"You need to stop fixating on that."
Ever since Rafe got dumped by this guy Mac in the fall, a guy Rafe claimed as his ex even though they only dated for a week, he'd gotten into his head that to find a boyfriend, he needed to commit to one of these over-the-top romantic gestures that only work in movies. Each time, Coop tried to steer him away from these ideas because they only led to massive embarrassment.
"They never work."
"They will for the right guy, like my breakfast boy."
"You said that about the guy you tried to serenade who turned out to be straight, or the guy you tried to win over with balloon animals that blew away in the breeze. You need to chill out, buddy."
"Why?" Rafe held his dumbbell like a shake weight, which gave Coop second-hand embarrassment. "People like these grand romantic gestures. If you like somebody, you go all in."
"Not right away." And maybe not ever. If you put yourself so far out there, you'd never be able to find your way back. Coop returned to the weight room. He grabbed the forty-fives and lifted them over his head, wailing on his shoulders.
"You fall too hard," Coop told him between reps. "You go from zero to his-and-his towels. You, my friend, are a goner in sixty seconds."
"Since when is that a bad thing?" Rafe rested his chin on his dumbbell. "I can't do the half-hearted thing like you."
"Like me?" Coop launched his arms straight up into the air and watched his muscles bulge with pride. He still couldn't believe the guy in the mirror was him sometimes. Hard work and determination.
"You're all too-cool-for-school. You haven't told me about any crushes."
"Maybe because I'm not a thirteen-year-old girl."
"Last fall, we got plunked into a new setting with four thousand new guys, half of whom are cute, and one-fifth of those half are gay or something adjacent."
"One-fifth? That's a tad optimistic."
"None of those guys hold any interest for you? Or are you going back in the closet for your clients?"
Rafe was the only person that Coop had told about his G-rated gigolo business. Coop had to tell someone, and despite Rafe's nutty views on making an ass out of himself, he was a solid friend who Coop trusted one hundred percent.
"I am loud and proud on Team Dick. I promise."
"Why are you spending all this time getting ripped if you don't want anyone to benefit?"
Coop put the forty-fives back on the rack. Rafe wouldn't understand that he just didn't feel like dating. It felt too much like a dicey proposition. Just because he had a ripped physique didn't mean he couldn't be rejected. "I love that you wear your heart on your sleeve. It's what makes you you, but it might scare some guys off."
"If it's the right guy, then he won't be scared off."
Coop grabbed the little dumbbell from Rafe's lap. "Stop holding these things like you want to jerk them off. Save that for your bow tie lover."
After their workout, they strolled back to their dorm. Kids congregated on couches in the lobby. Rafe rubbed his sore muscles. Those five-pound weights. So brutal.
"Love takes time," Coop said. They walked up the stairs to the room. "Don't try to force anything with this breakfast guy. You can't just have the love of your life show up on your doorstep."
Or maybe you could. Because a cute guy leaned against Rafe and Coop's door, waiting for them, as if dropped there by a magical genie.
"H-hi. I'm Rafe."
"Kelvin." The guy nodded tersely. "I'm looking for Coop."
Coop raised his hand.
"Can we talk privately?"
Coop turned to Rafe.
"I'll go downstairs. No having sex on his bed."
Coop gave Rafe a friendly shove down the hall. "Forgive him. His mother dropped him on his head. Repeatedly. For fun." Coop sat on his bed, while Kelvin stood by his desk. "What can I do you for?"
Kelvin stared at the ground, and Coop sensed his nervousness. "I heard from a friend that you help people."
"Possibly. Not like a hit man, if that's what you're thinking." Coop leaned back, enjoying this Godfather-esque moment of power. "What's the problem?"
"There's this kid in my engineering class who annoys the shit out of everyone. He's a total teacher's pet." Kelvin paced as he worked into his story. "This is one of the most difficult classes in the engineering program, but the professor usually grades on a curve.
"The curve would be perfect, except this kid aces his tests. For the last test, he got an A, and we all got C's, which now are being counted as actual C's. It's messing up our GPA, which is going to be a big problem when we apply to graduate school or try to get recruited by companies. Our whole class is scared shitless. Not to mention my parents are going to have an epic shit fit if I bring home a C. We're Chinese. Getting a C is worse than getting arrested." A streak of anger lit up Kelvin's face.
"So where do I come in? Like I said, not a hit man."
"I tried talking with this guy, but he wouldn't listen. He's like a reality show contestant. Not here to make friends." He sat down on the foot of Coop's bed. "I need you to find a way to distract him so that he's not as prepared for the next test. If we can throw him off his game a little, then his grades will come down and kick the curve back into effect, and we all win."
Coop eyed him suspiciously. He slid his gym bag under his bed. "I think your friend misrepresented what I do. I'm a great plus one at parties, or a great guy to show off to mom and dad. But distracting engineering majors is out of my wheelhouse."
Kelvin removed a wad of cash from his pocket. "Well, make it."
Coop's eyes salivated at the amount, which he couldn't count but knew instantly was more than any of his past payouts. The way Kelvin held it made it seem like chump change to the kid.
"Outside of hiring a hit man, I don't know what else to do. My friend said you were good."
"What exactly do you want me to do? Wave my hands in front of him when he's trying to study?"
"I don't know. Just try something. He'll expect something from me, but he doesn't know you."
Coop felt bad for Kelvin a little, dealing with that family pressure. It seemed like a victimless crime, and an easy payout. This teacher's pet would still get good grades, just via a curve.
"I have a no refund policy." Coop took the money and put it on his nightstand. Not in a hooker sort of way, although that would make sense for a gigolo of any rating. "I'll give it a try, but I can't promise anything."
"If his grades start to come down, there'll be more of that." Kelvin nodded at the money.
Coop didn't like that this guy could throw around money so easily, but there were plenty of him at a school like Browerton. It was Coop's duty to profit off his kind.
"Thank you for your help." Kelvin put his hand on the doorknob. "And good luck. You'll need it."
Chapter 4
Matty
In the ghost town that was the fourth floor stacks of the library, Matty leafed through his robotics textbook in peace, taking ample notes. In one photo, two men worked on the ENIAC, one of the world's first computers, which took up an entire room. Those men weren't lonely. They were busy creating the most important invention of modern history. They didn't spend time fretting about making friends.
Matty was barely a paragraph into page 183 when a giant slam almost knocked him out of his chair. A stack of dusty, discolored books from the stacks sat on his table. He looked up, and a kid who seemed like he didn't frequent libraries often smiled back at him.
"Hey there. Mind if I share this table with you?"
"Really?" Matty pointed at the empty tables behind them. "There's space over there."
"I know, but this is the best table in the library. You're directly under the air conditioning vent. It's stuffy in here." The guy took off his askew baseball hat and stripped off the light sweater he had on, leaving him in a tank top that exposed the hard curves of his hefty muscles. Matty had to catch his breath for a second and stop staring at the tattoos etched on said muscles.
"There are probably empty tables available under the vent in another wing," Matty said politely.
"I checked. It's a full house tonight."
"Really? It only gets full during finals."
The guy shrugged. His eyes had a perpetual squint to them, like they were flashlights surveying a crime scene. He removed his notebook from his back pocket, and a pen from behind his ear.
"There's a little coffee shop off the periodicals wing on the ground floor."
"Full."
"Are you sure?"
The guy held up his coffee cup in his free hand. "I was just there."
"In the time since you came up here, there might be an empty seat."
"It's a free country. You can't claim a table that has three unused chairs all to yourself." The guy pressed his palms on the table, making his triceps flex. Matty didn't know if that was supposed to be an intimidation tactic or just a regular stance for him. Either way, it sent a clear message. "Don't worry. I'll be quiet."