nick woke up?

  As Nick watched, a text message popped up. Then another. And another. Too quickly for anyone to be sending them individually.

  They must’ve been sent while my phone was off, and now I’m getting all of them at once. Jesus, how many are there?

  His phone went off for a solid thirty seconds. By the time it’d finished, he had seventeen new texts. He almost didn’t want to look, but in the end, curiosity won out. He clicked on Sebastian’s name in his inbox and scrolled up to the first message he’d sent after Nick powered off his phone.

  Are you ignoring me? Do you want me to leave you alone?

  Right after that, Sebastian said, I suppose I should take the hint.

  The time stamps indicated that several minutes had passed before Sebastian sent, You can tell me to fuck off, and I will. But until then, I’m going to keep trying to make this up to you. I don’t want to believe I blew it.

  Nick put down his phone and covered his mouth, needing to steel himself before he read any more. Holy shit, Sebastian was getting more emotional with every text. By the end of this conversation, what would Nick find?

  Stalling, he tapped back to his inbox and saw that he also had two messages from Theo and one from Dante. Theo wanted to know where he was, and if Nick was the reason Sebastian was “missing his own party.” Gulp.

  Dante’s text asked if Nick wanted to get together and study sometime soon. Nick replied in the affirmative and asked when was good for Dante. Once that sent, he took an invigorating breath and switched back over to Sebastian.

  As Nick read, his eyes got wider and wider until he imagined he must look like an owl. He could sense the night progressing through the messages. Sebastian’s spelling and punctuation slipped from time to time, which was a good indicator of his sobriety. Considering the texts spanned the course of hours, he must’ve had a lot to drink.

  But then, he’d said he didn’t want to drink. Had he hit the bottle when he realized Nick wasn’t going to come to his party? He must have, because his texts before had been letter-perfect, right down to the punctuation.

  Nick kept reading. As the night went on, Sebastian had stopped pleading with Nick to show up and started describing what he was missing instead. Apparently, Eric Garraffa—whoever that was—had gotten locked out on the balcony and tried to climb down a trellis. Tried being the operative word. Two girls named Jackie and Angela had finally hooked up, to everyone’s delight.

  Nick wondered briefly if that was the same Angela he had class with, before he moved to the next text.

  Long stretches of time passed when there were no messages. Around midnight, Sebastian had renewed his feeling that Nick was a puzzle.

  I wish i could figre u out. i’ve never tryd so hard with some1 b4.

  The next few messages were more innocuous. Sebastian said the party was winding down and that even Dante and Theo had left. Around one in the morning, Sebastian declared to Nick that he was going to bed. Which must not have happened, since he continued to text Nick. His improved spelling suggested he’d sobered up.

  There’s a boy in my bed. He’s blond and tan, like you. But he’s not you.

  Nick’s heart stopped cold in his chest. He read the next text in double time.

  I was going to have sex with him tonight, but I can’t. I have no idea why, but I can’t do it.

  Nick was ashamed to admit he was relieved.

&n
bsp; I really am going to bed now. I swear. Soon as my brain quiets down.

  The final text was sent at three in the morning, and reading it made Nick dizzy.

  I’m staring up at my ceiling, unable to turn off my thoughts. They keep circling back to the same subject: you. Earlier, when the party was in full swing, I looked around and thought to myself that something was missing. From the party. From my apartment. From my life. I couldn’t figure out what it was. But now, as I lay here, I think I finally know. It’s you.

  The air whooshed out of Nick’s lungs. He read that last message what felt like a hundred times before he put his phone down and stared off into space.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Sebastian had meant what he’d said. It might’ve been brought on by exhaustion and/or the remnants of booze, but it was real. Real and raw and honest.

  Nick had just gotten his first genuine peek at Sebastian, without the reputation and defenses that acted as smoke screens. For the first time, when Nick thought about Sebastian, he saw a passionate, needy young man who was analytical to the point of his own detriment.

  And shock of all shocks, Nick kind of liked that person.

  This is bad. This is not what I planned.

  Nick knew what he had to do.

  He picked up his phone again, composed a short, simple text, and sent it off. After, he fell back onto his bed and stared up at his own ceiling, thoughts forming a buzzing swarm in his head.

  When Sebastian woke the next morning, he had a wicked hangover, a sour mouth, and very few memories.

  The second he cracked an eye open, he slammed it shut again. The light streaming through his bedroom windows was agony. And to think, he’d insisted on renting an apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows in most of the rooms. Every time he threw a party, he regretted that decision the next day.

  He lay on his side with his eyes closed and gathered his strength. The soft pajama bottoms he’d donned were sandpaper against his skin. He normally slept naked. Why had he put on clothes this time? His brain swam as he tried to think. After a while, he opened his eyes again—gingerly, this time—and glanced at the clock on his nightstand.

  Past noon. Damn. He’d really overdone it.

  At least he’d remembered to plug his phone in before going to sleep. It was resting next to his clock. He eased himself forward enough to swipe at the white USB cord and ended up knocking his phone onto the floor. A groan poured out of him. Absolutely everything hurt, and if he had to move more than a few inches, he was going to die.

  His groan was answered by a small noise beside him. He froze. Suddenly, he had all the strength he needed to whip around and look at the other side of the bed.

  A guy who was at least half-naked was lying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow. Sebastian’s black sheets were pulled up to his waist. All Sebastian could see was a toned back and messy blond hair.

  That explains the pajamas. Is it . . .?

  For a fraction of a second, his brain cut to white noise. But then, memories from last night came drifting back. The man next to him was Marshall Wallace, not—

  Sebastian scrubbed a hand down his face. God, he needed help. And water. And aspirin. And water.

  He rolled out of bed as quietly as he could, snatched his phone off the floor, and considered changing into real clothes before deciding water was his top priority. Besides, he was no stranger to walking around shirtless, and he didn’t just mean in his own home. He tiptoed out of the room.

  His apartment was more or less intact. There were empty beer bottles and red cups lying around—and a rumpled pair of women’s underwear on the couch, minus whoever had been wearing them—but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Later. When he’d hydrated himself back to a semblance of personhood.

  He made a beeline for the kitchen, pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge, and drank most of it in a couple of swallows. Then he plopped onto one of the stools by his granite island and cradled his head in his hands.

  Slowly, he sifted through what he remembered from the night before. His I-don’t-feel-like-drinking schtick hadn’t lasted. After his talk with Theo and Dante, something in him had snapped. There had been shots. Far too many shots. Of tequila too, which he normally only drank when he was trying to get fucked up. He hadn’t thought that was his goal at the time, but here he was, piecing the night together.

  When had Marshall come into the picture? Sometime between shirtless limbo and a bunch of people getting locked out on the balcony. Sebastian remembered reluctantly making out with him. It’d been sloppy, and Marshall had tasted like stale beer. For some reason, it’d also left Sebastian feeling guilty. He didn’t normally feel anything after a hookup. Weird.

  After that, things were blurry. Marshall had proposed they sleep together, but Sebastian had a firm anti-drunk-sex policy. He normally didn’t let guys pass out in his bed either, but by that point in the night, he’d been too tired to protest, and there’d been no way he was letting Marshall drive home.

  Sebastian remembered texting. He remembered texting one person in particular a lot.

  Cold dread permeated him. It was like his brain had saved the very worst memories for last. Sebastian had spent a large chunk of last night drunk-texting Nick. He’d lain awake, with another guy passed out next to him, and sent Nick a message. He didn’t recall now what he’d said, but it’d been emotional. And genuine.

  Which meant there was a chance he was fucked.

  Lifting his face out of his hands, Sebastian eyed his phone where it rested on the cool granite. Curiosity urged him to scroll through his inbox and see what he’d written, but he wasn’t sure he could handle the embarrassment.

  He wasn’t normally the sort to pour his soul out as soon as he got a couple of drinks in him, but with how volatile he’d been lately, and how strangely he tended to act when it came to Nick, he got the feeling overdrinking wasn’t the only regrettable thing he’d done last night.

  “C’mon, Prinsen,” he murmured to himself. “Rip the bandage off.”

  With a sigh, he picked up the phone and hit a button. The screen flashed to life. He had a hundred new notifications. Facebook statuses he’d been tagged in. Instagram photos of the party. Too much for him to possibly go through while his head was pounding like a drum.

  He bypassed all the alerts and went for his messages. His sight was blurry, he was so hungover, but if he squinted, he could make the letters stop swimming. Sure enough, Nick’s name was at the top of the list. He clicked on it and scrolled up to the beginning.

  The first messages he remembered. Everything after that, however, was news to him, as was the realization that Nick had blown him off. After their initial few exchanges, Nick had stopped replying.

  Which apparently wasn’t a deterrent at all for drunk Sebastian. He’d just kept on texting. Photos of the party. Quotes with no context. And oh God, a drunken late-night confession, as he’d suspected.

  Sebastian reread the final text he’d sent Nick—the one about feeling like something was missing—with escalating horror. He hadn’t meant to be that honest. Hell, he never meant to be that honest. And yet, he’d poured his heart out to a guy he hardly knew. What the fuck had gotten into him lately?

  But the real kicker was, now that he was rereading it, he remembered writing it. He remembered wanting, with all his heart, to say these things to Nick. He’d sobered up some by the time 3 a.m. had arrived. This, he couldn’t blame on alcohol.

  Granted, the details were fuzzy, and sober him sure as shit would have done some editing, but he’d known what he was doing. This text was a combination of exhaustion, insecurity, and honest desire.

  Desire for what? This isn’t you wanting to win the bet. This is something else. What changed, and what exactly do you want from Nick?

  He didn’t think he was ready to answer that question. Instead, he needed to decide what he wanted to do. Spin this somehow? Call Nick and deny the whole thing? Pretend the texts never happened?

  None of
those seemed right. Mortified as he was, he didn’t regret his words. On the contrary, he was sort of relieved, as if he’d shed a small burden he hadn’t noticed until it was gone. Though, he’d have to apologize to Nick for being a drunken mess, and he was dying to know how Nick felt about all this. Grateful as he was that Nick hadn’t responded to him, he’d also like to know why. Was Nick angry? Confused? Charmed?

  I suppose there’s no chance he found my display endearing. He’s probably filing for a restraining order right now. I should call him and explain. After I drink a lot more water. And kick that other guy out of my bed. And take a long look at my decision-making processes.

  Sebastian was about to turn his screen off when he swiped up again and saw a new message.

  Nick had, in fact, replied to him. That very morning, while Sebastian had slept.

  The text consisted of four simple words: We need to talk.

  For a second time, Sebastian froze. He’d suspected that Nick would take the texts seriously, as opposed to dismissing them as drunken antics, but now he had proof. Damn. They did need to talk—he knew that—but he’d watched enough sitcoms to know those four words usually spelled trouble.

  It’s not like he can break up with you. You’re not dating.

  Why then was Sebastian’s heart pounding? He thought back to what Dante had accused him of last night: being in denial. Before he talked to Nick, he needed to figure out what the hell he was doing here.

  Why had he gotten so drunk last night? Because he was upset Nick hadn’t come to his party? He also wondered if Marshall had something to do with it. Sebastian’s no-sex-when-drunk rule was well-known. Maybe Sebastian had overdone it to make sure he couldn’t hook up with anyone.

  Alarm bells went off in his head. This was getting out of hand. Nick wasn’t his boyfriend and never would be. Sebastian had been lying to his face from the start. He had a bet going with his two best friends to see who could kiss Nick first.