The Right Move

Chapter 1 “Please don’t touch me,” the guy snapped. “Sorry!” Trevor jerked his hand back from the shoulder he’d grabbed for balance, which had the unfortunate side effect of throwing him off-balance and turning him ass over backwards. That would have been fine, except he was holding an open Scrabble box—tiles went flying (4,1,4,1,1,2). Thirteen points overhead. Trevor’s ass took the brunt of the fall and he winced, although at least it was well padded for the job. Around him, the tink tink tink of tiny wooden squares hitting tile could be heard like literary rain, despite the noise of the dorm’s common area. He grimaced and watched the little suckers bounce and skitter. f**k. “Graceful as ever, Trev!” Jorge shouted across the room. “Helpful as ever, fuckhead,” Trevor shouted back. “I’m so sorry!” the guy who was partially responsible for the mess said, now twisted around in his seat and staring down at Trevor, blue eyes wide and plump lips parted. Holy s**t, he was beautiful. He had clear, sun-kissed skin with a smattering of freckles (did freckles come in anything else?) and luminescent blue eyes. His long black hair was in a ponytail, hanging over his slender shoulder, with ends that had visibly been bothered by distracted fingers. As Trevor stared, the guy’s fingers found the frayed ends and fiddled. Long, slender fingers. The type pianists had. Or maybe models. Was this guy a model? “Are you okay?” The big blue eyes blinked owlishly at him. Trevor shook his head and pushed his glasses up his nose, trying to recalibrate himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit bruised.” He tried for a playful smile, but it probably just showed off his not-quite-buck teeth. “Sorry.” The model hesitated, then looked around them. In addition to the scattered alphabet tiles, people were staring at them. Not helping pick anything up, of course. Just watching the display. Fuckers. A fiery red blush splashed across the guy’s face like an artist had painted it on. “Sorry. Um. Do you want help picking them up?” Trevor would be more inclined to take the offer if the guy hadn’t sounded like it was akin to torture. “Nah, that’s all right.” Even if it was sort of your fault. The guy hesitated again, before slipping from his chair, crouching down, and picking up a tile that he then deposited in the Scrabble box with its brethren that hadn’t made an escape. “Thanks.” Trevor joined him in picking up the game pieces—in between dusting off his pants. “Sorry if I startled you when I grabbed your shoulder. I just lost my balance when I tripped on my shoelace.” The guy shrugged stiffly, then darted a glance over his shoulder. Another shrug. Oookay. Trevor shuffled under a table to get a wandering D. The guy picked up a few more pieces and returned to the box. When Trevor joined him, he got a little smile. “Maybe you should tie your shoes.” If it weren’t for that smile, Trevor would have thought the guy was scolding him for being a klutz—not like he would have been the first. But that smile. It wasn’t vicious or snarky. It was like the dude was a friend and they were sharing a joke. Not a particularly funny joke. Trevor looked down at his laces, which were still untied. Or maybe he gave good advice. Trevor tied his shoes while the guy continued picking up tiny squares. And Trevor was getting sick of thinking of him as the guy. “My name’s Trevor.” The guy froze, hand reaching toward a tile. Trevor waited. And waited. “His name’s Chase,” Jorge said, as he joined their little hunter-gatherer party. “He could have told me that,” Trevor said. Jorge shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Chase, why don’t you tell him your name?” The model stood and spun on his heels so he was facing them, looming over them. Damn the guy’s tall. Chase. Chase is tall. And slender. Maybe he really is a model. Model or not, Chase grabbed his messenger bag and scurried off. Trevor watched him go. He had a delectable ass. “Nice job, fuckhead.” “Dude wasn’t going to tell you. Probably thinks he’s too cool to talk to the likes of us.” Trevor snorted. “Likes of you, maybe.” “Oh yeah, I forgot you’re so much cooler than me.” Jorge meaningfully set a tile in the box. “Done collecting all your scattered Scrabble pieces yet?” Trevor cast him a side-long look, then glanced around the room. They seemed to have gotten all the pieces. “Yup, good to go. Although if we suddenly can’t ever spell ‘queen,’ we’ll know why.” “God, there’s some sort of joke in there, but I don’t know what it is.” Trevor rolled his eyes and heaved himself to his feet. “You gonna play with me or not?” “Speaking of queens,” Jorge grumbled as he followed Trevor to the table where they often played their board games. It made them feel social. Also, as the only seniors in the dorms still (thanks shitty lottery system!), they were getting a little stir-crazy in their room. They could go to Rita’s room, but it was a long trek just to play a few rounds of Scrabble, then haul themselves back for dinner. Plus, if they hadn’t been here, they never would have run into Chase. “So tell me about him,” Trevor said as they set up the board. Jorge glanced around. “’Bout who?” “Chase,” he said, making it clear that it was obvious. “Oh, I dunno.” Jorge shrugged. “I have a class with him. All the girls fawn all over him, but he’s pretty dismissive—standoffish, ya know? Not that it stops them mobbing him when a group project comes up.” Jorge grunted and set out fiery for fifteen points. “But he’s stupid smart and always has an answer, so I wouldn’t mind working with him either.” “And he’s good-looking, eh?” Jorge snorted. “Noticed that, did you? Yeah, I wouldn’t mind partnering with him that way either, but from what I hear he’s betrothed to some heiress, which is why he turns down all the ladies.” Trevor threw a skeptical look across the table as he laid down yours for sixteen points. “That sounds like the least-reliable rumor ever.” Jorge shrugged. “Why do you care?” “I embarrassed myself in front of one of the most attractive guys I’ve ever seen—and I’m not sure how I’ve never seen him before—” “I think he just transferred.” Made sense. Trevor nodded as he collected replacement tiles. “Anyway, wouldn’t you want to know all about the stunning creature you ran into?” “Not when he’s a pompous jerk.” “If he is a pompous jerk.” But what if he wasn’t? That look Chase had given him when he’d said Trevor’s shoes were untied. The shock and slight coloring when he’d realized what he’d caused. Okay, he had stormed out in a hissy fit, but not until Jorge got involved. Maybe he was antisocial, or had a panic attack, or had Asperger’s, or something. “Oh no,” Jorge said. Trevor stared down at the unchanged board in front of him. “What?” “I know that look.” Jorge stabbed an accusing finger at him. “That’s the I’ve spotted a puzzle look! No! Bad, Trevor!” “What? I’m just thinking about my next move,” he lied. Jorge raised a brow. Trevor fiddled with his tiles. “Suuure.” Jorge sighed and played regret. “If that’s the case, you should be right rarin’ to go.” Squinting at the tiles, Trevor saw a whole lot of jack s**t. “Uh.” “Called it.” Jorge shook his head. “Whatever, buddy. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” It was the last they said on the matter, although it was not the last Trevor thought about it. Or more accurately, about Chase. How cute he was and that look they’d shared and his odd behavior. Trevor didn’t know anything about the guy, but that didn’t stop him. In fact, it just made him more curious. Jorge was right: he had spotted a puzzle. And it was a beautiful thing. Finding the puzzle, however, wasn’t enough. Solving it was the true pleasure. Not that Trevor went out of his way to find puzzles to solve. Just when they were blue-eyed models who had an ass he could bounce a quarter off of, and a smile that enchanted him. He’d likely look into it, find out the guy was just a sexy jerk, and move on, no puzzle to solve after all. But first, he had to learn more about the puzzle. He lingered in the common area after Jorge had left, and when he was fairly certain—as certain as he could be without looking down the hall, and no he wasn’t that pitiful—his friend was out of earshot, he stood on his chair. “Hey, anyone know anything about that Chase guy who was in here earlier?” What? Sometimes the straightforward method was the best. Unfortunately, most of the people blinked at him, then resumed ignoring him. Only one girl kept his gaze, and although she didn’t speak up, he made his way over to her. “Hey,” he said when he was closer, “you know Chase?” She shrugged. “His room’s next to mine.” “Yeah? And what room is that?” “No offense, but why do you want to know?” “I ran into him earlier and he left upset and I wanted to make sure I didn’t offend him or something.” He tried a charming smile on, though it was probably more “adorkable doofus.” Whatever worked. She shrugged again. “He probably didn’t care. I think he just hates people; he’s always isolating himself in his room. I tried to drag him to some hall events, and he, like, slammed the door in my face.” Trevor added that to his list of known facts. “Either way, I’d like to make sure. My friend can be a bit dense, but he means no harm, so I wanted to make sure Chase knew that.” “Whatever. He’s in room 202.” She paused, raking her gaze over his body in a calculating manner. “Good luck.” He didn’t ask what she meant, just went back to gather his board game. He had plotting to do.