Men of Holsum College My Fair Dork 8

Men of Holsum College 8

My Fair Dork

They say a guy can never be too hung. Well, Harold Jacobs
doesn’t know who they are, but they’re wrong. Socially awkward
for as long as he can remember, Harold feels his enormous
package is just one more thing to be embarrassed about.
Especially once hunky and popular Owen McKenzie notices it in the
showers.

Owen knows he’s bi, but he keeps that secret close to his chest.
He likes Harold, and wants to help him shed his dorky image and
maybe even find a boyfriend. Still, Owen can’t stop obsessing
about Harold’s equipment. And as much as he doesn’t want to flip-
flop on his sexuality, Owen does want to test-drive what Harold
has between his legs.

Their friendship erupts into full-blown lust. But can Owen accept
the loss of his golden-child status and be Harold’s boyfriend? And
can Harold outgrow his insecurity in time to keep the man he
loves?

Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Contemporary
Length: 40,009 words

MY FAIR DORK

Men of Holsum College 8

Daisy Harris

EROTIC ROMANCE

MANLOVE

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove

MY FAIR DORK
Copyright © 2012 by Daisy Harris
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-896-1

First E-book Publication: November 2012

Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance
to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com

Letter to Readers

Dear Readers,

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from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also,
thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

Regarding E-book Piracy

This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or
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The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying
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This is Daisy Harris’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect
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DEDICATION

For teenagers and anyone who once was one.

Don’t worry. You’ll grow into it.

MY FAIR DORK

Men of Holsum College 8

DAISY HARRIS

Chapter One

They say a guy can never be too big. Well, Harold Jacobs didn’t

know who they were, but they were wrong. A guy could definitely be
too big. Sure, Harold’s family doctor had explained to him that
women gave birth to babies and that their vaginas—he shivered,
hardly able to think about it without making a face—their passages
elongated during sex.

Not that Harold was ever going to find out whether sex would

work with a vagina. What with him being completely, one-hundred-
percent gay. But still, he’d been stupid enough to ask his family
doctor about it. And, predictably, the guy had reassured him that he
was perfectly capable of having heterosexual sex.

At least, he thought that’s what Dr. Fredernick had said. It had

been hard to understand him with all the stuttering and blushing.

Harold didn’t know what he’d been thinking, asking his mother to

leave the room during his doctor’s appointment when she’d taken him
for his precollege physical. What had he expected a seventy-year-old
family physician to say that he hadn’t already learned online?

He stared sadly down at the thing jutting between his legs like a

saber, water dripping off the tip since he was in the shower. It was
hard, as usual. The fucker mocked him like that. He swore his penis

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enjoyed getting hard all the time just because it made Harold extra
awkward every moment of his life.

And Harold didn’t need to be any more awkward. He’d already

felt like a social outcast since moving to the US in fourth grade. The
last thing he needed was another reason to avoid people.

He heard the bathroom door outside creaking open and held his

breath. There was a reason Harold showered at two in the morning.

“Someone in here?” a voice called from the door. Owen

McKenzie’s voice, to be precise, and then footsteps sounded as Owen
marched into the open bathroom.

Harold’s freshman dorm was one of the few remaining sections of

student housing that still had group showers. The tiled showers
adjoined the area with bathroom stalls, just like in a locker room. He
should have asked for a dorm transfer as soon as he realized he’d have
to choose between showering like a vampire or flashing every guy in
the dorm his oversized dong.

With a sigh, Harold said, “Yeah. Just me.” He turned to face the

showerhead and stepped his legs together so Owen wouldn’t see it
swinging like a pendulum between his legs. On the upside,
nervousness made his stiffy deflate. On the downside, that didn’t
make as much difference in his size as he might have liked.

“Cool. Mind if I join you?”
Of course, Owen went right over to the showerhead across from

where Harold was standing and turned on the water. This was a
nightmare. Now Owen was going to be staring at Harold’s narrow
shoulders and bony butt. If the front of him embarrassed Harold, the
backside wasn’t much better. He wasn’t buff like Owen. In fact, he
was scrawny by just about any standard.

Maybe his dick took up all the energy he ate, like a rogue parasite

in a science-fiction movie. It absorbed all the calories he took in and
was slowly starving him to death.

“Late night, huh?” Owen asked.

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He was just being friendly. Owen was always like that—friendly

and easygoing. Even when Owen had been exhausted all the time
from American football in the fall, he’d been one of the nicest guys
around. Add to that he was gorgeous, popular, and had a smile that
could have been on a toothpaste commercial, and Harold had been
lost on him by the first month of school.

Not that it mattered. Owen was so far out of Harold’s league, he

might as well have been on Mars.

Plus, like all ridiculously hot and nice guys, he was straight.
“Yeah.” Harold managed to mutter that single word around a

tongue that felt like it had grown too big for his mouth. Maybe his
cock had joined forces with his tongue, and the two of them were
plotting to take over Harold’s body. Growing larger and larger, until
one could touch the other.

Don’t get hard. For the love of God, don’t get hard.
“Uh, sorry, man. Did I interrupt you or something?”
If any other guy on the hall had asked that question, he would

have spat it with disgust or jeered it with amusement. But no. Owen
was too perfect for that. He just said it with a hint of teasing in his
voice. As if he’d walked into the bathroom out of one of Harold’s
fantasies.

“No.” Harold didn’t seem capable of anything more than one-

word answers. But he must have looked like an idiot, or a serial killer,
with his shoulders hunched forward and his legs together, facing the
white-tiled wall. He was scrubbing his belly hard enough to rub off a
few layers of skin. “I’m fine.”

Harold didn’t see any choice but to turn around at least halfway.

Soap was running into his eyes from shampoo, and he’d have to rinse
it out at some point. He let his body twist to the side—no need to
make Owen look at it head-on. And he dipped his head under the
shower’s stream.

He kept his eyes closed and pretended Owen wasn’t standing

there. His senses seemed hyperaware with his eyes closed. The rich,

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sweet smell of Owen layered itself on top of the bleachy sting of the
bathroom. And even though he worried it might plump his knob,
Harold took a deep breath.

“Oh,” Owen said. The way he’d said it—short and surprised—told

Harold all he needed to know.

Hopefully Owen wouldn’t be like the kids in high school gym

class. He didn’t seem like the type to tease or spread rumors. Harold
would be perfectly happy so long as Owen didn’t try to snap a picture
of his wang to post on Tumblr.

Reluctantly, he opened just one of his eyes and peeked to where

Owen was standing.

Owen blinked. He closed his mouth, swallowing fast. But he

didn’t turn around. Instead, he seemed to be mimicking Harold and
soaping a hole through the skin of his chest.

“Er, sorry.” Harold looked down, following Owen’s line of sight.

He wished it weren’t attached to him, that it was some other guy’s
dick, and the two of them could point, and laugh, and maybe nudge
each other and murmur, “Damn.”

Especially since it had decided to start rising again, nodding

slightly between his legs. Harold would have told his cock, “Fuck
you,” if he didn’t think it would make him seem even more insane.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Owen chuckled mildly. He seemed

to have recovered from the initial shock and was back to his typical
easygoing self. “Just—I’m sure people tell you this all the time, but—
wow.”

Harold wasn’t sure which of them was blushing harder.
Owen had tan skin, brown hair, and dark eyes. But his face and

chest were red.

“Er, thanks.” Harold rotated so his cock was at least partly

shielded by his body. He was done rinsing, but for some reason he
didn’t want to turn off the water. His towel was all the way on the
other side of the room, and it seemed like a long way to walk buck
naked, half-erect penis waving its way across the room.

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“That’s hard, right?” Owen asked. His voice was all innocent

curiosity.

Of course, his asking made it go from mostly hard to granite. At

least he still pointed mostly down when he was erect. Harold put a
hand on it to hold the thing close to his body, trying to hide some of it
with his forearm. “Yeah,” he said under his breath. He didn’t want
Owen to think he was getting hard because of him—even though he
mostly was.

“Hey, doesn’t bug me. I barged in on you. Remember? You were

probably having a stroke when I came in.” Owen gave him a smile
like a pirate—a crooked tooth poking out slightly on his top lip and
his eyes wicked and fun.

But Harold knew Owen wasn’t hitting on him. He just knew it.

Owen wasn’t gay. The guy had dated at least three different girls fall
semester.

“Uh, I’m done now.” Harold shut off his water.
“Yeah, me, too.” Owen met him by the towel rack. He wrapped

his towel around his hips and leaned over the sink to brush his teeth.
Whatever fascination he’d had a moment ago with Harold’s penis
seemed to have passed.

“G’night.” Harold pushed out into the hallway. The breath rushed

out of him, and he wondered how he hadn’t turned blue in the
showers. He must not have taken a real breath during the entire ten
minutes Owen and him were in the same room.

* * * *

Ten inches? Twelve? And uncut, too. Geez.
Owen spat his toothpaste into the sink. As he washed it down the

drain with water, he looked at his forearm. Harold Jacobs’s cock
wasn’t quite as long. And okay, he wasn’t as thick as the meaty part
up near Owen’s elbow, but he was almost as thick as Owen’s wrist.

My Fair Dork

Well, damn. Owen never would have thought it of the guy. It was

crazy hot.

He shook out his hair and pushed open the door to head back to

his room. His roommate, Jack, was asleep, which was too bad,
because Owen sort of wanted to ask the guy what he thought was the
average size of a cock. Not that he thought Jack would know, it was
more that Owen wanted to talk about it, and Jack was generally a
decent conversation partner.

The room was dark, and Owen padded across to his bed. He’d left

his sleep shorts on the covers, but he didn’t want to pull them over his
hard-on, so he just lay on his back in bed and took up a stroke.

His cock felt comfortable in his hand. It filled his palm, the weight

and thickness reassuring and familiar. And yet, he couldn’t help but
wonder what it would feel like to have what Harold did. Or maybe
jerk off the type of cock Harold had between his legs. Did Harold
need to use two hands? When he came, was it a normal amount, or
did he erupt like a creamy fountain?

Owen had thought about asking Harold to do it for him but

figured it would have made the guy embarrassed. And anyway, Owen
wasn’t really open about his bisexuality at school. Sure, he’d known
he liked boys as well as girls ever since he could remember. But after
that unfortunate incident in tenth grade where he’d made the mistake
of telling his parents about it, he’d always dated girls.

Functional heterosexuality was way easier than going the other

route. Though seeing a guy like Harold naked made Owen wish he
didn’t have to be entirely straight at school.

He sighed, imagining what might have happened if he had asked

Harold to jerk off. After all, Harold had obviously already been doing
it. Harold probably would have blushed. Maybe stammered a bit.
Harold wasn’t the type to get all angry. Owen could tell that much
about him.

It was just—everything made Harold embarrassed as far as Owen

could tell. Owen wasn’t sure why. The acne he’d had when he arrived

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at school had cleared up. And it wasn’t like the guy was ugly. He was
pale and strawberry blond, but his brown eyes stopped him from
having that washed-out look of some redheads.

“Dude, are you whacking off?” Jack asked groggily from his bed.
“Jesus.” Owen twisted onto his side and pulled on his sleep shorts.

“You scared the shit out of me.” He’d been so caught up in his
thoughts he hadn’t noticed his roommate waking up.

Jack shifted and yawned. “Your dick scared me. For fuck’s sake,

do it in the shower like everyone else.” Jack’s harrumph said that he
was trying to fall back asleep.

“Hey,” Owen cut in while he had his roommate at his disposal.

“What do you know about that Harold kid at the other end of the
hall?”

“Ted Bundy?” Jack asked.
“What do you mean?” Owen had never known Harold to be mean

to anyone or act vindictive. Granted, he didn’t know the guy all that
well.

“You know—he’s the kind of guy that everyone says, ‘Oh, he was

so quiet, a perfect neighbor.’ Then the police dig up his backyard and
find out he’s hiding a pile of bones.”

Or one very big bone…
Owen didn’t say that out loud. That was one of those comments

that could get people wondering if he was gay or not. He’d learned a
long time ago to quiet that part of his brain. “He’s just a little nerdy.”

“Yeah, a little,” Jack said sarcastically.
“You ever seen him date anyone?” Owen asked, not even sure

why he had.

“Why, you thinking of asking him out?”
“Of course not.” Owen shoved his legs under his sheets and got

settled in bed, hoping Jack didn’t notice he was nervous.

His dick throbbed, not happy that he’d stopped jerking off. He’d

have to beat it the next morning after Jack left for class. Tamara had

My Fair Dork

broken up with him right after Valentine’s Day, so Owen wasn’t
getting off like he used to.

Frowning and willing his boner to subside, he said, “I bet he’s just

a virgin or something.” Yeah, that made sense. Harold was probably
just awkward because he hadn’t gotten laid yet. Once he found a
girlfriend, the guy would be a totally different person.

It would be like one of those high school movies, where the dorky

girl takes off her glasses and lets down her ponytail and suddenly
everyone notices she’s hot. Of course, she generally looked a hell of a
lot better at the start of the movie. But that was just Owen’s opinion…

“Of course he is,” Jack said like it was obvious. “Who would fuck

a guy like him?”

Anyone who’s seen what he’s got going under the belt.
Owen managed not to say that out loud, either. “He’s not so bad

looking.”

“Seriously, man. You’re sounding really gay. Go to sleep.” Jack

sounded beat, so Owen decided to shut up.

It was weird, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Harold. Poor

guy. He reminded Owen of his older sister. She’d been introverted
and dorky. Gotten teased all the time in school. Sometimes Owen
thought he’d tried out for football just so he’d have enough clout to
tell the other kids to leave her alone. Well, that and playing football
helped him keep up his straight-guy image.

He’d even helped his sister with a little makeover before she went

to college—giving her tips about what to wear and helping her pick
out some better glasses. Things had really picked up for Emma once
she’d gotten out of their small town in Illinois. Maybe it had just been
the effect of college. But Owen liked to think that his help packing
gave her a head start.

“I’m gonna help him out,” he muttered under his breath—loud

enough that Jack could respond if he wanted, but quiet enough that he
could just pretend to be asleep. Owen was popular and almost always
dating someone. He could afford to hang out with Harold without

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anyone thinking he liked Harold that way. “Like a charity thing.
Random acts of kindness, y’know?” Owen didn’t entirely understand
what Karma was, but he believed in it.

Plus, he really liked the idea of doing something nice for Harold.

It was never hard for Owen to dress and act and look a way that made
girls like him. In fact, it was second nature.

“It’ll be like a charity project.”
“You’re a total queer, man,” Jack said from his pillow.
“Don’t be a moron,” Owen answered, trying to force a laugh.

My Fair Dork

Chapter Two

This was bad. Really, really bad. Maybe not as bad as that time

junior year when a girl had accidentally walked into the boys’ room
and seen him peeing. But almost that grim.

Harold stood in his boxers, staring down into his open drawer,

trying to figure out something to wear to make Owen forget what he’d
seen in the bathroom. He chose his baggiest pair of jeans and then
belted them tight enough around the waist that they wouldn’t fall
down. Doing so caused big flaps of fabric to bunch up around his ass,
but he shifted the denim so that the largest creases were centered at
the front, where they could camouflage any surprise hard-ons.

He wore a horizontal-striped T-shirt and a checkered flannel over

that. Harold always figured that if he had enough patterns on, people
wouldn’t look too closely at the rest of him. And other than the
unfortunate moment in the bathroom the evening before, no one had
noticed him since the start of the year.

Yeah, he had Tesha and Sebastian. They hung around with him

and were nice enough. But other than that, most of the kids in school
seemed happy to keep their distance.

He ran a comb through his hair, trying to get that weird cowlick

that stood up on the back of his head to lay flat.

But it was no use. He’d been so freaked out after his shower that

he had slept on it all wrong.

Oh well, good thing he was wearing his loudest shirt. No one was

going to look at his hair anyway.

Harold shoved his notebooks into his bag and started for the door.

But a knock stopped him in his tracks.

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“Hey, you home?” The voice belonged to Owen.
Harold pressed his lips together, wondering if he could get away

with pretending not to be home. Of course, then he’d have to stay in
his room for a while longer than he’d planned. Someone else could
see him leave who was friends with Owen, and they might mention to
Owen that they’d seen Harold leaving, and then Harold would seem
like an even bigger freak than he had the night before.

“Yeah,” he answered.
“Oh.” A pause. “Can I come in?”
Into his room? Owen McKenzie inside his actual room? No way.

Harold’s dick would get hard and not go down, not even if he jerked
off three times in a row. He’d have a hard-on for hours and hours and
maybe even have to go to the emergency room like he’d heard about
on TV.

“I’m heading to breakfast,” he called through the door. Although

he supposed that going to the cafeteria would be easier if he actually
left his room. Unless Harold was planning to climb out his window.

Harold glanced behind him, wondering whether he could slide it

wide enough open. In the end, he decided against it.

“Me, too. Want to head over together?”
Okay, this was just too weird. Like something out of the Twilight

Zone. Why would Owen want to hang out with him? Unless Owen
was gay…

A flicker of hope lit up in his gut…and lower places that had no

business getting excited. No way was Owen gay. If he were, he would
have been hooking up with guys left, right, and center. He’d be just as
gorgeous gay as straight.

Harold exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah. Sure.” He grabbed the

handle and opened the door.

Outside stood Owen, looking as perfect as ever. He was wearing

the maroon T-shirt that set off the warm tones of his eyes. It was fitted
enough to stretch a bit across his biceps but still be loose enough
through his torso that he didn’t look like a Jersey Shore reject.

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“Hey,” Harold said around a tongue that was once again swelling

in his mouth.

“Hey.” Owen grinned. He looked over Harold’s clothes as if he

thought there was something funny about them. “You’re gonna wear
that?”

“Yeah.” Harold tucked his elbows in front of him, hiding behind

his forearms. “What’s wrong with this?”

Owen let out a huff of air that sounded like pfchhuh. It wasn’t like

he was laughing at him. Not quite. “I don’t know where to start.” But
Owen didn’t actually begin listing things that were wrong with
Harold’s clothes. Instead he started walking toward the end of the
hall, where the doorway led out into the stairwell. He opened the door
and held it for Harold.

“Thanks.” Harold wasn’t used to people holding the door open for

him and felt a little awkward walking through. Harold was almost
positive Owen was going to stick a “kick me” sign to his back.

“No worries.”
Owen hadn’t patted him. So no way could he have taped a sign to

Harold’s flannel. Still, Harold felt a little sad about it. He’d been
looking forward to Owen touching him.

“So, you given any thought yet to your major?” Owen asked as he

jogged down the stairs more athletically than anyone had the right to
at nine in the morning.

“Government,” Harold said without pause. He didn’t know

exactly what he wanted to do after graduation, but he wanted to do
something that made a difference. He might go for a doctorate and
become a policy analyst or head to law school and become a civil
rights lawyer. Someday, Harold was going to defend the weak and
powerless.

“Oh, cool. I don’t know what I’m gonna choose yet.” Owen

pushed open the outer door to their dorms and held the door open for
Harold behind him. “Most of the guys on the team said government,
history, or economics were my best bets.” He shrugged, crossing his

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arms across his chest like he was cold. “But I took a drafting class to
fulfill my arts credit this year and really liked it.” He gave Harold a
smile. “But what would I do with a fine arts degree, right?”

Harold’s knees went weak at the sight of that smile. It was aimed

right at him, strong enough that Harold could feel his feet getting
clumsy. Aw, crap. Now his feet were going to team up with his
tongue and his dick to destroy Harold’s life.

He put one foot in front of the other, trying not to trip. Then he

wondered if he could venture to say any words or whether doing so
might cause him to fall down. “I dunno. There’s graphic design, and
animation…marketing…” He wracked his brain to remember all the
flyers his high school guidance counselor had displayed in her office.

“Ooh, marketing.” Owen gave him another one of those unnerving

once-overs. “Y’know, I might be good at that.”

Harold had a sense that Owen was hinting at something, but he

didn’t know what. “Anyway, you should major in what interests you.
I mean, if something’s boring to you now, you’re not going to want to
spend all day thinking about it when you get older.”

Owen stuck out his bottom lip and nodded. It was an expression

that said plainly, “You have a point.”

But Harold couldn’t take his eyes off that full bottom lip.
There was a hint of saliva there, just enough for it to glisten in the

spring sunshine. Harold thought about licking it off.

“Um…” Owen was looking at him nervously, his eyes darting to

the side. It was very much the way a straight guy would look if he
thought a gay guy was checking him out. And if said straight guy was
too nice to say anything about it.

“Oh, sorry. Staring into space.” Harold returned his gaze to the

ground and held it there, no matter how tempting it was to look over
at Owen’s ass. He’d trained himself early—all the way back in junior
high—not to look at guys he found attractive.

They were always straight. Or taken. Or out of his league. He was

better off not trying.

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“No worries.” They’d crossed the soccer field and gotten to the

footpath that led to the cafeteria. Of course, Owen opened that door,
too. Apparently, door opening was his thing.

Some part of Harold wanted to relish the moment he stood with

Owen at the top of the stairs. He wanted to stand above the cafeteria,
seen by everyone, next to the most handsome and desirable boy in
Holsum College’s freshman class.

Of course, the only people who’d care would be Tesha and

Sebastian, and they would probably be pissed that Harold was
ditching them. But still, Harold was so thrilled just to be near Owen.

“Guess there’s no putting it off, huh?” Owen joked as he started

jogging down the steps. Apparently, Owen only ran on stairs, never
walked. Walking was for mortals like Harold, peons with ill-behaved
feet.

Harold reminded himself that Owen had just made a joke. He

should make some sort of witty retort.

None came to mind.
“So, you a cereal man? Or are you all about the bacon?” Owen

loaded his tray with what seemed like every item the cafeteria served.
He had orange juice, coffee, eggs, hash browns, sausage,
cereal…Plates teetered on top of one another. Sure, students used the
same amount of meal points no matter how much they ate at the
cafeteria, but it still seemed wasteful. Owen couldn’t possibly be
planning to eat all of that first thing in the morning.

“I usually just have a scone.” He poured himself a cup of hot

water, hoping his hands didn’t shake and accidentally scald him, and
then picked up a pastry. The cafeteria must have their muffins brought
in, because they always left a filmy aftertaste on the roof of Harold’s
mouth. But the scones were fresh baked.

“No coffee?” Owen asked.
Harold shrugged. “I’ve never liked it.” His mother had been a tea

drinker, and since it was only the two of them in the house when
Harold was growing up, he’d never thought to try anything else.

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Trays and a hundred utensils clanged and clattered in the room

beyond where they’d gotten their food. Breakfast was the least
crowded meal of the day, but the noise level was still deafening.

Owen started leading the way into the rat’s maze of tables. But

though Harold had only managed to string together a couple words in
his presence, he found his voice. “Can we sit over there somewhere?”
He balanced his tray in one hand and pointed to the less-popular side
of the room. The area close to the bowels of the kitchen, where one
could hear the staff shouting at each other and smell the steam rising
off the dishwashers.

Harold couldn’t handle sitting at one of the jock tables. Not before

his morning tea.

“Sure thing, Har.” Owen made a face—obviously at himself. It

had been a stupid nickname attempt.

Harold didn’t blame him. If his name could easily be shortened to

something snappier, he would have done it years ago.

“Harry?” Owen offered as he slid effortlessly into a seat at an

empty table. He’d chosen the one closest to the bussed piles of plates
on their metal holders.

Maybe he wanted to be away from everyone, too.
“People in America don’t pronounce it right.” He lifted the cup to

his mouth and closed his eyes as he sucked in the first sip. God, what
Harold would have done for a hot-water heater in his room. Freshmen
weren’t allowed any heating or cooking appliances in the dorms.

“You from somewhere else?” Owen laid into his food as if he

thought it might eat him if he didn’t eat it first.

Another sip of tea. So, so good. “I was born in England. But I

moved here when I was nine.” It had been too late to change Harold’s
name to something more normal. But his mom seemed to think the
move had been a good idea. She hated her ex-husband, Harold’s dad.
And, apparently, she hadn’t been happy until there was an entire
ocean between them.

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“Wow. So you’re foreign? You don’t have an accent.” Owen

sounded impressed or maybe hopeful. Like Harold would suddenly
transform into an elegant and tuxedoed James Bond.

“I spoke with one when I first moved. But…” He shrugged. All

the kids had made fun of how he talked when he started fourth grade.
They thought he sounded posh. Some even said gay. Harold didn’t
know how an entire country—and all its former colonies—could be
gay based on an accent. How would they make little baby Brits?

Of course, maybe the gay thing had bothered him more because at

that age, he’d already realized he was.

“Too bad. Girls love a guy with an accent.”
Harold coughed, spraying a couple droplets of tea across his

scone. He cleared his throat, trying to recover. “Don’t think we have
to worry much about that.”

Owen paused his assault on his eggs and looked up. His brown

eyes were wide and confused. “What? Why?”

It felt surprisingly good to know something Owen didn’t. But it

was silly, really. Harold figured everyone knew. “I’m gay.”

“Oh.” Owen did a double take and raked his gaze over Harold’s

clothes once again.

Harold guessed that Owen had to rearrange his opinion of

Harold’s appearance to match it up with a different sexual preference.

“Wow. It’s worse than I thought.” Owen stabbed a sausage and bit

off half.

“What?” Harold looked down at his shirt, wondering if he’d

managed to spatter tea on himself during his sputtering. No. It was
clean.

“Aren’t gay guys supposed to be all stylish and hip?” Owen

smiled as he said it—making it sound like he was flirting, or at least
teasing.

Harold frowned. “Of course. And we all have lisps and tiny dogs

we spoil.”

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Owen’s forehead creased in the middle, as if he wasn’t sure

whether Harold was joking. “Nah.” He ate the other half of his
sausage and then picked up another. “I know that’s not true.”

Good lord. Harold closed his eyes and pinched his lips together to

stop himself from laughing. Owen was so…he didn’t even know how
to describe it. It was an optimistic innocence Harold had heard about
but never seen in real life. Maybe it was a Midwestern thing.

“This guy I knew from the football team, Tank, he’s gay. And he

isn’t like that at all.” Owen thought about it for a moment, staring past
Harold’s shoulder to look off into space. “Though I could see him
with a dog.”

Harold wasn’t sure whether he was being serious or joking. But

since Owen was so earnest most of the time, he guessed this Tank guy
was the kind to pamper a Chihuahua.

“I prefer cats,” Harold said.
“I should introduce you.” Owen moved on to his cereal.
Harold buttered his scone and took his first bite, figuring he

should make some attempt to catch up.

“Introduce me to your one gay friend?” Harold swallowed his

buttery bite and followed it with some tea. “Do you think I should
introduce you to my one straight friend?” Harold didn’t know if he
had a straight friend. His one male friend was, as far as Harold knew,
entirely gay.

Owen cocked his eyebrows, his grin as broad as a giant cornfield.

“Oh, come on. Tell me you wouldn’t like to meet some hot older
students. You need to get out more. Play the field.”

Harold resisted the urge to turn around and see if there was

someone sitting behind him. Who was Owen talking about? They
didn’t even know each other. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

He didn’t go to parties, even the freshman ones. Harold always

worried that some guy would brush up against him and then freak out
when he felt Harold’s hard-on.

“Why not? I hear the queer parties are awesome.”

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“Are you trying to sell me on being gay?” Owen didn’t need to

bother. Harold had never once found a girl sexually attractive.

“Nah. Just saying that you seem like the type of guy who needs a

hand getting out there.” His smile was shy. Was he blushing?

“Yeah, I’m not very good with people.” Harold took another

reluctant bite of his scone. There was still part of him that thought this
was all an elaborate ruse on Owen’s part and that Owen was going to
eventually play some gigantic practical joke. But even Harold could
tell that was his paranoia and low self-esteem talking.

“Yeah, but I’m great with people.” Owen was slowing down on

his breakfast. He seemed to have eaten about half of each thing he’d
taken, not finishing any one item. “I could come with you. Introduce
you around.”

“You want me to go with you to a gay party?” Harold tilted his

head and studied him. Maybe Owen really was gay after all. Maybe
he was just looking for an excuse to bust into the queer campus scene
and wanted Harold along as an excuse.

Of course, if that were the case, he could have just gone along

with his other friend…what was his name? Oh, yeah. Tank.

But Tank, whoever he was, might be the kind of guy who’d think

it was a date and expect Owen to have sex with him after. And maybe
Owen wasn’t into Tank that way.

The truth hit Harold like a pound of bricks. Owen wanted to go

with him because Harold was harmless—the type of guy Owen would
never sleep with. Great. Harold was Owen’s wingman and ugly
friend, all in one.

“Yeah. Why not? A lot of the girls I’ve dated said they’re

awesome.” Owen drank his remaining coffee. Maybe that was how he
ate—trying half of everything to start and then committing to
finishing the things on his plate he really liked.

There was a reason people were willing to play wingman or go

along as the unattractive friend of the much prettier girl. It was worth

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it just to be around gorgeous people. And Owen was so good looking
Harold’s chest ached.

Owen’s hair had these natural highlights that made it look like the

sun was shining on him all the time. And his skin glowed with a
healthy tan even in winter in Vermont. Harold was happy just to get
one of his smiles.

“If you really want to…” Harold popped the last bite of scone in

his mouth and looked sadly at the dregs in his teacup. He wanted to
get more tea but didn’t want their breakfast together to end.

“Yeah. I do. I’ll ask Tank what’s doing for this weekend.” Owen’s

gaze scanned to Harold’s cup. “I’m gonna get another cup of coffee.
You want me to get you more hot water?”

Harold knew he was smiling. He hoped he didn’t look too dorky

doing it. Playing Owen’s wingman was going to be lovely. He just
hoped his dick didn’t start getting ideas.

* * * *

“How about H-Man?” Owen leaned back on Harold’s bed. He’d

been brainstorming potential nicknames for Harold all week but
hadn’t come up with anything. Though part of him wondered if he
was doing it to distract him from the reality staring him in the face.
Namely, that Harold was gay. He’d probably be perfectly happy to
hook up with Owen if Owen so much as gave him a wink.

Owen forced himself not to think of Harold that way. After the

flip-flop he’d done sophomore year of high school, he didn’t want to
go down that road of thinking about dating a guy again.

His poor mom had hauled off and joined PFLAG. His dad had

tried to talk to him about anal sex. Then, a week later, Owen had
gotten drunk on schnapps and hooked up with Jennifer Arnold. He’d
dated her for the next year and a half.

And that was the end of his gayness.

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He forced his mind back to the task at hand—helping Harold. “Or

maybe your middle name?”

Harold held up yet another striped T-shirt, a hopeful look on his

face. “How about this one?”

“Still too big.” Owen shook his head. Man, the kid needed his

help something awful. “Maybe you’re better off borrowing something
of mine.”

“Yeah, right.” Harold turned away, blushing. It was pretty funny

how he did that all the time. His skin was so pale, he couldn’t hide it
at all when he turned pink. That milky English tone sucked when
Harold had a zit. Owen remembered how when he’d had acne first
semester, the redness had shined like a beacon.

But his blushes were sort of cute.
“What’s your middle name? Maybe we could do something with

that.” Actually, Owen was starting to think it was a lost cause, cool-
ing up Harold’s name. But he was having fun with the process.

“Eugene.” Harold folded up his shirt and laid it neatly in his

drawer.

“You’re kidding.” Owen couldn’t stop the snicker that escaped his

lips. Wow. Harold’s parents had really screwed him over in the name
department.

“Don’t laugh.” But Harold was smiling, too.
Owen’s belly got warm, the way it did when he found someone he

really liked to hang out with or a girl he wanted to date. Why hadn’t
he and Harold gotten to know each other sooner? The guy was funny
and had this great deadpan sense of humor. But his personality was
like his dick—something people would be amazed by if they ever saw
it but that Harold felt the need to hide.

“Okay.” Owen bounced off the bed. “We’re gonna have to stick

with the name you’re currently using.”

“That’s good to hear. It’s on all my school forms,” Harold said.

He leafed through yet another pile of shirts in shades of puke, mud,
gray, and brown.

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“Forget it.” Owen touched his hand, urging him to put down the

God-awful long-sleeved crewneck. Energy zinged under Owen’s skin.
It felt like he’d made a pass at Harold.

He pulled his hand away as if it had been burned.
“I just mean, let’s try my wardrobe instead.” Owen didn’t look in

Harold’s direction as he said it, and he kept his hands behind his back.
Owen didn’t want to act like a freak, but Harold might think he was
hitting on him. Owen didn’t want to be a douche by leading the guy
on.

“None of your stuff is gonna fit me.” Harold shuffled his feet.
“It’ll fit you better than your stuff does.” Harold’s single room felt

tiny all of a sudden, and Owen needed to get out into the relative
breathing room of his double down the hall. He opened Harold’s door
and gestured to the hallway with his chin. “Let’s try some of it out.”

Harold followed, though he grumbled the whole time about sizes

and how their complexions were totally different. But when they got
into Owen’s room, Owen ignored him and sifted through his drawers.

“Stop being such a baby. What do you normally wear? Medium or

large?” He found a shirt in navy that might work, so long as it didn’t
hang off Harold’s shoulders.

“Extra large.”
Owen looked at him over his shoulder. Whatever awkwardness

he’d felt at the hand touching passed as he let out a belly laugh. “You,
my friend, are not an extra large.” He’d worked two summers at
Banana Republic, bringing size after size to the dressing rooms. Owen
had gotten pretty good at guessing what people needed.

“I’m six two and a half.” Harold raised his voice slightly,

defending himself.

“Yeah, but you probably weigh a buck fifty.”
Harold didn’t answer.
“How about pants?” He looked at the jeans Harold was wearing.

He probably shouldn’t have bothered, since it was obvious that

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Harold was as delusional about his waist size as he was about the rest
of his body.

“Uh…thirty-six?” Harold seemed a lot less certain about his waist

measurement than he had been about shirt size.

“No way in hell, guy.” Owen shook his head, laughing at the

doubtful look on Harold’s face. He fastened his eyes on Harold’s hips,
calculating his measurements. But Owen’s mind skimmed to what lay
beneath all that creased material at the front. He couldn’t stop trying
to picture it, how it might lay under Harold’s clothes. He wondered if
he could see the outline. And then, to his delight, he swore he could
see it growing.

Harold crossed his hands across his groin. “Stop it.”
Owen blinked, jarring himself out of whatever zoned-out state

he’d fallen into thinking about Harold’s cock. He checked Harold’s
expression and saw that the guy looked upset.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything…” He hurried to turn

back to his dresser. Wow. Now Harold was really going to think he
was hitting on him.

“If you’re gonna make fun of me, just do it already.” Harold said

it with this brittle voice. Owen might have thought he was joking
again, in his dry English way. But Harold sounded like he might have
been about to cry.

“Why would I do that?” Owen forced his eyes to stay on Harold’s

face, not to dart down to the front of his pants again. “What, about
your clothes?” He hadn’t thought he was teasing Harold too much
about his oversized shirts and high-waisted, baggy jeans. But maybe
Harold liked his clothes or was sensitive about them.

Harold closed his eyes and crossed his arms. On an exhale, he

said, “About my dick.” He waited then, not opening his eyes. His
mouth was a tight line, and he seemed convinced that Owen was
going to say something obnoxious.

“What about it?” Yeah, it was huge. But there wasn’t really

anything to say about that. Some people were small, some average,

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some big. It’s not like Owen would haul off and insult him even if it
were tiny.

“Oh, come on.” Harold opened his eyes so he could roll them. He

flopped down on the bed. “It’s not like you’d be the first person to
call me a freak. I know it’s gross.”

Owen shrugged. “I dunno. I mean—don’t gay guys like ’em big?”

He had never discussed it with anyone gay. Or anyone at all. But he’d
never met a guy who thought boobs could be too big. And gay guys
liked cock. Heck, in those moments when Owen liked boys, he loved
a big cock.

“You realize what happens in gay sex, right?” Harold asked. His

eyes narrowed like he was trying to convey some deeper meaning that
Owen just wasn’t getting.

“Yeah. I guess. They…” The realization of what Harold was

talking about hit Owen in a scalding rush. “Oh.” He knew he was
blushing. How could he not? Other than that conversation with his
dad that he’d blocked out like a traumatic event, Owen had never
given much thought to what was involved with butt sex.

He didn’t even watch gay porn, if he could stop himself.
Just thinking about what Harold had between his legs made Owen

want to cover his ass with the nearest notebook and back slowly out
of the room. “I could see how that would be an issue.”

“Yeah, a small one.” Harold sounded grumpy, but Owen could tell

he was struggling not to crack a smile.

“Well, listen…” Owen took a fortifying breath, getting them back

on track. He was pretty sure he could have gotten sucked into the pit
of Harold’s insecurities and never come up if he gave Harold a
chance. “I’m sure things will work themselves out when push comes
to shove.”

He tried not to imagine shoving. Or even pushing. Damn, Harold

was big.

“But for now, let’s focus on getting you dressed. Maybe finding

you a nice guy to hook up with tonight.” Owen wished he didn’t feel

My Fair Dork

jealous at the idea of Harold finding some other guy to make out with.
But he reminded himself, he didn’t swing that way. Not usually. And
it would be unfair to Harold to let him think anything else.

“I’ll wear what you say. But I’m not…” Harold started to get up.
“Geez, man. Fine.” Owen didn’t know why he was being so

difficult. He tossed Harold a fitted long sleeve in charcoal gray and a
pair of jeans he hadn’t fit in since high school but that his mother had
packed in his suitcase by accident. The jeans might be a little short,
but if Harold had a pair of boots, he might be able to hide the fact.
“Here. Put these on.”

Harold held the clothes against his chest, looking spooked.

“Shouldn’t I go back to my room?”

“No way. If those look like ass, you’ll just need to try on round

two. Why bother walking back and forth?” He watched, waiting for
Harold to play the mannequin.

“Turn around.” Harold hitched his shoulders up around his ears,

his face pinched in a terrified expression.

“For the love of fuck. I’ve seen you naked already. Just put on the

damn clothes.” Owen raised his voice, though he hadn’t meant to. He
wasn’t mad, really. Just frustrated.

“Yeah, but that was accidental.” Harold turned around so that his

back was to Owen. He pulled his shirt off first, revealing a slender
torso. Then he unbuckled his belt and let his oversized jeans hit the
floor.

Undressed, his body looked a hell of a lot better. Yeah, he was

thin. Almost painfully so. But without all that baggy material in the
way, his limbs and body had a graceful, almost beautiful proportion to
them.

“These jeans are never going to fit.” They pooled at his ankles,

and Harold bent over to pull them up. Owen fought a wave of same-
sex interest so intense he crossed his arms to hold himself together.

From the second that denim covered Harold’s ass, Owen knew

they had a winner.

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“I’m not gonna be able to close them,” Harold said at the wall. He

didn’t turn around.

“Oh, come on.” Owen grabbed him by the belt loop and turned

him around.

Harold’s feet stumbled a bit as he rotated. He looked sadly at the

open button fly and at the hard-on, plump under the fabric of his
briefs.

Owen swallowed, unable to look away from the thickness under

that fabric. “Just wait till it goes away,” Owen whispered.

Wow. They were standing pretty close. And Harold smelled really

good. Owen couldn’t stop himself from running a single fingertip
along that ridge. It felt stiff under his touch. Firm and hot.

Harold whimpered a bit. His hips swayed forward, following

Owen’s fingers.

“Or maybe you should do something about it…” Owen was

falling into that rabbit hole again. The one where he couldn’t stop
looking at Harold’s dick. Couldn’t stop touching it, either. He wanted
to wrap his fingers around it, reach right into Harold’s jeans and palm
the root of it.

“Yeah,” Harold answered.
But then a knock at the door sounded, and Harold jumped so far

away from him that he was on the other side of the room.

From out in the hallway, Jack called, “Hey, man. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” Owen called back. They’d established ground rules about

knocking back when they’d started living together. Owen had had a
girl over a lot of the time.

In the corner, Harold had tucked in and buttoned up his jeans. He

reached onto the bed and grabbed the shirt Owen had given him and
pulled it on.

Owen’s pulse was beating hard in his throat, but even with the

mild panic that he’d almost gotten caught fondling another guy’s dick,
he had to admit Harold looked pretty good in the more fitted clothes.

My Fair Dork

“Hey.” Jack roamed into the room, looking over Harold and then

talking to Owen. “What’re you guys up to?”

“Nothing,” Harold blurted out. He was so red in the face that he

might have been high.

“I was lending Harold some clothes,” Owen said. “We’re gonna

hit the Eta Xi party tonight.”

“Oh?” Jack raised his eyebrow. Eta Xi was well known as a gay

fraternity, and he was obviously wondering why Owen would hang
out there. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he tossed his book bag
on his bed and slumped down in his desk chair. “I was gonna head to
the party at Butterfield.” He said it like it was a challenge.

“Cool.” Owen felt tension gelling between him and his roommate.

But with Harold standing right there, he didn’t want to ask Jack what
his problem was.

“Uh, I’m gonna go.” Harold crossed the room to the door. He

murmured something Owen didn’t understand as he passed.

“Hey, you look good, by the way,” Owen told him as he was

walking out. “Big improvement.” But he wasn’t sure whether Harold
had heard him, because he’d already scurried into the hall.

Daisy Harris

Chapter Three

Ohmigod, ohmigod, Owen touched me, ohmigod.
Every step of the hallway pinched in his over-tight jeans. He

could barely stand the scritch, scritch, scritch against his distended
and sensitive dick. Just when he felt like he couldn’t take another
step, Harold pushed into his room and locked the door behind him.

He’d almost come right then, when he’d felt the pressure of

Owen’s finger running along the underside of his shaft. Pulsed and
spewed right inside Owen’s snug jeans.

The idea got him so horny he almost shot, but he managed to get

the button fly open and wrench his dick out of the fabric in time to
pump it a few fast strokes. His legs were shaking, and it was all
Harold could do to grab a few tissues off his bedside table. He shot
cum halfway across his room, onto the floor, and caught the
remainder of it in his hand.

He panted, bent over and his free hand on his desk, holding him

standing.

Omigod. Owen touched my cock.
He didn’t think he’d ever stop being hard.
Harold wiped up and tossed the tissues in the garbage. His

erection didn’t go down entirely, but he figured he could fit inside the
jeans Owen had loaned him now that he wasn’t swollen.

First, he tried to feed his cock down alongside his leg. That way, it

would be less noticeable. But that meant pulling it out the leg hole of
his boxers and having denim chafing his bare skin.

No, that wouldn’t work.

My Fair Dork

Instead, he laid it sideways in his underpants, so it curved up

toward his pubic bone and then sideways to his right hip. The buttons
closed with only a moderate amount of strain.

He looked in the mirror hanging on his closet door and assessed

the state of his pants.

They did fit better. But it was almost obscene the way a person

could see his cock. But maybe Owen had been right. Maybe guys
would be impressed by that, rather than grossed out.

Someone knocked on the door. Harold’s nerves ratcheted to the

tension of electrical cables, and he glanced at himself in the mirror
again. The clothes clung to his frame, giving him a sleek outline. But
they drew attention to his face and his skin and his body. There was
nowhere to hide in them. He felt worse than naked.

“Yeah?” he asked the door, since he had no other choice.
“You ready to go?” Owen asked.
He didn’t ask to come in. Harold wondered if it was because of

the cock-touching thing.

“Yeah, sure.” Harold had no idea why Owen had done that. He

was Owen’s wingman, not an actual love interest. Maybe Owen had
done it out of pure curiosity. That made sense. Didn’t they say that in
dark-skinned countries, people would try to touch blonde people’s
hair?

Of course, they were wrong about a lot of things…
But he thought they might have been right about the hair. Harold’s

friend Tesha kept her hair in a giant frizzy crown, like an afro in coils.
And Harold had sometimes been struck by a near-overwhelming urge
to ask if he could touch her curls.

“Cool. Meet you outside?”
“No. I’m coming.” Harold ran a hand through his hair a couple

times, trying to get it to settle down. Then he rummaged for his wallet
and keys.

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By the time he’d pushed out his door and into the hallway, Owen

was halfway toward the door that led into the stairwell. He looked
over his shoulder and smiled. “Oh, cool. You kept on the clothes.”

Harold resisted the urge to cross his arms over his body. “Yeah.

You’re right. They look good.”

Owen held the door open for him, and when Harold got close

enough, he gave him a friendly punch in the arm. “You look great.”
He scanned up to Harold’s hair, frowning slightly. “We just need to
do something about the mop. Don’t you own any product?”

“Product?” Harold combed another nervous pass over that

cowlick on the back of his head. He tried to jog down the steps as
he’d seen Owen doing, though he held tight on the banister so that if
he did trip, he wouldn’t crash completely onto his ass.

“You’re a trip, man. Didn’t your dad ever teach you about hair

cream? Or gel? I mean, my dad did that around the time he taught me
to shave.”

“No.” Harold let it be a one-word answer. He hadn’t seen his

father since he and his mother moved to the States. He got a birthday
card every year, though. And one at Christmas.

Owen bopped into his shoulder as they left the building. He

reached over and mussed Harold’s hair.

Ohmigod. The feel of those fingers on his scalp…Harold didn’t

care if Owen was only touching him out of curiosity. He’d let Owen
dress him and coif him. Maybe Owen would want to touch his dick
again. That would be okay…

The walk to Eta Xi went quickly. Owen chattered about his

classes and his friends and how he wished he’d gone out for baseball
but had been too wiped out after the American football season to try.

And Harold floated on that same hyper energy he’d felt at the top

of the cafeteria. The sense that he had the most beautiful boy in the
freshman class at his side. It didn’t matter if Owen didn’t like him
that way. Owen was hanging out with him. Paying attention to him.

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Harold felt like he’d stumbled into some amazing prize in a contest he
hadn’t known he’d entered.

“We’re here.” Owen gripped the door handle for a second before

pulling it open. For the first time since they’d started hanging out,
Owen looked a little nervous. Okay, maybe he’d been nervous before,
but never about something social.

Harold had seen him in the halls and around campus all year.

Owen never got scared about talking to people.

“Want me to go in first?” Harold asked. After all, he was the

openly gay one. Maybe Owen would feel more comfortable if he
could say he’d come along as wingman.

That was a funny thought—Owen as Harold’s wingman. Harold

almost laughed.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Owen went in ahead. He seemed to have

recovered from his awkwardness of a moment earlier, because as he
walked across the wide entry room of the party, there was a little strut
in his step. Or was that swagger? Harold didn’t know, but it drew his
eyes to Owen’s butt.

The music thudded with an aggressive bass, but the party wasn’t

overly crowded. Maybe thirty or forty guys, and a few girls, filled a
space that spanned an entry hall, a room that probably acted as a
living room normally, and a small dining room. The ceilings were
high and the walls wood paneled. The wainscoting in the dining room
had been painted white

It was a handsome, majestic building. Harold didn’t know what

he’d been expecting, but maybe he’d imagined that Holsum’s gay
fraternity would be rainbow colored and covered in sparkles.

“You want a beer?” Owen asked. He nodded to the keg next to the

snack table.

“Uh…” Harold didn’t want to sound like a complete nerd. But

neither did he want to risk damage to his liver if he drank while on the
drug his dermatologist had prescribed for his acne. “I can’t. I’m on
Accutane.”

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“Oh.” Owen focused on Harold’s face, as if looking for residual

pimples or scars. “Well, looks like it’s working.” He said it in that
honest way of his, like a casual assessment instead of a sarcastic jab.

Harold felt himself blush. He was still getting used to seeing his

face not covered with the spots that had plagued him in high school.
“Yeah. The side effects suck. But the doctor says I should be able to
go off it in another month.”

“No worries.” Owen grabbed a handful of popcorn and tossed a

couple pieces in his mouth.

“You can drink if you want.” Harold knew most freshmen got

shit-faced on the weekends. He didn’t want Owen to regret having
chosen to hang out with him.

“Nah. I’m fine.” Owen had already moved on to the chips and

salsa. He munched a few bites before grabbing a Red Bull out of the
cooler.

Harold poured himself some seltzer water, starting to worry he

didn’t know anyone.

A guy built like a Humvee walked up to Owen. “Hey, there.” He

patted Owen on the shoulder.

“Oh, hi.” Owen smiled. “Tank, this is Harold. Remember? I told

you about him.”

A flicker of recognition flashed in the giant’s eyes, making it

obvious that Owen had said something about Harold to him
beforehand. Harold wracked his mind for what might have been said.
Had Owen explained that Harold was his wingman? That he was gay
and needed more friends? Good lord, if Owen had told Tank about
Harold’s dick, Harold was going to die of embarrassment.

“Griffin,” Tank said, holding out his hand.
Harold blinked, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

Was “Griffin” some new kind of salutation? Like “What up?” or
“Yo!”? But as he shook the guy’s enormous hand, he realized his
parents couldn’t have possibly named him Tank. “Uh, nice meeting
you.”

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Griffin’s handshake was surprisingly gentle for a guy his size.

“So.” He looked Harold up and down. “How you doing?”

“Um, I…” Harold stared at Griffin’s chest, and arms, and

shoulders. The guy was huge, and he’d just realized that maybe he’d
read the situation entirely wrong. Maybe Owen was trying to set him
up with Griffin. A bolt of panic took up residence in his chest. “Fine.”
His voice was high pitched and shrill, even to his own ears.

Owen didn’t seem to notice. “Is Raj around?” He glanced over his

shoulder, as if the guy in question might have been standing right
behind him.

“No.” Griffin grabbed some food and shoved it in his mouth.

Harold couldn’t imagine how much he must have to eat to stay that
big. Griffin smiled around his mouthful of chips. “You know how
hard he is to drag to parties.”

Owen leaned into Harold’s side and said conspiratorially, “Tank’s

boyfriend’s always complaining about the music at these things. He’s
stoutly anti-disco.”

“Oh.” Harold felt a nervous giggle threatening to bubble out of his

mouth. So, Owen wasn’t trying to set him up with the enormous
American football player. Well, that was a relief.

Griffin shrugged. “Cal and Tyler are around.” He scanned over

the heads of the guys hovering at the edges of the room with the
music and dancing and pointed out a blond guy who Harold thought
might have been a sophomore. “Tyler’s the dancing one.”

The blond guy danced really well, though it was obvious he was

being goofy on purpose, trying to lure another, slightly older, guy into
the throng. Harold guessed that was Cal.

“Let’s go say hi.” Owen tugged at Harold’s sleeve.
“Uh, I don’t know.” Nervousness threatened to close Harold’s

throat. He’d agreed to come to the party, but no one had said anything
about dancing. Owen was pretending to be straight. He couldn’t
possibly be planning to dance.

Daisy Harris

“Oh, don’t be a wuss.” Laughing, Owen wrapped his fingers

around Harold’s forearm and tugged him forward.

Harold would have fought if he’d thought he had any chance of

getting away. Griffin—otherwise known as Tank—flanked his other
side. And Harold imagined that even if he got away from Owen,
Griffin might just pick him up and throw him into the mix of dancers.

And that would be more embarrassing than just going along

quietly. “Okay, fine.”

Owen and Griffin led the way around the outside of the dance

floor. There was a party light rotating in the corner, throwing circles
of red, yellow, green, and blue against the somber wood walls.

Griffin waved to the guy on the dance floor, who flashed him a

flirtatious wink and then slithered into a pirouette. Then Griffin
reached out a hand to greet the dancing guy’s boyfriend. “Hey, Cal,”
he shouted over the music.

“Griff.” Cal gave him a suspicious once-over but then slapped his

hand. “Couldn’t get Raj to come?”

“Nah.” Griffin shrugged. “He’s so stressed about getting in the

final paperwork for MIT. I couldn’t have pried him away from his
computer with a crowbar.”

“Maybe you’re not giving him the right incentives,” Cal said. It

sounded like a challenge.

Harold wasn’t sure what the two of them’s story was, but he was

glad that the attention was off him for the moment.

Tyler bounded up to the group of them, grabbing Cal’s hand.

“C’mon! I love this song.” He was pink in the face from dancing.

Harold kept darting glances at his butt. It was impossible not to

notice that Tyler was extremely sexy.

Reluctantly, Cal let himself be dragged out to the dance floor. It

was clear from the first few steps he took that the guy couldn’t dance.
But Tyler took Cal’s hands and put them on his hips. He draped his
arms over Cal’s shoulders and started grinding on him.

Wow.

My Fair Dork

Harold had never seen guys dancing like that. At least, not in

person. It was more than a little erotic. And Cal didn’t seem to be
having problems with this sort of dancing. Harold figured it didn’t
take much coordination to grind your crotch into your boyfriend’s
thigh.

“We should dance.” Owen tugged his sleeve again. Then he

started backing into the dance floor, crooking his fingers at Harold
and Griffin as he went.

And omigod…Owen had some pretty good rhythm. Or maybe it

was just that he didn’t seem fazed at all by the prospect of moving
while other people watched.

Harold looked to Griffin. “Are you gonna dance?”
Griffin smirked. “Don’t really want to without my boyfriend.” He

nodded out at the dance floor. “You should though. Your date’s
waiting for ya.” He ended on a laugh.

Owen was holding his arms above his head and thrusting his hips

in a way that made Harold think he must have recently watched
Magic Mike. “He’s not my date.”

He would have hated Griffin getting the wrong idea. Owen was

being so nice to him, hanging out with Harold and dressing him up
and stuff. Harold wouldn’t want Griffin and his friends to misinterpret
things and think Owen was taken.

“Whichever.” Griffin laughed again, as Owen chanced a Tatum

Channing-style spin and stumbled into Cal and Tyler. “But if you
don’t stick with him, he’s gonna start getting hit on.” His attention
darted to the edge of the room, where an older-looking student with
hipster glasses and dark hair was staring at Owen with rapt interest.

“Oh.” Harold took a tentative step out into the dancers. He saw

Griffin’s point—Owen would probably get upset if a guy started
grinding him the way Cal and Tyler were rubbing on each other.
Okay, maybe not upset. Owen wasn’t bothered by much of anything.

But Owen seemed like the type of guy to want to call the shots.

Harold should be a good enough wingman to give him the chance.

Daisy Harris

Harold put one foot in front of the other as he worked his way

onto the floor. His feet felt heavier with each step, and he wondered if
he was supposed to be dancing already. It certainly felt like everyone
around him was moving in time to the music, while Harold was
basically shuffling from foot to foot.

“Hey, there! Thought you’d never get your groove on!” Owen

shouted over the beat of the music. He leaned in close enough that
Harold could smell the pop on his breath. “You can’t be a card-
carrying gay man without dancing.”

Harold froze in place. Fuck. Just that hint of breath in his ear, the

bodies bouncing and rubbing and moving all around him—his dick
swelled, filling the meager pouch inside Owen’s jeans and inching its
way north to battle with the waistband.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom.” He turned, but Owen caught his

arm.

He tugged Harold around. “Oh, come on. You’re fine. Just

dance.” He hooked his forefingers into Harold’s belt loops and
maneuvered his hips.

“See?” Owen leaned in again, chest brushing Harold’s, their hips

whispering together. “You can do it.”

On a thrust of his hip, Owen’s crotch swept across Harold’s bulge.

And any hope Harold had of getting soft vanished in a rush of heat.
His erection strained along the inside edge of his waistband, twisted at
an inhuman angle.

Harold wanted to cover it with his hands or unbutton to relieve the

pressure. But he was wearing skintight clothes that wouldn’t even
hide his shame.

“Wow, man.” Owen tugged his hips forward again. And this time

when their groins slammed together, there was no doubt he’d done it
on purpose. His eyes sparkled, and his smile was wide. “You are so
packin’.”

My Fair Dork

And all of a sudden, it was too much. Owen was laughing at him,

thinking this whole thing was funny. Dress up the freak to torture him
on the dance floor…embarrass him in front of upperclassmen.

Harold spun away, breaking out of Owen’s death grip on his

jeans.

He strode off the dance floor and made a beeline for the door.

Harold dragged it open and stalked out into the night with as much
grace as a pouting twelve-year-old. But he only got as far as the front
walkway before his jeans nipped hard on his dick, and he realized that
unless he could get his stiffy down, it was going to be an awfully long
walk back to his dorm.

Well, shoot. He turned around and looked at the door to the party.

Harold thought about going back inside and taking the edge off with a
quick wank in the bathroom. But that would only ruin the effect of his
dramatic hissy-fit exit.

Unsurprisingly, the door of the frat opened, and Owen came

outside. He jogged up to Harold. “What’s going on?” His eyes were
round with concern. “You mad about something? You don’t have to
dance if you don’t want to.”

“For Pete’s sake.” Harold crossed his arm in front of his groin. He

winced, as his dick seemed to expand another half inch.

“What’s the matter?” Owen looked at his crossed hands. He

smiled in a way that was both teasing and smug. “You didn’t cream
your pants just from a little dancing, did ya?”

“Fuck you.” Harold wished that Owen’s teasing didn’t get him

even stiffer. He would have thought that at some point, his circulation
would just get closed off altogether and then he’d go soft. But that
didn’t seem to happen. So he glared at Owen, as if he could scald him
with his eyes. “It hurts, okay? When you’ve got a…” He lowered his
voice. “Penis…the size of mine. You can’t be getting stiffies in size
twenty-eight jeans.”

Daisy Harris

“Oh.” Owen blinked at Harold’s hips. He stared in the same way

as he had back in his dorm room, like Harold’s dick was a puzzle he
couldn’t solve or a car wreck he couldn’t stop watching.

“Stop looking at—”
Owen grabbed Harold’s hand and pulled him down the walkway

toward the next building on frat row.

“Where are we going?” Harold was practically waddling, but at

least it was dark this direction, so he could reach down his pants and
get things in a better position.

“Here.” Owen pushed him up against the wall. He tugged at the

front of Harold’s jeans.

And though Harold’s mind was frantically trying to catch up to

what was happening, he breathed a giant sigh of relief just to have his
dick out of its cage.

Owen’s fingers were magic laced with perfection. They teased his

jeans out of the way.

“What are you doing?” Harold asked, though he knew he should

have just kept his mouth shut and enjoyed whatever touching he could
get.

Owen’s breath puffed quick pillows of steam in the early spring

air. It was cold at night in Vermont in March. They really should have
worn jackets.

“Want me to jerk you off?” His voice was husky, sexy, like this

was a secret Owen that Harold hadn’t seen before. Owen’s broad
shoulders were outlined by the dim streetlights in the distance. He
was wider than Harold, athletic where Harold was skinny. But he was
a couple inches shorter.

“Um…I guess.” Harold said yes the same way he said yes to

everything Owen suggested. Hell, as Owen palmed him through his
underpants, Harold realized he would have jumped off a bridge if
Owen asked.

My Fair Dork

Chapter Four

“You ever had a guy do this before?” Owen asked. He put his

hand against the wall next to Harold’s head. With his other hand, he
tugged down Harold’s boxer-briefs. He couldn’t believe he had the
balls to come right out and grab Harold’s dick. And shit, he hoped
Harold didn’t read too much into it. But Harold had seemed like he
needed it. And—much as Owen wished he hadn’t—he’d been
wondering what that cock would feel like all week.

The weight and thickness were amazing, so big he couldn’t even

get his fingers all the way around.

Harold shivered. “No,” he answered the question Owen had

almost forgotten he’d asked. “I kissed a boy a few times in high
school. But then he felt my hard-on…” The way he said it sounded
sad, as if the other guy had been bothered by Harold’s size.

Owen didn’t understand why any guy—assuming they liked guys

that way—wouldn’t want to check out Harold’s package. He was
uncircumcised, and that alone was fascinating and different. The
flared head of it caught slightly on Owen’s thumb on every upswing,
the crown filled his entire palm, and the whole thing was so hard…

“What about you?” Harold’s voice was soft, barely more than

breaths. He said his words between pants.

Owen gripped him tighter, moving closer so they wouldn’t be

seen. But he didn’t dare press his body up to Harold’s. That would
have crossed a line that he’d decided sophomore year of high school
was out of bounds.

“Yeah. I had a friend at sports camp this one time.” Owen

remembered the breathless heavy petting in the bunk when everyone

Daisy Harris

else was out playing soccer. He thought of the end of summer, when
the boy had wanted to kiss good-bye. Owen fought a pang of guilt
about how sad the kid had been when Owen said no. “I think he might
have been gay.”

“You think so?” Harold said with his typical deadpan humor.
“Smart-ass.” Owen teased right under his crown with his thumb.

Harold pumped his hips forward so that his big, fat cock pushed
through Owen’s fist.

“And this one guy over the summer used to come over

sometimes.” Owen didn’t even count that, really, since he hadn’t been
all that attracted to the guy.

Carey had been bi and open about it. But he’d never asked Owen

for anything more than a returned hand job. It had been fun but
nothing compared to the bulk of Harold’s shaft in his hand.

Owen spit into his fist and worked him even harder.
“Omigod.” Harold arched his back. Pre-cum coated his tip.
Owen swept a hand over the mess of it with his every stroke.
“Can I do you, too?” Harold asked.
“Oh, yeah.” Owen tugged open his own jeans before returning his

hand to the side of Harold’s head. He angled his body to protect them
better from the thin light that filtered around the side of the building.
He thrust his hips forward, like an offer.

“Okay.” Harold reached for him with a shaky hand. He was more

tentative than a lot of girls Owen had been with, but his palm was big
and warm. He had these long fingers that wrapped all the way around
him.

“You’re so hard,” Harold whispered. He said it like he was

impressed or maybe in awe. “You’re perfect.”

Owen assumed he was talking about his cock. He’d certainly

never had any complaints, and though he wasn’t a giant like Harold,
he was pretty happy with what was between his legs. Still, he stepped
his legs apart a little, preening at the flattery. “Yeah?”

My Fair Dork

Harold let out a whimper, and his cock pulsed in Owen’s hand.

Owen loved the way Harold responded. It was as if Harold had no
control over his body. He was a live wire of nerves, just waiting for
someone to come along and set him off.

“You close?” Owen asked. He was struck with the strongest desire

to kiss him. And he bit his lip to stop himself. It was just that Harold
smelled really good. There was something sweet about the scent of
his skin and hair when Owen was up this close. And Owen knew how
much redness stood out on his skin. If he bit or sucked on the guy’s
neck, he’d leave a mark that would last all week.

“I…” Harold made one of his high-pitched pants. Each one of

those sounds got Owen harder.

Soon Owen was bucking into Harold’s hand, and Harold was

doing it back—though his moves were a lot messier and less
coordinated.

“Oh, yeah,” Owen whispered. “Fucking do it, man.” He didn’t

know why, but he loved encouraging Harold, getting him to let go of
all those hang-ups and just give in to his need to come.

“Ohmigod.” Harold shook. He grabbed Owen’s side to hold

steady. And though it was almost an embrace, Owen didn’t mind. It
felt nice having Harold’s hand on his ribs, those long, firm fingers
gripping him hard.

“Me, too,” he whispered.
Harold threw his head back. He let out a long moan, like he

couldn’t force himself to be quiet. It was crazy hot. And the dick in
Owen’s hand was so tight it was like Harold’s skin couldn’t contain
him. And then Harold spasmed, and the first shot spurted out. It
landed on Owen’s jeans, hot and thick and seeping through the fabric.

“Fuck.” Owen’s orgasm twisted his belly, his balls. It curled his

spine, threw him forward. Without meaning to, he bucked, and his
cock brushed Harold’s—the first time he’d ever let that happen. The
sensation ran through his body like lightning, and he came all the
harder.

Daisy Harris

Harold rubbed a hand up and down his side fitfully, like maybe he

wanted to pull Owen close but didn’t dare.

Owen thought maybe he wanted Harold to do it. But instead he

rotated so that his back was to the wall.

“Oh, man.” He leaned there with his eyes closed, trying to get his

breath under control and his brain back on track. This kind of thing
always happened when he jerked off with other guys—there’d be that
moment where he thought he wanted to kiss or touch or do stuff that
would take him further into gay territory. Owen figured it was just the
orgasm talking. The urge always passed if he ignored it.

He fastened his jeans one-handed while rubbing Harold’s cum off

his hand on the wall behind him. “Sure that was the first time you’d
done it? You were pretty good.”

It was so easy to make Harold stammer. “Uh, thanks.”
The guy was just too cute. So Owen gave in to his moment of

weakness. He wrapped a hand around the back of Harold’s neck and
pulled him into a kiss. It felt amazing. Harold’s lips were soft and
sweet, but the top one was covered in stubble and sweat. Owen pulled
away fast enough that he wouldn’t be tempted to linger.

Harold touched his lips. The wide and hopeful look in his eyes

was almost painful to see.

Owen knew he’d fucked up. That he was leading Harold on,

maybe making the guy think Owen could give him something he
couldn’t.

He cleared his throat and rushed to act casual. “We should go

back inside. People will wonder where we’ve gone.” Owen bumped
their shoulders together, trying to be casual. Then he pushed off the
wall.

“Okay.” Harold fumbled his pants back on. “Er, you’ve got some

on your leg.” He pointed to where his jizz had painted a streak on
Owen’s jeans. “Sorry.”

My Fair Dork

“Oh, yeah.” Owen looked around on the ground and spotted a

discarded paper napkin, probably lost during some party. He picked it
up and used it to wipe off his jeans.

“That should do it.” Owen tossed the napkin back where he’d

found it. He needed to get out of the alley and back to the party before
Harold could look at him again with those big brown eyes. “C’mon.
Let’s get you back to the party.”

The walk was quick, and Harold stayed quiet the whole way.

Owen opened the door for him and then followed him inside. The
tension between them was so thick he could have scooped it up with a
spoon. Like pudding. He tried to remember why he and Harold had
come to this party in the first place. “So, um…what kind of guys do
you like?” It hurt to ask. Owen was surprised at how badly it hurt.

“What?” Harold blinked at him. He looked a little dazed, like

maybe he was still mellow from his orgasm.

“Like, to date?” Owen gestured around the party, at all the openly

gay men at the obviously gay party. All the men who weren’t him. He
wanted what was best for Harold. The guy deserved the best that
college could offer.

Harold’s forehead puckered in the middle, and his lower lip

quivered. “You want me to…” He swallowed. Hard. The shaky
undulation of it echoed down his throat. Harold crossed his arms, and
the move seemed to tuck him in against himself. “I want to go back to
the dorm.”

Owen felt like he’d swallowed a rock, that’s how fast the guilt

caught up with him and gripped him tight. “Uh, okay. We don’t have
to hang out.” He aimed to sound chill, relaxed, but he knew his false
bravado was obvious. “I’ll come with you.” It wasn’t even midnight.

“No. That’s okay.” Harold stared at the floor. He kept his eyes

downcast as he opened the frat’s door. “I’ll find my own way home.”

Well, fuck. Owen let him leave. That hadn’t gone the way he’d

planned. And now he felt even worse than he could have imagined.

Daisy Harris

He watched the guys around him, wondering if he should spend

some time there, see if maybe he really was gay, for real. But none of
the other guys at the party did it for him. Not like Harold.

And that had always been the problem. He didn’t like all guys.

Just some of them. The rare, occasional ones who made him breathe
heavy and want to close his eyes when he was close to them.

But none of the other guys at Eta Xi got him hot like that.
He thought about leaving, maybe tracking Harold down. But what

would he say? At that moment, he was desperate enough to say
anything. Maybe to make promises he knew from experience he
couldn’t keep.

No. Owen turned back toward the party. He could hang out with

Tank and with his friends and pretend he was just there to support his
gay friends. Owen would figure it out tomorrow. And then, he’d find
something to say to Harold that wouldn’t make him sound like a
complete idiot.

* * * *

“What’s your prob today?” Sebastian stared over the top of his

chocolate milk. He arched his eyebrow and watched Harold with
eyeliner-rimmed eyes. “You look like someone set the parental
controls on your laptop and blocked all your porn.”

Harold broke a piece off his scone but couldn’t bring himself to

eat it. He took another sip of tea, but for once the Red Rose churned
his stomach.

“It’s nothing.” Harold hadn’t told Seb about the Eta Xi party or

about his weird pseudofriendship with Owen. Seb would have just
laughed at him anyway and told him Owen was probably going to
fuck him over. Harold’s friend was extremely suspicious of anyone
popular.

The only problem was, now that it was all over, Harold couldn’t

cry on Seb’s shoulder like he wanted.

My Fair Dork

“Hey, is that a new shirt?” Seb asked. He gestured to Harold’s

short-sleeved crewneck.

It was one of Harold’s smaller shirts, and he hadn’t worn it since

the start of the year. But even though he was pissed at Owen, Harold
had to admit that he did look better when his clothes weren’t quite so
oversized. “No. I’ve had it since I got to school.”

Harold lowered his face to his uneaten food again, so Seb would

stop staring at him.

“Something’s up, babe. I can tell.” Seb was always calling Harold

babe or honey. It was weird but hadn’t bothered Harold until that day.

What was it with guys thinking they could call him terms of

endearment, or touch his dick, or come in his hand, and think it was
all in good fun? Harold was sick of being messed with. “Seb…” he
started, unsure how he was going to tell his friend to cut it out. “Could
you—”

“Oh, look. It’s that no-neck jock from your hall.” Seb pointed his

chin at the checkout register, where students ran their cards through
the readers to deduct meal points from their plan.

Owen was there with a few of his jock friends, looking happy and

relaxed, as if he hadn’t thrown Harold’s entire world into disarray.

“He has a neck.” Harold turned back to his food. He didn’t

understand why Seb always referred to Owen that way. Owen had a
neck. A thick, muscled, sexy neck. But it was clearly discernable from
the rest of his body.

Harold peeked over his shoulder again. Owen was staring right at

him.

He spun his attention back to his drying bits of scone. But he

could feel Owen’s gaze prickling his back.

“What the hell? He just waved at you.” Seb’s eyebrows lowered

thunderously. He had a lot of eyebrows. They were thick and bushy
and came together in the middle in a rather unfortunate unibrow.

Harold thought Seb should spend less time with the eyeliner and

invest instead in a pair of tweezers.

Daisy Harris

“We’re sort of friends.” Harold twisted to gaze Owen’s way

again. God, he wished he hadn’t. Owen was so handsome. And
confident. Harold would never recover from his crush now.

But despite Harold’s assumption that Owen would never talk to

him after the way Harold had stormed out of the party, Owen said
something to the two guys he was walking with and carried his tray
toward Harold’s table.

“What the fuck?” Seb eyed Owen skeptically. “Why are you

friends with him?”

Harold shrugged. “I don’t know.” And he really didn’t. The whole

thing at the party had been so confusing. The hand job, the kiss, then
Owen urging him to go after someone else. Harold felt like a mouse
being toyed with by a lion.

But no matter how diligently Harold stared at his plate, Owen still

arrived at his side.

“Hey,” Owen said down to Harold. Then to Seb, he said, “What’s

up? I’m Owen.”

Harold could see his outstretched hand reaching across the table

for Sebastian.

Seb rolled his eyelinered gaze over Owen. His disdain was

obvious in the curl of his lip. “I’m Seb.” He shook Owen’s hand extra
hard.

Owen was a couple inches taller than Seb and at least twenty

pounds heavier. But in that moment, Harold could imagine Seb
launching at Owen and clawing his eyes out.

“Um, you want to sit with us?” Harold asked, trying to ease the

tension. He hated himself for asking, though. Somehow, he couldn’t
stop being nice to Owen, even though the guy was jerking him
around.

“Yeah, sure.” Owen slid into the seat at Harold’s side, earning

him a furious glare from Sebastian. “So, what are you guys up to for
your Saturday?” Owen grabbed one of his rolls and shoved half of it
into his mouth, chewing as he watched them for answers.

My Fair Dork

“Well, I, for one, have to study.” Seb stood imperiously from his

seat and grabbed his tray. He hitched his book bag over his shoulder.
With a scathing look at Owen, he left.

“Huh.” Owen swallowed his food and paused between bites. “Is

he your boyfriend or something?”

The question was so insane that Harold wanted to laugh out loud.

He twisted in his seat, not even caring if he knocked something over
in the process. “No, Owen.” He looked straight into Owen’s eyes.
“He’s not my boyfriend. Neither are any of the other gay guys at
school. The only guy I’ve fooled around with since I got to college is
straight.”

He waited for those words to sink in and watched Owen’s face

shift from open to guarded. Harold didn’t know where that rage had
come from. He shook from the force of it, like he was going to cry.

This was why he hated expressing opinions. He always felt like

his feelings were going to shred him up from the inside and he’d have
a seizure before he could get out the words.

“Oh.” Owen had the grace to look embarrassed as he shoved

another bite of something in his mouth. “Yeah, about that…”

Harold held his breath.
“I’m sorry.”
He felt like his heart had tripped. Like it had been speeding along

forward but caught on something. Now it was splattering its way
across concrete. “It’s okay.” Harold closed his mouth.

It wasn’t. Not by a long shot. A guy couldn’t just jack another guy

off and pretend nothing had happened.

Harold’s tumbling heart fell out his lips. “You liked it, though.”
He’d felt Owen’s heat, that silky hardness. He’d felt Owen

shaking, his breath in Harold’s ear and his cock spurting in his palm.
Harold hadn’t…he couldn’t have imagined that Owen was turned on.

“Yeah. Of course I did.” Owen peeked over his shoulder, making

sure no one was within listening distance. “I’d be up for it again,
even.”

Daisy Harris

“Oh.” Harold’s heart stopped, like it had finished falling down a

set of stairs and had slammed into a wall. “I thought you weren’t…”

“I’m not.” Owen shrugged. “I mean, not entirely.” He drank a sip

of milk. It covered his top lip in a thin mustache, and Harold’s mouth
fell open as he imagined other milky substances on Owen’s lips. “I
mean, well…sometimes I am.”

“You are what?” Harold was so transfixed on the way Owen

licked his lips that he couldn’t remember what they were talking
about.

“The way you are.” Owen twisted again, checking the room

around him.

Oh, yeah. Gay. He was gay the way Harold was. Or had he said he

wasn’t gay the way Harold was?

Harold couldn’t remember, but he wasn’t sure he cared.
He should have cared, though. He knew his battered heart was

going to take a beating if he allowed himself to overlook that tiny
detail about Owen not being out in the open. But his cock was filling,
and he knew perfectly well that his cock was capable of draining all
the blood away from the center of his body. Maybe his dick could
beat for him instead of his heart, and then all his parts could be happy.

“That’s okay,” Harold heard himself say. Some part of his brain

screamed, “No, it’s not, you tosser,” but Harold ignored it. His cock
could do the thinking.

“Well, then, cool.” Owen’s lip curved into one of his breathtaking

smiles.

Maybe Owen would kiss him the next time they hooked up—for

longer this time. Maybe he’d give Harold a chance to kiss him back.
Harold heard himself say, “You could come over sometime.”

And he thought his heart might stop altogether when Owen smiled

and said, “Sure.”

My Fair Dork

Chapter Five

“Hanging out with your boyfriend again?” Jack asked. He tilted

his food off his plate and into the garbage. Then he set his tray on the
trash can’s top.

Owen knew he was talking about Harold, but for some reason, he

didn’t want to mention him by name. Before the between-buildings
hand job, he hadn’t thought anything about hanging out with Harold
and even going with him to an Eta Xi party. Now that he and Harold
had a sort of agreement, the whole thing seemed a lot more
suspicious. “Don’t be an idiot.”

He bussed his plates and jogged up the stairs. Jack hung on to his

side, running up the steps in time.

“What the fuck? You’re hanging out with a gay kid. Going to gay

parties. Next thing I know, you’re gonna be—what? Blowing him in
our room when I’m not home?”

There was a second of doubt, when Owen wondered if that was

exactly what was going to happen next. But he shoved that thought
out of his mind. He wasn’t going to do anything as extreme as going
down on Harold. Though he was starting to think he wouldn’t say no
if Harold offered to blow him.

“No way, man.” He knocked Jack in the arm. “You got nothing to

worry about.”

“Well, anyway—you’re still up for the Alpha party tonight,

right?” Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and bumped his hip into
the panic bar to push out the cafeteria doors.

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“Yeah.” Owen had forgotten he’d agreed to go to the thing with

his roommate. He’d sort of been hoping to see Harold that night.
“Sure. Text me if I’m not in the room.”

“Awesome.” Jack bounced on his feet, as if he was happy they

were still on for their man-date. “Don’t bring along the dork squad,
though. Okay?”

Owen rolled his eyes, but he knew Jack was right. Bringing

Harold would be a total nightmare. If nothing else, Jack would
probably give him shit until Harold left the party. “Fine.” Sometimes
having everyone like him felt like more hassle than it was worth. “See
ya tonight.”

The day slogged by predictably. Owen studied at the library. He

worked out at the gym and showed up to play touch football with
some of the guys from the team. He did everything he could to go
through his day exactly as he would if he hadn’t spoken to Harold that
morning about getting off together.

But as each hour passed, he became more obsessed with what

Harold was doing and whether it would be presumptuous to see if he
wanted to hook up before the party.

The only problem was, if he saw Harold anytime between five and

nine, he’d feel compelled to ask Harold what he was doing that night.
Or to see if he wanted to go along to the party with him and Jack. It
would be rude to just jerk and run.

But as it bled from three in the afternoon to four, Owen found

himself staring down at his phone. Harold’s phone number was right
there. He could text and ask what Harold was doing. It didn’t have to
be a big deal. They could stroke off together…maybe Harold would
go down on him. And then they’d go about their day.

He stopped walking, dropped his bag off his shoulder, and sent off

a text.

It had barely left his phone when Harold’s reply beeped, telling

him to meet in the dorms, in Harold’s room.

My Fair Dork

Grinning, Owen shoved his phone back in his pocket. The day

was crisp and sunny and warm enough to heat his skin as he broke
into a jog to get back to the dorms. Owen was a little sweaty, and he
figured he needed a shower. But still, he knocked quietly on Harold’s
door before heading to the showers.

Harold appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide and his smile as

big as Owen had ever seen. He stepped out of the way to let Owen
into the room.

He went in just to get out of the hallway and set down his gym

bag next to Harold’s bed. “I should probably rinse off…” He felt
Harold against his back, Harold’s fingers whispering up his sides.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Harold’s cock pressed against his hip,

and Owen couldn’t believe how turned on it made him. Maybe it was
just that the jut of it reminded him of his own dick. But Owen
couldn’t be sure.

Owen wasn’t quite sure what to do next. When he’d had stroke

buddies before, they’d usually done it under the guise of looking at
porn. His camp friend had showed up in the cabin with nudie mags.
They’d read them and pulled out their dicks, and one thing led to
another…

The guy over the summer had happened basically the same way.

Except with online videos instead. Owen thought about asking Harold
if he wanted to watch a porno on his computer, but Owen thought that
might make Harold uncomfortable.

He covered Harold’s hand with his own and pulled his palm down

to the front of his jeans. Owen pushed his hips forward, showing
Harold his hard-on.

Harold leaned in closer, and Owen told himself it was just to get a

better grip on Owen’s dick through his pants. But that shift brought
Harold’s nose and lips to his neck and Harold’s enormous cock
against his ass.

Owen tried to relax and enjoy it. He lay his head back on Harold’s

shoulder and let Harold open the front of his jeans. It felt good.

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Fucking good. Harold pulled his jeans out of the way and gripped his
dick, and Owen wanted to lean back into Harold’s strength. Yeah, he
was narrow, but he was wiry and tight, like a man.

And there was nothing weak or scrawny about the root pressing at

his hip. That thick stalk shifted, settling between Owen’s ass cheeks.
He only had a moment to tense before Harold palmed his pubic bone
to hold him steady and thrust his dick against Owen’s ass.

Hard.
“Whoa.” Owen twisted out of Harold’s hold. Even though he

wished he could look anywhere else, his eyes zeroed in on the
cockhead poking out the top of Harold’s jeans and briefs.

The guy must have unfastened the top button somewhere along

the way.

“What in the hell? I told you…I’m not into that kind of thing.” He

gave Harold’s cock a stern glare. What Harold had been insinuating
veered way into the actually gay territory. Like, way.

Harold crossed his hands in front of himself and did that slump-

shouldered thing he did where he tried to look shorter. “I’m sorry.
I…I got carried away.” He turned around and did up his pants where
Owen wouldn’t see him. “I know you don’t…And even if you did,
it’s not like I can…”

He turned back around, staring sadly at the floor. “I can blow you

if you want.”

Owen felt a little guilty taking him up on it. After all, he’d sort of

just freaked out just because of a little bump and grind. But he was
still hard as a rock, his dick not having gotten quite as upset about the
ass grinding as he had. “Yeah. I mean…I didn’t mean to get all
homophobic.” Which was weird, because Owen knew he liked guys.
Hell, he’d stood in the living room and told his parents he liked boys,
right before he’d run off and gotten a girlfriend.

Harold shook his head. “You weren’t. I know I was doing it all

wrong.” He folded onto his knees and peeked up at Owen through his
bangs. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.” The way he was looking

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up shyly could have seemed contrived. But Harold really was that
innocent.

And Owen felt like a douche for getting upset.
Of course Harold had wanted to grind on him. How often had

Owen rubbed up against a girl’s backside? If a guy were gay, of
course he’d want to do that.

Owen unfastened his jeans and got his cock out. He did it a little

slowly, though, because he could tell Harold liked it.

Harold grinned up for a split second before turning hungrily to

Owen’s cock. He raked over it with his eyes. His nostrils flared, like
maybe he was smelling its musk. And then he took it in his long-
fingered hand and closed his mouth around the cap.

* * * *

Omigod, I have Owen’s cock in my mouth.
Harold thought he could have died happy. He’d been an idiot to

rub against Owen like he had. But Harold had been so excited to have
Owen in his room he’d just done the first thing that came to mind.

But this was better. Owen tasted salty and musky and good. His

scratchy hair brushed Harold’s nose. And Harold wished he could get
Owen on his back and tongue his balls.

That wasn’t going to happen, though. Harold was going to be a

good boy and do what Owen wanted.

“Wow.” Owen petted his head. His fingers sifted into Harold’s

hair. “So good.”

Harold thought he might burst out of his pants, he was so hard. He

reached down, just to adjust it into a better position.

Owen gasped.
“What?” Harold wondered if maybe he’d done something wrong.

Like caught Owen with his teeth.

But Owen just watched him with wonder and heat in his eyes. “I

can jack you off after, right?”

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Harold’s belly fluttered. His dick still ached—especially since

he’d thrown on one of his tighter pairs of jeans to impress Owen. But
the pain was sweet, knowing that after he got Owen off, Owen might
touch him again.

“Yeah.” He licked his way up from Owen’s base to his tip and

then flicked his tongue under his head a few times.

Owen licked his lips. “Aw, c’mon.” It was a plea, but also a tease,

and it made Harold want to try more.

He rubbed some spit onto Owen’s shaft and started working his

length. And with his mouth, he nibbled lower, to the soft sac of
Owen’s balls.

The effect was instantaneous, and Owen shuddered. He bucked

forward, trying to get more.

Slowly, he licked his way back up to the tip. With teasing passes,

he worked his tongue around the ridge of his cap. And with the hand
that wasn’t jerking Owen roughly, he cupped Owen’s balls.

Harold took Owen’s cock in his mouth, as deep as he could. He

forced the head into the back of his throat and swallowed.

“God…ah…” Owen was so stiff he stretched Harold’s lips. And

Harold chanced a pass of his fingertip along Owen’s taint.

Not near his ass, but going that direction. Harold wanted to lie to

himself and think it was just for Owen’s pleasure. And yeah—it was.
But there was this part of him that just couldn’t help it. He wanted to
do more. To run his tongue along Owen’s crease and then ease him
open and lap at his hole.

In those rare moments when Harold was honest with himself

enough to analyze his wants, he knew he wanted to someday fuck a
lover.

But no matter what happened in the freak show of the Internet,

Harold knew no real, live human man would be willing to take that
ride.

“Shit…Damn…Yeah…” Owen drove into Harold’s mouth. The

snap of his hips worked his body farther and farther onto Harold’s

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hand. At one point, Harold thought he felt the crinkled ridges of his
pucker, as if Owen were rubbing his ass into Harold’s fingers.

He groaned around Owen’s girth, so horny he thought he might

shoot in his jeans as soon as he tasted Owen’s cum. And then Owen
was palming the sides of his head, snapping his hips forward. Harold
worked his finger in farther and knew he’d reached the soft
indentation of Owen’s hole when Owen cursed—like he was angry—
but then pulsed his cum into Harold’s throat.

Harold tried to swallow while suckling Owen all the way to soft.

Owen’s cum tasted bitter but also sweet. Harold wiped the last of it
off his mouth in case Owen kissed him.

“God damn.” Owen collapsed onto Harold’s bed, looking for all

the world like one of those guys who might fall asleep right after they
came.

But after closing his eyes for a second, he gave Harold a lazy,

sated grin. “Hey, get up here so I can get you off.”

Harold realized he was still on his knees, so he shuffled onto the

bed. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Would it be rude to
just get his dick out? He’d felt pretty confident about what he was
doing when all he’d had to think about was making Owen come like
crazy. But in the wake of his one success, insecurity crept under his
skin.

“Take off your pants.” Owen batted his hand in the direction of

Harold’s jeans, as if he were too tired to do anything more.

“Okay.” Harold unzipped his fly and worked his pants off his

ankles. His cockhead had escaped the waistband of his underpants.

But Owen didn’t seem to mind. He was licking his lips. “C’mon.”

He reached for it as Harold knee-walked onto the bed.

“You don’t have to return the favor or anything.” He was pretty

sure that Owen wasn’t going to be willing to go down on him—even
if he could have fit Harold in his mouth.

“I know.” Owen might have winked at him. He grabbed Harold

under the shoulders to pull him higher on the bed. And when they

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were lying side by side, he took Harold in hand and starting working
his cock as deftly as if it were his own.

“Oh…” Harold wished he had something to hold on to. It was an

awkward position on his side and facing one another. He figured he
should close his eyes.

But Owen’s eyes were wide as he looked down at what his hand

was doing. His expression was sweet and so excited that Harold
couldn’t stand to miss a second of it.

He put a hand on Owen’s arm to steady himself and then held his

breath, waiting to see if Owen would flinch.

Owen must have noticed his worry, because he said gently, “It’s

cool,” while glancing at Harold’s hand. Then he breathed, “You can
kiss me, too, if you want.”

Omigod. Harold’s heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of

his chest in order to get closer to Owen’s.

“Okay.” He eased closer to Owen’s face. It was a little weird,

because Owen wasn’t closing his eyes. And since he wasn’t, Harold
didn’t either. So when he pushed his lips into Owen’s, he focused on a
point on his wall, wondering whether it was time yet to stop looking.

Owen’s breath feathered along his cheek, his stubble brushing

Harold’s top lip.

Harold closed his eyes.

* * * *

He’d never tasted cum before, but the flavor on Harold’s lips was

unbelievably hot. Owen pressed his tongue into Harold’s mouth,
following the taste until their tongues met.

Owen palmed Harold harder. Each time he tugged, Harold’s cap

swiped across his belly and drew a sticky streak of pre-cum under his
ribs. He couldn’t believe how great it felt, kissing Harold like this,
with their bodies almost touching.

My Fair Dork

It was so sexy that he wanted to do more. Touch for real, bite at

Harold’s neck. He channeled all his want into his kiss, attacking
Harold’s mouth. Their teeth clashed, and Harold whimpered, but
Owen couldn’t stop.

The scariest thing was that it wasn’t because he was horny. Owen

had just come harder than he’d ever come in his life. No, this was a
different kind of need. His cock was filling again, but that wasn’t why
he wanted to feel Harold against his belly and press their chests
together until neither one of them could breathe.

No, this was a deeper kind of want. One he’d been trying to ignore

or minimize for as long as he could remember. But even sophomore
year of high school, during that awkward time before he’d told his
parents, he’d never wanted someone with the bone-deep need he did
Harold.

Harold broke away from their kiss. His lips were red and shining

and his eyes blown wide with lust. “You don’t have to…” He didn’t
say exactly what it was Owen didn’t have to do. But the message was
obvious.

“I know I don’t.” Owen couldn’t stop looking at his mouth, at his

cock, at his narrow chest and the indent of his sternum. Harold was all
bones and energy. Owen pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “But I want
to.”

He kissed Harold’s neck—being sure not to suck hard enough to

leave marks. Then he worked his way lower.

Harold’s ribs shook with the force of his breaths. His belly

quivered under Owen’s lips.

His cock pressed hot and demanding against his cheek.
“I don’t know if I can even do this.” Owen pumped Harold’s cock

like he was trying to keep pace of a heartbeat. He shifted Harold onto
his back and climbed over his body to get between his legs.

“I know…” Harold looked down at him, his face and neck red

with excitement. “Whatever you want—”

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Owen pressed a kiss onto the cap. He waited to see if he’d be

grossed out. Sure, if he thought about it for a while, he would have
freaked out. But he was already in bed with a gay man, doing
obviously gay things. Why not go balls-in?

He swiped his tongue over the top, getting a taste of salty pre-

cum. The way Harold responded was hot as shit. He twisted on the
bed, making these desperate, high-pitched sounds. And the cock in
Owen’s hand throbbed. It was so big, hard, and strong. Owen felt
powerful holding it.

“God, I don’t want to. Not yet.” Harold fisted his hands in the

sheets.

“Why not?” Owen teased him. His own dick was almost fully

hard again. He wondered if he should try to get Harold to hold off so
they could go off together.

“Because what if this never happens again?”
Harold’s words hung in the air. And their meaning permeated

slowly under Owen’s skin. What if Owen never wanted to do this
again? What if he thought it was too experimental? Too close to a
way he didn’t want to see himself?

He climbed up Harold’s body and lay on top, crushing Harold’s

thickness between them. Owen looked into Harold’s brown eyes and
tried to make him understand. “I want this to happen again.” His cock
touched Harold’s shaft. The heat and pressure were enough that he
sprang fully hard. Owen thrust into Harold’s soft, flat belly.

“Oh, God.” Harold held onto the comforter beneath him, the

fabric twisted in his hands. “God, I can’t stop.” He flexed his hips,
pumping his shaft into Owen’s abdomen, his chest.

“Then don’t.” Owen mouthed Harold’s neck. He let go, working

his hips in the world’s most delicious dry hump.

He loved the feel of Harold shaking and bouncing practically off

the bed. It was like riding on top of a live wire of frantic energy.

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And then Harold’s hands were everywhere. He grabbed Owen’s

shoulders, rubbed his back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he spread his
legs and wrapped his calves over Owen’s thighs.

Oh, fuck. Owen felt like he was falling into some level of bliss

he’d never realized existed before. Harold’s legs were long and his
arms strong. He reached down and grabbed Owen’s butt, urging
Owen to grind harder.

It was rough and messy. But they didn’t need any finesse or

gentleness. They were both guys and could take it, and Owen wanted
to howl at how good it felt to just let go and pump on someone as
hard as he wanted.

Harold’s hips snapped up. He panted, his fingers pressing bruises

into Owen’s hips. But then he went stiff all over.

Owen felt wetness coating his belly and dick. It was slippery and

hot, and he rubbed into it, aiming right in the hollow of Harold’s
hipbone.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Harold gasped a stream of encouragement. And

that breathy praise in his ear was all it took.

He bit down hard on Harold’s shoulder. Harold’s pale skin

muffled his shout as Owen came all over—on Harold’s hip and his
groin. Owen had the strongest urge to gather up all that slippery,
sticky cum and use it to work his fingers into Harold’s asshole.

“Omigod.” Harold sounded as if he were crying.
Owen lifted his face from Harold’s shoulder. “Oops. Did I hurt

you?” He looked at the place he’d been sucking and felt a mixture of
pride and embarrassment that he’d left a mark.

“No.” Harold shook his head. His eyes were damp, though. “Geez,

I’m such a dork.” He turned his head, as if he were trying to hide his
expression. “Just…well, that was sort of my first time.”

“Really?” Owen knew he should have felt guilty, maybe let

Harold pop whatever cherry he felt like he’d just lost with a guy who
was out, a guy who’d be up for holding hands in public. But just like

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the hickey blossoming on Harold’s shoulder, Owen couldn’t feel bad
about what they’d done.

He smiled, remembering. “But, last night…”
“Well, yeah. But that was different.” Harold shrugged. He shifted

in the process, urging them onto their sides. Their stomachs separated
wetly.

Owen wanted to deny it—to act like what they’d just done was no

bigger of a deal than jerking off to porn like he’d done with his other
buddies. But he wasn’t that kind of liar. It had been his first time with
a guy, too.

He kissed Harold’s cheek, loving the way it made Harold grin.

“Yeah,” Owen said. “I know what you mean.” He looked down
Harold’s body to his cock lying soft and sated against his leg. Weird,
but even in its floppy state, he wanted to play with it.

“Um…” Harold bit his lip. He didn’t take his eyes off Owen, even

as he reached to the bedside table, where he had a box of tissues. “So,
now what?”

Owen took the tissues and wiped up. He didn’t know what to tell

Harold. Hell, he barely knew what to tell himself. “I don’t know,” he
answered honestly.

A different guy would blow the whole thing off and hightail it out

of Harold’s room. Some part of Owen knew that’s what he was
supposed to do, the script he should follow if he were going to be
straight.

But where would that take him? More impersonal hand jobs while

he and the other guy pretended they didn’t give a shit about each
other? How would that compare to the way Harold was looking at
him with dewy eyes?

Harold would let him do anything. Owen was pretty sure Harold

would even let him fuck him. Give that up for arm’s length again?
Not likely.

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“I’m not ready for other people to know,” Owen said slowly. He

willed Harold to understand the subtext. “I’m not…I mean…” He
rolled onto his back, away from Harold’s searching eyes.

Just for a second, he needed to be the one who wasn’t leading the

way with the two of them. “It’s a lot to process.”

“Okay,” Harold said. He rolled up to standing and reached for his

pants.

“What the fuck?” Owen opened his eyes to scowl at him. “I said I

need time, not that I don’t want to—”

“I know.” Harold’s expression changed. His eyes softened, and he

smiled gently. “I was just going to get a washcloth.”

“Oh.” Owen felt like a dick for getting upset. It’s just that he’d

been used to the way things were between them—Harold was the nerd
in need of guidance, and he was the one with confidence to spare. But
what if he couldn’t be that guy? His head was spinning, and he didn’t
know which way was up anymore. And Owen had no idea if Harold
was strong enough to handle it. “So, you’re not pissed?”

Harold smiled. “At you?” His posture turned shy, with one foot

crossing in front of the other and his hands twisted in a knot in front
of his fly. And just like magic, things felt normal between them again.
“Of course I’m not mad.”

He picked up a cloth from one of his shelves and then pinned

Owen with a look of such adoration Owen didn’t know whether to be
flattered or scared. “You don’t need to leave right away, right?”

Owen thought about the party he had to ditch Harold to go to. He

didn’t want to look at his phone to check the time, so he guesstimated.
“No. I don’t need to be anywhere for another hour or two.”

“Great.” Harold didn’t ask where Owen was going. He just loped

out of the room.

But Owen did check his phone as soon as Harold cleared the door.

It was only seven. So he had two hours until he had to go back to his
regular life and pretend everything wasn’t flipping upside down.

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A moment later, the door opened. “You’re still here,” Harold said.

He sounded happy and a little surprised.

“Where else would I go?” Owen tried to chuckle as he said it, but

his voice came out shaky. He could go to his room, he guessed. But
he wasn’t ready to face his roommate. After all the times Jack had
fucked with him about Owen being gay, he hated the thought of
having to admit to Jack that maybe he was.

“I don’t know. It’s Saturday night, almost.” Harold hopped onto

the bed and started cleaning Owen’s leg with a warm washcloth.

It felt great. And the tension Owen had been ratcheting up with all

his thinking melted away. “Yeah.” He thought about his next words,
but only for a split second. “I’m going to the Alpha party at nine with
Jack.”

There was a breath of a pause where Owen knew Harold was

waiting to see if Owen would invite him along.

And though Owen knew he’d told Jack he wouldn’t, he blurted

out, “You want to come?”

Harold smiled at him so brightly that Owen could almost imagine

that he hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

Almost, but not quite.

My Fair Dork

Chapter Six

Harold reached for his hair, wanting to comb through his cowlick

out of habit. But the locks felt stiff under his fingers, and he realized
that if he kept messing with it, his hair would fall out of the shape
Owen had styled it into. He pulled his hand back to his side.

“Some serious talent here tonight.” Owen’s friend Jack crossed

his arms and watched a group of four girls on the dance floor. He
chugged part of the beer in his hand and then wiped his arm across his
mouth. Turning to Owen, Jack said, “You’re really not going to have
one?” He held up his beer.

“Nah.” Owen rocked on his feet in time to the music.
Harold wondered if Owen wanted to dance and if so whether he’d

need to find a girl to dance with. Did straight guys dance together in
groups the way straight girls did? Harold doubted it.

“You can if you want,” Harold muttered in Owen’s ear. He didn’t

want to cause more problems between Owen and Jack. He’d known
Jack was annoyed that Owen had brought him from the second they’d
seen each other in Owen’s dorm room.

“Nah. I’m fine.” Owen put his hands in his pockets. He was

looking out over the dancers, mostly focused on the ones that Jack
was watching.

“Which one do you like?” Jack asked Owen.
Harold’s fingers twitched, and he shoved his hands in his back

pockets so he wouldn’t seem too nervous. He hated this. He should
have just stayed home, waiting until the next time Owen texted. Now
he had to face, head-on, exactly how not-gay Owen was.

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“I dunno. Not really looking to hook up tonight,” Owen said

noncommittally.

Jack raised an eyebrow. The look he gave Owen was suspicious.

“What the fuck?”

Owen rolled his eyes a little. “Fine.” He nodded in the direction of

the circle of girls. “The red-haired one. Amy, right?”

The girl he’d pointed out was petite with pale skin and brown

eyes. Her coloring was similar to Harold’s, and Harold wondered if
maybe Owen had a type that crossed genders.

“What about you?” Owen bumped his arm. His smile was teasing

and maybe a little flirtatious, as if he thought they were playing a
game.

Harold sucked up his jealousy and tried to play along. “She’s

pretty.” He stuck his chin toward a blonde in the group. She was the
tallest, and Harold was pretty sure she was the alpha of their little
pack. He wasn’t attracted to her, at least not in the way he liked guys.
But she had a certain glamour. She was confident and charismatic.
Maybe he just liked how he imagined other guys would look at him if
he were ever with a girl like that.

“Katie? Oh, she’s really nice,” Owen said.
It was hard to tell based on Owen’s opinion whether she actually

was or not. Harold couldn’t imagine Owen ever disliking anyone.

“She’s an ice queen,” Jack mumbled, but loud enough both of

them heard.

“Oh, you just say that because she turned you down once.” Owen

smiled but then pointed at the girls. “How about Brittany? She’s
cute.”

Harold wasn’t sure which of the girls Owen was talking about.

But Jack gave a little shrug.

“Yeah. I guess.”
“C’mon.” Owen bounced slowly toward the dance floor. He

tugged at both of their arms, urging them to follow.

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This seemed to be a theme with Owen, trying to get people to

dance when they didn’t want to. But although Harold had been
terrified of dancing at the Eta Xi party, it seemed slightly less
intimidating at the one full mostly of straight people. Maybe Owen
had been right—that it was his responsibility as a gay man to dance
even when straight guys didn’t. But Harold suspected it had more to
do with the fact that the dance floor was mostly full of girls.

“Hey!” The brunette Owen had been pointing out to Jack waved

as she saw Owen approaching. Harold couldn’t tell if she liked Owen
romantically or if they were just friends. But it was obvious that she
was happy to see him. “Who’s your friend?” She grinned at Harold,
never stopping the sway of her hips and the moves of her feet.

“Well, you know Jack.” Owen pulled Jack around, playing

matchmaker.

Jack, for all his butch posturing while they were watching the

girls, looked shy to be actually talking to one. “Uh, hey.” He gave her
a little smile and jerked around a bit in time to the music.

“This is Harold,” Owen said to the group. “He lives on our hall.”
“Hi!” The girl Owen had said was cute seemed to be the most

outgoing of the bunch. “I’m Amy.” She lifted her arms over her head
in a dance move but then butted up against Harold’s side. “That’s
Brittany, Katie, and Jane.”

“Hello.” Harold tried to act casual. The girls reminded him of the

mean girls he’d known from high school. The kind that would team
up to embarrass any lesser human that got in the way of their
perfection.

But although this group of girls was every bit as pretty as the it

group from high school, they didn’t look at him with any malice.

Harold closed his eyes and concentrated on the music and on

moving in a way that didn’t make him look like a complete spazz in
front of Owen. But when he chanced a look Owen’s direction, it was
clear that Owen wasn’t paying any attention to Harold or anyone else.
His eyes were closed and his body moved like he was built for

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dancing but had never really gotten the chance. There was something
even more sensual about the thrust of his hips tonight. And Harold
didn’t know whether it was because Owen felt more virile than before
or whether Harold just thought of him that way now that they’d made
love.

Thank goodness for those second and third orgasms that

afternoon. Otherwise, Harold would have gotten hard enough to rip
the seams off his pants.

Jack and Brittany bumped into Harold’s back, and Harold tripped

forward into the arms of the girl with the pale skin, the one Owen had
said he was attracted to. Amy.

“Wow. Nice hickey!” She grinned at Harold’s shoulder.
He realized the neckband of his shirt had gotten stretched in the

jostle with Jack. Self-consciously, he tugged his shirt back in place,
but the damage was already done. The girl was staring at him with an
amused glimmer in her eye. Amused, and maybe interested.

Harold didn’t know what that expression meant. It seemed like the

girl liked him or something. He didn’t know why his having a bite
mark on his neck would make him seem more appealing, rather than
less, but he didn’t think too hard on it. Harold wasn’t used to anyone
looking at him like they were impressed. And if the girl Owen thought
was hot thought Harold was hot…well, then maybe he was.

“Hey!” she shouted in his ear as she wrapped her arms around his

neck and started dancing with him.

“Oh, hi.”
He palmed the girl’s hips the way he saw some of the other guys

on the dance floor doing. Wow. She was really getting into it—
rubbing her body against his, getting her thigh between his so she
could grind on him.

And even though he knew he must have been blushing, Harold

was having fun. He looked just like any other guy at the party and had
the attention of one of the prettiest girls there. In fact, he didn’t even
think she’d get upset if she found out he was gay.

My Fair Dork

College was pretty darn fun.
“Hey, Har!” Owen danced up behind the girl. He wore a wicked

grin. “You wanna make an Amy sandwich?”

Harold wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but Owen wrapped

his arms around both of them and started squeezing them tight. The
girl giggled, pretending to try to get away but not hard enough to
seem like she was really trying. And Harold realized what the game
was. He palmed Owen’s shoulders and hugged back, crushing the
squealing girl between them.

After a second, Owen let go, and Harold did the same. The girl

was red faced but smiling. She turned around to give Owen a playful
punch in the arm, but Owen pulled her into an embrace and started
dancing with her.

Oh. Harold’s stomach dropped.
Owen was smiling, and so was his partner. His leg was between

hers, and that part of him that Harold had been worshiping with his
mouth just an hour ago was grinding against a girl’s jean-clad private
parts

Harold started to turn away, maybe to go outside and get some air.
But Owen snatched his wrist. Owen’s eyes met his over the girl’s

shoulder. Something passed between them, hot and needy. And Owen
pulled Harold’s hand down and placed it on the girl’s hip.

“C’mon. Dance with us.” Owen bit his lip. One of his rare

moments where maybe he wasn’t as certain about everything as he
pretended to be.

Harold couldn’t resist him. And it wasn’t the same thing as when

Owen had first started paying attention to him and Harold would have
followed him around like a puppy. Harold was starting to understand
that he had some kind of hold over Owen. It wasn’t all hero worship.
And that sometimes Owen was just as scared as he was.

He put his hands on the girl’s hips and started to sway into her

from behind. They weren’t the only people three-way dancing, so it
didn’t feel too weird. But Harold still kept his eyes closed so he

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wouldn’t have to see Owen staring at him across the barrier of the
girl’s presence.

It wasn’t bad, pressing against her back. She was soft, and her ass

was squishy. The round globes of it kept bumping into Harold’s hips.
But he wasn’t too bothered. She smelled like perfume and felt more
like cuddling into a comfy blanket than anything remotely sexual.
Harold was happy not to be worried about getting an erection for once
in his life.

The girl leaned back and hooked her hand back behind Harold’s

head. Then Owen followed suit. First his hand covered hers, and then
Owen eased his hand to the side, so he was cupping Harold’s nape.

And Harold sprung wood. It happened so fast that he was grinding

it up into the girl’s butt crack before he even realized what was going
on.

He tucked his hips back and wrenched his head out of Owen’s

hold. Harold pulled away from the two of them, but although he
wanted to storm out of the party like he had from Eta Xi, he held
back. After all, for once he’d gotten a stiffy while touching a girl. It
must have been some kind of miracle.

“Wow.” The girl gave him a flirty wink. She’d never stopped

dancing, though she moved away from Owen to come to his front. “Is
that a salami in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”

Harold’s face felt like it had caught on fire, he was so

embarrassed. But he didn’t have time to respond before the girl
grabbed her friend by the arm and whispered something in her ear.

The friend gave Harold a once-over, pausing to stare at his crotch.

She cocked her head to the side and hid her smile in her hand,
giggling.

Harold felt his throat close with fear. This was exactly like the

mean girls at school. Instead, now they wore smiles. “Listen.” He
turned to Owen, who for some reason was smiling along with the girls
as if the whole thing were funny. “I’m going to head home.”

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Owen’s face fell. “Nah. C’mon.” He followed Harold out of the

group of dancing students over to where some streamers and
decorations hung to cover a doorway. Owen touched Harold’s arm
and the elbow, unwilling to take Harold’s hand in public. “We’re
having fun.”

“You’re having fun.” Harold crossed his arms. He stepped his legs

apart, too—mostly to relieve the pressure in the front of his jeans. His
hard-on had never fully gone down after dancing, and being angry
wasn’t helping. “Wouldn’t you rather be dancing with those girls?”
Harold looked past Owen to where Jack and the circle of females
were hovering near the edge of the dance floor.

Each of them kept peeking in Owen and Harold’s direction and

then leaning in to whisper to each other.

Owen stepped closer, but then he seemed to realize that would

ruin his image, and he stepped away again. “You want to leave? Fine.
I’ll walk you back.”

He made another grab for Harold’s arm, but Harold shook him

off. “Why did you even want me here?” Harold stepped between
Owen and the group of girls, so he wouldn’t have to see them looking
their way. Maybe his height would block them from seeing the
conversation. “Why did you even invite me?”

“Because I like you.” Owen looked at him with wide brown eyes.

His eyebrows got a tiny crease in the middle as if he didn’t understand
why Harold couldn’t understand. “I like spending time with you.”

“As what?” Harold asked. He hated that he was pushing it. Hell,

he’d promised himself he wouldn’t back Owen into a corner. But he
hadn’t been the one to drag Owen onto the dance floor, to put him on
the other side of a girl-in-the-middle three-way dance orgy. “We’re
not friends. We’re not dating—”

“We are friends.” Owen stroked his arm but then pulled it back at

the last second. He looked sad. “I like you. A lot.”

Harold stared at him, trying to figure Owen out. “Then why do

you keep trying to get me to act differently?” Only in that moment did

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he realize that in every one of Owen’s suggestions about what he
wore, he’d made Harold feel like he needed to act like someone he
wasn’t.

“I don’t know.” Owen crossed his arms. He looked at his shoe. “I

thought I was helping you out.”

But Harold had built up a head of steam and was too angry to

really hear what Owen was saying. His heart was battering around
inside the cage of his chest. He wanted to grab Owen, and kiss him,
and fuck him. And he wanted to never talk to him again, all at the
same time. “Am I not good enough to be your friend? Or not hot
enough to be your boyfriend?”

Owen raised his voice so it sounded loud even among the noise of

the party. “I said, ‘I don’t know.’”

Harold turned away and walked toward the door. “Well, when you

figure it out—”

“No.” Owen didn’t let him leave. He kept pace at Harold’s side.

When they got to the door, he tried to open it.

But Harold batted his hand away and opened it himself. He

stormed outside, even though he was well aware that Owen’s friends
were watching the whole time.

“I’m not letting you run off for no reason.” Owen jogged down

the stairs at his side. He bumped into Harold, urging him toward a
darkened area around the edge of the building.

“It’s not ‘no reason.’” Harold went to the side of the building but

then rounded on Owen with his arms crossed. “I don’t know what you
want from me.” What could Owen possibly need him for? Harold was
gawky, uncoordinated. The only thing that he had to his credit was a
dick too giant to use for any reasonable purpose.

Owen raised his hands, as if he were surrendering to some

aggressive army rather than just talking to a nerd he could easily
crush in half. “Listen to me.” He pleaded with those pretty eyes.

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Darn it. Harold could never say no to him when he flashed that

puppy-dog face. Still, he turned partially away, so he wouldn’t be hit
with the full force of Owen’s handsomeness. “Fine. I’ll listen.”

“Okay.” Owen took a step closer. Too close. How was Harold

supposed to stay mad at him when he could smell the sweat on
Owen’s skin?

“So, what do you have to tell me?” Harold’s will was fading now

that they were away from the noise and the people. When it was only
the two of them, things were so simple.

“I want to tell you…” Owen paused, as if maybe he himself didn’t

even know. Exhaling, he said, “I like you. Really. You’re fun to hang
out with, and you turn me on like hell. But…I only decided to really
go for it with you a few hours ago.”

Harold waited for him to go on. But when Owen didn’t, he

unwrapped his arms slightly. “I know.” He couldn’t really blame
Owen for trying to keep most of his life the same until he figured
things out. But Harold felt like he was walking a tightrope. His
emotions were so high in the air and so precariously perched. There
was such a long way to fall. “But, didn’t you ever suspect you weren’t
one hundred percent straight before now?”

Owen let out another long sigh. He rotated and leaned back

against the fraternity’s wall. It was white shingled and couldn’t have
been very comfortable. “Of course I knew.” He lifted his hands in a
shrug. “You’re not even the first guy I fooled around with.”

“Yeah, I know.” Harold stepped to his side. Now that they weren’t

arguing anymore, he leaned in closer. Owen looked sad, so Harold
took his hand. “But…” He steeled himself to ask the question he
wanted even though he was scared of the answer. “Do you really want
to, y’know, keep going with me?” He wasn’t sure if he could say the
next part. Wasn’t sure, and yet he had to. “I don’t really want to share
you with other people. Not even girls.”

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He just didn’t have that in him. Harold knew a lot of gay men

were comfortable dating casually. But he couldn’t be that way—at
least not with Owen. “I’d want you to myself.”

Harold couldn’t believe he’d asked it. That he’d gone from being

willing to take scraps to demanding fidelity all in an afternoon. But
his heart couldn’t take this anymore.

“I know.” Owen looked him in the eye and seared him with his

gaze. “Of course I know, Har.” He leaned in and grabbed the nape of
Harold’s neck, like he had on the dance floor but with no girl between
them. Against Harold’s lips he said, “I just need time to get ready to
tell other people. A couple days. Can you trust me, though, that I’m
trying?”

His voice was so honest. His breath smelled so good. And Harold

wanted to believe Owen was doing his best. He wanted it so badly.

“Yeah.” Harold cupped Owen’s nape, ran his fingers through

Owen’s hair. It was so silky and smelled like coconut shampoo. “I can
try.”

“Good, because I see that brick in your pants.” Owen kissed him,

licking at the inside of his mouth. “You wanna use it?”

“What, to rub on girls’ bottoms?” Harold felt himself smile. He

couldn’t help it when Owen’s fingers were walking their way down
his belly and roaming over the ridge of his cock.

“Nah.” Owen deftly unfastened the buttons on his fly. “Maybe

you can do it on mine instead.”

My Fair Dork

Chapter Seven

Owen gave Harold a gentle squeeze. This was about the worst

place he could imagine to fool around. But he knew that he and
Harold needed it. They needed a time to reconnect. And he wanted to
reassure Harold that they were serious. Owen could understand why
Harold was freaking out at the party. He might have been confused
and pissed off, too, if Harold had started grinding on some other guy.

It wasn’t that neither of them could ever dance with anyone else

again. But for right now, things felt unsettled between them. Owen
wanted to go back inside, to dance with Harold and the girls—just be
friends having a good time. But he knew Harold needed something
more to go on. A reason to believe Owen liked him best.

“I want to try something.” He kissed his way down Harold’s neck,

licking the spot where he’d left the love bite.

“Is it fast? Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we are in a

public place.”

“Well, I’m guessing it’s as fast as a hand job. But I guess we’ll

have to try in order to find out.” He opened his pants and shoved them
down to his hips. Then Owen turned around and pushed his back into
Harold.

“What? I don’t have lube. And there’s no way you can—”
“I’m not asking you to fuck me. Just get your dick out and stick it

between my legs.” He’d been brainstorming whether this would work
the last couple times he and Harold had hooked up. Harold’s dick was
too big to fit in Owen’s mouth. But Owen had gotten the sense that
Harold would have liked something more than just a hand job.

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Owen felt like he had to give him something—some gift that

would let Harold know he was for real.

“Between your legs?” Harold asked. He poked his cockhead at the

backs of Owen’s thighs.

It felt good. Not as scary as Owen would have thought. Especially

once Harold started pushing forward, his hot, uncircumcised dick
sliding up under Owen’s balls and rubbing the underside of his cock.
Harold didn’t reach all the way up, not high enough that Owen could
jerk them off together like he wanted to. But he could tell by the
shallow way Harold was breathing that he was enjoying the hell out
of it.

“Omigod. Is this okay?” Harold palmed Owen’s pubic bone and

held him steady as he rubbed his cock in the warm space between
Owen’s legs.

Harold pressed a kiss right under Owen’s ear and wrapped his

fingers around Owen’s cock.

“Yeah.” Owen pushed into Harold’s hand then bent at the waist to

shove back onto Harold’s cock. The length between his legs seemed
to sizzle through his balls, like he was straddling a vibrator. “Yeah,
really good.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Harold couldn’t have sounded

more amazed if they were actually having sex.

“You never thought about doing it this way?” Owen arched his

neck around. He couldn’t see Harold’s face, but he wanted a hint of
what he was feeling, the expression behind the awe in his voice.

“Omigod, no.” Harold caught his mouth in a messy kiss. He

bucked against Owen’s back, all heat and want and desperation.
“Omigod, thank you.” He mouthed the pulse in Owen’s neck then
released Owen’s dick, licked his hand, and started stroking him again.

“I could do this forever,” Harold said into his hair.
Owen smiled. He was hard and looking forward to coming. But

there was also a relaxed feel to what they were doing. They’d both

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come a bunch of times just a few hours ago. Doing it again would feel
great. But either one of them could hold out as long as he wanted.

“Yeah, but as you mentioned before, we are in public.”
“You’re the one who suggested it.” Harold snickered against his

neck. He humped more forcefully but in a way that was playful.

Owen grabbed his arm and urged him to jack him faster. He was

getting so close…

“I’m starting to wonder if you have a thing for getting caught,”

Harold whispered in his ear. “Rubbing off with a mate from camp.
The two of you sneaking into the cabin when no one’s there. Knowing
the door doesn’t lock and a counselor could come in any second…”
Harold tapped right into Owen’s naughty little fetish, the one he’d had
wet dreams about for long after that summer when he was thirteen.

“Yeah? Would you jerk me off like that?” Owen twisted his face

around to give Harold a kiss. He’d never kissed that boy at camp and
always wished he had.

Harold was already doing it. Already sliding his big, strong cock

between Owen’s legs. But he played along. “Do you think they’re
coming?” he murmured in Owen’s ear. He’d slipped into a hint of
British accent, and Owen wasn’t sure if he’d done it because that’s
how he’d spoken when he was a kid or whether his accent only came
out when he was really excited.

Owen pushed his hips out farther. He didn’t think he’d ever be up

for getting penetrated. But the idea of being in a compromising
position in semipublic was hot enough that he felt his pre-cum coating
Harold’s hand.

It was slicker now. The same way it had gotten in the cabin when

he’d been breathing so fast and trying so hard to not be heard.

His head bent as if pushed by an invisible force, and he watched

Harold’s fists flying in the semidarkness. Fast as he would have done
himself, but hotter because it was another guy.

Owen held his breath, not wanting to make a sound. His cock was

so tight and sensitive, he could barely stand another stroke. It was

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almost raw from their afternoon together. But with another few sticky
rubs, Harold pushed him over the edge. And Owen bit his lip as he
came hard enough for it to hurt.

Harold released his dick while he was still coming. And Owen

held the jerking weight of it tight in his fist as Harold grabbed his hips
and started pounding into him.

He hadn’t realized how much Harold was holding back before.

But now that Harold was letting loose, the guy was rubbing so hard
between his legs he must have been scraping off skin. But Owen just
pushed his ass back, worked against Harold’s thrusts. Harold had
given him his fantasy, taken him back in time to the thing he’d always
wished he had, a kiss with the boy in the cabin.

The least Owen could do was allow Harold the same gift—to let

him imagine that he was pounding hard into Owen’s ass. Hell, any
guy’s ass. Because no matter what Harold did, he’d probably never
find a guy he could be as rough with as he wanted. But that didn’t
matter. What mattered wasn’t having the perfect anatomy or having
the perfect memory to look back on. It was finding someone who’d
try everything to make you happy.

“Eep!” someone said from nearby. Owen turned his head to see

Amy standing in the space between the two buildings.

And yeah, he’d fantasized about the threat of being caught. It had

been on his go-to mental playlist for ages. But the reality of seeing
Amy standing there cupping her eyes in horror was enough to make
him feel as if he’d never get turned on again.

“I’m sorry!” She bolted.
Harold draped over Owen’s back, probably trying to shield him

from view or maybe offer comfort. But whatever chivalry he’d meant
was eclipsed by the fact that his cock pulsed once and he spewed cum
between Owen’s legs.

Maybe he’d been too close to stop, maybe being seen had

somehow pushed him over the edge. But Owen didn’t give a fuck.

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He shoved off the wall and rounded on Harold. “What the fuck,

man?” Jizz ran down the inside of his leg. Owen fought a wave of
nausea at the feel of it. “Why didn’t you get off me?”

Harold blinked at him with his big, bewildered eyes. He pulled up

his pants. “What? Me? She’d already seen.”

Owen pulled off his sweatshirt and used it to mop off Harold’s

cum. Then he rushed to get his pants up. Maybe if he caught Amy
before she talked to anyone else, he could minimize the damage. He
wouldn’t lie, but maybe he could convince her not to tell anyone else.

“You were the one who wanted to do this,” Harold said, spitting

out the words.

Owen headed to the corner of the building to go back to the party.
“Where are you going?” Harold grabbed his shoulder.
“To catch up with Amy.” Owen didn’t look Harold’s direction. He

couldn’t handle seeing the miserable look in his eyes and knowing
he’d put it there. Owen wasn’t ready for this—any of this. He’d just
tell Amy he was drunk or playing a practical joke. He couldn’t handle
telling everyone he was gay. “You should probably wait for a few
moments to head back to the party. It would look better if we don’t go
in together.”

“No.” Harold stepped close to Owen’s back.
Owen could feel his heat, though he didn’t want to look.
“I…I can’t, Owen.” Harold’s voice cracked. “I can’t go in there

and lie. I’ll just sound stupid. I understand why you—”

Owen couldn’t wait around for Harold to deal with his

insecurities. He had a rumor to quash. He spoke over his shoulder,
though he didn’t turn around. “I’ve gotta go. Um…see ya in a bit.”

“Yeah, bye.” Harold’s words were angry but quiet. “Thanks for

nothing.”

* * * *

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The campus was dark as Harold made his way through the

buildings. Tears wet his cheeks, sliding down into his mouth. With an
angry hand, he wiped the wetness from his face.

He should have known this would happen. That Owen would

decide sooner or later that he didn’t want to be seen with him. And
yeah, Harold knew it was the gay thing. But, really—even when
Owen came out, was he going to want to be seen with a dork like
him?

Not likely.
Halfway to his dorm, he pulled out his cell phone. It wasn’t much

past eleven. He could call Tesha without worrying about waking her
up.

Harold held the phone to his ear and waited for her to pick up.
“Yeah?” Tesha answered, and the Muzak of the restaurant she

worked at played in the background.

“Hi, Tesh.” Harold tried to sound less miserable than he felt. He

went into his dorm and took the steps two at a time to get up to his
room. “You still at work?”

“Just getting off now.” She sighed. “How’s your night going?”
“Horrible.” Harold shut his dorm room door behind him and

pulled off his shirt before tucking his phone back to his ear. He stared
at himself in the mirror, trying to see himself for once without all the
trappings of high school, the spots that used to cover his back and
shoulders as well as his face. Harold looked at his chest and arms, saw
the hickey shining bright on his shoulder. He scrubbed a hand through
the crackly style of his hair. “Do you have time to go shopping with
me tomorrow?”

“Sure. Walmart, or do you want to drive out to the mall?”
“The mall. If you don’t mind giving me a ride.” Tesha had a car

and was really cool about giving him and Sebastian rides when they
wanted. But Harold didn’t want to be presumptuous.

“Nah, I don’t mind. Any place in particular you’re hoping to hit?”
“I want to get a haircut.”

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“Ooh, fun!” Tesha perked up. “I know a great place. I’ll see if

they’re open, and I’ll make you an appointment.”

“Thanks.” Harold peered in the mirror and caught sight of his love

bite. If a guy like Owen could be driven to bite him once, then Harold
couldn’t be that hard on the eyes.

“So, meet you at the Student Union after lunch?” Tesha asked.
He lifted his chin and gazed at his hips and the way the tighter

jeans clung. So Owen had wanted him to change his image? So he
wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with Harold in public? Well,
Harold was going to give him exactly what he wanted. “You’re the
best, Tesh.” He let out a shaky breath. Harold had three hundred
dollars’ worth of Christmas cash from his grandmother, and he wasn’t
afraid to use it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Daisy Harris

Chapter Eight

“Dude, it’s not so bad.” Tank leaned across their table in the

cafeteria so he could get close enough that they wouldn’t be
overheard. “At least everyone knows now. Saves you the trouble of
telling them.”

Owen frowned at his coffee. He’d gotten several plates of food

out of habit but hadn’t had the appetite to eat any of it. He’d tracked
down Amy at the party and blurted out a half-assed denial. Saying he
and Harold had just been joking around, pretending to be making out
just to freak her out.

It had been obvious from the blank look on Amy’s face that she

hadn’t believed a word of it. And it had been clear from how her
friends whispered to each other and Jack wouldn’t meet his eyes that
she’d been lying when she said she hadn’t told anyone.

Owen was fucked. It was the worst-case scenario. Everyone knew

he was making out with a guy, and they knew he’d denied it. He’d
flip-flopped again, just like in high school. And if he told Jack and the
girls he’d lied, he’d look like an even bigger dork.

“They don’t even know.” He shook his head sadly. “I told Amy it

wasn’t what it looked like.”

Tank coughed into his hand. It looked suspiciously like a laugh.

“And what did it look like?” There was a sparkle in his eyes, like he
thought the whole thing was a big fat joke. But at least he was still
talking to Owen.

All Owen’s straight friends seemed to be keeping their distance.

Owen wondered if that was partially his imagination. It was just that

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he couldn’t force himself to act casual when he didn’t know what his
friends knew about him.

“Well, it looked like Harold was fucking me.” That was the worst

part. Harold hadn’t actually been fucking him. But it’s not like Owen
could go around explaining to people how Harold had just been
rubbing off between his legs. Owen didn’t even know why it mattered
to him that other people not think he was getting fucked. But it did. It
mattered to him a lot.

“Wow.” Tank bit off a piece of a breakfast sandwich. Around his

mouthful, he said, “I’m impressed.”

Owen looked up from his food, confused. “Why?”
Tank shrugged his enormous shoulders. “’Cause, this may just be

a rumor, but I heard your boy Harold is hung like a stallion.”

“He’s not…I mean, he didn’t.” His face was so hot he felt like it

was sunburned. Owen ate a forkful of scrambled eggs, though he
didn’t taste them. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

Tank was a senior, and Holsum wasn’t that small of a school.

Anyway, it was only Tuesday. Even if Amy had said something to her
friends on Saturday night, how fast could news travel?

“Tyler was at the lab last night, and he was telling Cal how he’d

read about it on Facebook.”

Owen wanted to die.
Harold thought he was a freak because he had an enormous dick?

Well, he should see how it felt to have everyone think he was getting
fucked by one.

“It doesn’t matter,” Owen said. “We weren’t fucking, anyway.”
“Okay.” Tank rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I’d judge you for it.”
“Oh, please.” Owen’s frustration spiked. He knew how the guys

on the football team thought about gay guys and about gay guys who
took it up the ass in particular. Sure, they’d accepted that Tank was
gay. At least, most of them had. But he’d seen the skinny Indian guy
Tank was dating. He knew all the guys on the team thought he was
the “man” in the relationship. “Like you’d ever let Raj do you.”

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Tank snorted some of the juice he was drinking. He coughed a

little to clear it from his throat, but it was clear he was laughing. “Are
you kidding? Of course I do.”

Owen hadn’t thought he could get any more embarrassed than he

was already. But the visual of Tank bent over and getting pounded by
his thinner and more effeminate boyfriend was seared in Owen’s
brain. “You’re kidding.”

“Nah. Not at all.” He shrugged and went back to eating. “Not sure

you’d find too many gay guys who hadn’t at least tried it.”

“Huh.” Owen felt marginally better. Not about the fact that

everyone suspected he was queer now. But at least he didn’t feel like
a freak for letting Harold do what he’d done. Owen wasn’t sure he’d
ever want a cock in him for real. But neither was he ruling it out
completely. He guessed he liked Tank’s way of looking at things.
That everyone tried out different stuff until they figured out what they
liked.

Well, mostly everyone. Harold might be an exception.
“I don’t think Harold’s ever gonna be able to fuck someone.” It

made Owen sad to think about it, but Harold was probably right that
his size was going to be an issue. “I sort of feel bad for the guy.”

“Really?” Tank’s eyes went wide. “How big is he?” He seemed

more excited than sympathetic.

Owen couldn’t fault him for it. He’d felt the same way about

Harold’s dick at first. “Fucking big.” Owen winced, thinking about
the things that Harold was absolutely not going to be able to do.
“Like…” He surreptitiously held up his hands about a foot apart,
illustrating the problem. “And also like…” He made a C shape with
each of his hands and brought them together to an approximation of
Harold’s girth. It felt like an obscene gesture.

Tank, however, wasn’t at all put off. He looked thoroughly

impressed and let out a low whistle. “You, son, have hit the jackpot.”

“Yeah, I dunno.” Owen gave up on trying to eat and pushed his

tray away. “I’m not sure where things are going with us.” Owen liked

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Harold, liked him so much his gut hurt at the idea of them not being
close anymore. But Owen had never had anything to be this
embarrassed about. It was horrible, thinking everyone was looking at
him all the time, wondering what he was doing in bed.

Owen had always been good looking and sporty—the type of guy

it was easy to like and no one ever thought twice about. He didn’t
know if he could handle transitioning to the type of guy who made
people wonder.

“Well, you better decide fast. Because if this rumor gets around,

your boyfriend is going to be fighting them off with a blowtorch.”

“Harold?” Owen chuckled under his breath. He liked Harold like

he’d never liked anyone before. He loved Harold’s skin and the prissy
way he talked sometimes when he got mad. But Owen wasn’t sure
Harold would have the balls to go to another gay party if Owen
wasn’t there to force him. “Poor guy, I really don’t think I have to
worry about that.”

Tank’s eyes flickered across the cafeteria. He cocked his

eyebrows and pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Owen looked over his shoulder to see what Tank was looking at.

There was a hot guy in lime-green skinny jeans standing with his tray
next to a girl with a coiled afro and that Sebastian kid Owen had met
at the cafeteria over the weekend.

He blinked. And his mouth fell open.
Harold looked fucking hot. And not in the way he’d looked better

when he’d been wearing Owen’s clothes. Sure, the narrower Levi’s
and smaller shirts had looked better than Harold’s baggy, clashing
patterns.

But the outfit Harold was wearing was on a different level

altogether. No one in their right mind would have thought he was
straight, first off. His hair was different—shaved in the back and on
the sides, but left long enough in front to fall over his eyes. His shirt
was an off-white V-neck, cut close enough to hug his narrow waist. It
ended right where his jeans began.

Daisy Harris

And the jeans—they should have been illegal. Harold’s butt was

narrow, but the jeans hugged him in a way that made Owen lick his
lips. And then Harold turned to the side as he wove his way between
cafeteria tables. Owen caught a glimpse of his front—his package was
obvious and impressive since his jeans didn’t leave a hair of extra
space.

Owen dragged his gaze away from Harold’s body, not wanting

anyone to notice him staring at some dude’s crotch. But then he
noticed a flash of silver in Harold’s ears.

Had he gotten his ears pierced?
The thought of twin hoops through his earlobes set up a weird

circuit between Owen’s mind and his dick, and he fell into a crazy,
messed-up loop of imaginings. The jewelry was thick, a decent gauge.
It looked feminine and butch all at the same time.

And the dichotomy was hot enough that Owen had to force

himself not to get up and follow Harold across the room.

“I can think of a few cock jockeys who’d be willing to take on

that challenge.” Tank looked Harold over appreciatively. “The boy
cleans up nice.”

Owen frowned at his breakfast.
Harold hadn’t even looked his direction. And he must have known

Owen was watching him. Hell, a whole table of freshman girls by the
window were watching him. “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Owen
mumbled.

“So why don’t you go over?” Tank shuffled the plates on his tray

into a pile and dropped his napkin on top. He swung a leg over the
bench. “You guys have a fight or something?”

“I dunno.” He knew Harold had been mad at him the other night.

But he wasn’t sure whether it counted as a fight. Owen looked over at
Harold again, who looked like a rock star, all heroin-chic. “He’s not
even looking at me.”

Tank rolled his eyes and stood up. “Geez, man. You weren’t

scared to talk to him this weekend. So what’s the issue now?”

My Fair Dork

That was before everyone thought I was gay.
Owen didn’t say that part out loud. “Fine, I’ll go over.”
“Good idea.” Tank walked off to bus his plates, and Owen got up

to follow.

But his food was pretty much uneaten, so he figured he could

pretend to just be heading over to eat with Harold. He’d just done that
the other day. Owen wished it didn’t suddenly feel so difficult.

* * * *

“Is he still watching?” Harold asked out of the corner of his

mouth. He didn’t dare peek at Owen’s table again. But he could have
sworn he felt Owen’s eyes on him as soon as he’d cleared the cash
registers.

“He’s coming over,” Tesha hissed in his ear. “Told you you

looked hot.” Tesha had been gloating for the past twenty-four hours
over Harold’s makeover.

The haircut still felt too flashy, but Harold had to admit that he

really liked the earrings. Maybe he’d work on growing out his hair
and work the gender-bendy angle.

It hadn’t occurred to him until he’d seen those pewter hoops

through his skin that the soft, quiet thing that had made him such an
outcast in junior high and high school might be an actual turn-on for
some guys.

Some girls, too, if the reaction he’d been getting since his haircut

was any indication. That Amy girl had chased him down between
classes and hung on his arm for a solid five minutes. And Harold
knew for a fact that she already knew he was gay.

“Dumb jock at eight o’clock.” Sebastian frowned into his

cornflakes. He’d cheered up briefly when he’d heard about Owen and
Harold’s fight. But now he watched Owen as if he could shoot
daggers out his eyes.

Daisy Harris

Harold had never considered that maybe Sebastian had a thing for

him. Before hooking up with Owen, he had never realized anyone
found him attractive. But suddenly the world was opening up for him,
and he saw it everywhere—in the lift of a girl’s eyebrow or a guy’s
assessing stare on his hips. Some people were interested in him, at
least a little. And Harold felt a weird twist of guilt that he’d never
realized Sebastian might have been one of them.

But as much as he liked Seb, he wasn’t attracted to him.
“Hey.” Owen stepped up behind him. “Um, do you mind if I join

you guys?”

“Sure,” Tesha answered for him, probably trying to protect

Harold’s newfound veneer of cool.

He was glad she’d done it. He was so nervous, he worried sweat

might stain under the arms of his T-shirt. And his tongue took on that
familiar heaviness. Funny, he had been able to talk to Owen just fine a
couple days ago. Harold had thought the time apart would be good—
give Owen a chance to figure out the whole gay thing and Harold
some time to get his act together without Owen doing it for him.

But instead of freer, Harold felt like they were back to the

beginning. Just wearing different clothes.

“Hey, Har. Like the haircut.” Owen tossed his leg over the bench

and took a seat next to him.

“Thanks,” Harold answered. But his insides were screaming Why

isn’t this easier? He was supposed to be cool now. He’d had his dick
between Owen’s legs, for Pete’s sake. And he looked good. He knew
he did. So why couldn’t he just talk to Owen like a normal person?
Like they had before. “Got it at the mall yesterday,” he said, like an
idiot.

“Cool. Like the earrings, too. I tried to pierce my ear in tenth

grade. But I was doing it with the mirror and watching the needle go
in…” Owen spoke quickly, like maybe he was as nervous as Harold
felt. “Guess I can’t really deal with needles, because I almost fainted.”

My Fair Dork

Harold tried to laugh, but the sound wouldn’t get past his lips. He

couldn’t bring himself to meet Owen’s eyes, either. Although he felt
Owen’s glances like kisses on his cheek and neck.

Maybe the problem was that if they got back to talking like

normal, things would go back to how they were before—with Owen
calling all the shots and Harold hanging on his every suggestion.

As much as Harold wanted him and was halfway in love with him,

he couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t wait in his room, or at the edge
of the party, for Owen to decide the time was right. “Too bad.”
Harold had to force his voice above a whisper. “Maybe someone else
could have helped you get it in.”

“Yeah,” Owen said. But then he looked behind him.
An older student, the one who’d been watching Owen dance at the

Eta Xi party, was walking toward the table. His strides were sure and
his face intense. There was little doubt he was on his way over to pick
up where he’d left off at the party.

And Harold was right back where he’d started. Sitting there while

Owen got hit on by everyone.

“Hey there.” The guy nodded at the table in general.
Then, to Harold’s shock, he turned and said, “Harold, right?” The

guy looked at him with expectation over the tops of his expensive-
looking glasses. His gaze was piercing and teasing all in one. And his
lips hinted at a smirk. He was obviously a guy with lots of experience,
both in the bedroom and out. And although Harold knew he was
supposed to be flattered, mostly he just felt scared.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound like he wasn’t a

thirteen-year-old in the midst of his voice changing. “Yeah, hi.” He
wiped his hand on his jeans, hoping it was only sweat on his palm, not
something from his breakfast. Harold held out his hand. “Hi.”

“Neil.” The guy’s lips curved up into a smile—but only on one

side. “Saw you at the Eta Xi party the other night.”

Harold blinked up at the guy. Was this what people were talking

about when they said a guy was cruising? Was he being cruised? By

Daisy Harris

an upperclassman? Harold couldn’t believe it. He felt giddy. Neil
wasn’t his type, but that didn’t really matter.

Neil was handsome. And older. And he’d chosen to look at

Harold, when Owen was sitting right there.

“Yeah, I was there.” Harold lowered his voice a little. He may

even have slipped into the way he spoke with his mother—with a hint
of that accent that Owen had said guys and girls found hot.

“Cool. You should come to Haverstein’s on Friday. A lot of the

same people. And it should be fun.”

Harold’s mind reeled. That was code, right? For another gay

party? He wasn’t sure whether Neil was asking him to go as a date or
just extending the general hand of hey-we’re-both-hot friendship. But
Harold didn’t care, because no one had ever asked him to a party
before. At least, no one other than Seb, Tesha, and Owen.

“Sure, sounds awesome.” Harold smiled. He was surprised at how

easily his tongue moved in his mouth. It may have been the effect of
the older guy’s steady appreciation that had done it. “Maybe I’ll see
you there.”

Was he flirting? Harold thought maybe he was. If the way Neil’s

eyes got wider was any indication, he was doing a pretty good job of
it, too.

“I’m heading out.” Seb stood up with an abrupt gruffness. If he’d

been pissy about Owen sitting at their table, that was nothing
compared to the fury carving gorges into his monobrow now. “See ya
around.”

He was never so harsh with Harold, not even when he’d been

grumpy about him being friends with Owen.

“You want to come along, too?” Harold asked Owen. He felt

damn cool being the one to ask Owen along to something. He
watched Owen’s expression, excited to see him impressed.

But Owen was shoving his food around his plate with his fork.

“Yeah. I guess,” he said.

Harold couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong.

My Fair Dork

“Uh, great.” Neil backed up a step. He hitched his backpack

higher on his shoulder. “Hey, do you take any film classes?”

“No.” Harold shook his head. He didn’t know yet what he planned

to do to meet his arts credits. But film had never been on his radar.

“You should think about it. I TA a few. If you want some advice

on the best ones, we could meet up sometime.”

Ohmigod. Neil was asking Harold out. Harold was so surprised

that he almost agreed to meet with the guy. Not that he wanted to. At
least, not exactly. But it felt nice to have someone interested in him
that was out and confident. It made Harold feel like a man.

“I should go, too.” Owen pushed out of his seat and stood, even

though Harold knew he’d hardly eaten any of his food.

“No, you don’t have to.” Harold finally found his voice as he was

looking up at Owen’s face. He couldn’t understand why Owen was
walking away.

Harold had done all this stuff, made all these changes. Owen was

supposed to like him better now, not worse. “Stay.”

He felt Neil’s stare at his side and wished the guy would just go

away. Geez, Harold wished everyone would go away and let him talk
to Owen alone. Though he had no assurance that if that happened his
damn tongue wouldn’t get in the way again.

“Nah. I’ve got class.” Owen didn’t meet his eyes as he started in

the direction of the bus trays in the corner.

And Harold watched him go, wondering how to get Owen to look

his way again, what he could have that would make Owen take
interest like he had in the first place. Harold was more lost than ever,
and he wished Neil would stop staring at him so he could ask Tesha’s
advice in peace.

Tesha leaned into his ear to murmur, “Well, you really hosed that

one.”

But Harold couldn’t ask what she meant, because Neil slid into

the bench Owen had just vacated and started talking his ear off about
Holsum College’s film department.

All Harold could do was watch the boy he’d loved all freshman

year climbing the stairs to leave.

Daisy Harris

Chapter Nine

“Dude, I can’t believe you’re going to that fag party with your fag

boyfriend.” Jack lounged on his bed, flipping through his textbook
like it had done him some horrible disservice.

Owen didn’t know why he’d gotten so homophobic all of a

sudden. Of all of the people Owen had worried about finding out he
liked boys sometimes, Jack wasn’t the one he’d been the most
stressed about.

Not that he had a boyfriend. Not anymore.
Shit, he should just tell Harold he was sorry. Go down the hall and

try to make it up to him. Just a week ago, Harold had been totally into
him, willing to do whatever Owen wanted. And now Harold treated
him like a casual friend. All because Owen had been too much of a
wuss to tell him how he felt. Hell, to show him how he felt.

“Can you let it go with the fag talk?” he snapped at Jack. It was

ridiculous how his roommate did that. No one at school used words
like that, and at freshman orientation, the counselors and RAs had laid
into them about the school’s anti-bullying policy. So Owen didn’t see
why Jack thought it was okay to throw around slurs. “Way to be
homophobic, man.”

“So…you are, then? A homo?” Jack narrowed his eyes, staring at

Owen with more disgust than Owen would have expected from a guy
he’d been on good terms with all year.

“Well, not exactly. I mean, I guess I’m pretty much bi.” That was

the best way he could explain it, even to himself. He liked Harold,
and he liked dicks. And yeah, he’d liked that kid in camp all those
years ago, but Owen felt the same way about girls sometimes. He

My Fair Dork

wasn’t attracted to every single girl he met—only to some of them.
He didn’t know if he fell smack-dab in the middle of that scale they
talked about in freshman orientation or whether he was just having a
big fat case of denial.

But he knew he liked Harold. Hell, he liked Harold more than

anyone else in school. More than anyone he’d met in his life. He
thought about Harold all the time, wondering what he’d think about
some stupid thing from class or what deadpan joke he’d make about
something someone would say.

He wanted to be with Harold every minute of the day. That

probably made him gay. But Owen wasn’t sure. All he knew was he
wanted to be with Harold, and he didn’t care about anyone else.

“Well, fuck, man. Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been living with

you all year.”

Owen wondered what Jack was talking about. “Are you upset

because I like guys? Or because you didn’t know about it?”

“I dunno.” Jack grabbed another textbook, though it was clear he

was just slamming them around, not reading them. “Both, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” Owen went to his drawers

and started pulling out clothes to wear to the stupid party he’d agreed
to go to with Harold. He didn’t even know why Harold had asked
him—Harold had been making eyes at that creepy older guy the
whole time.

What, did he want Owen there as his helper? Or his wingman? It

was a sad statement about how much Owen liked Harold that he was
willing to go with him to a party even if they weren’t dating.

After all, it wasn’t like Owen wanted to hook up with anyone else

there. Hell, if he wasn’t going to be with Harold, he didn’t see the
point of hanging with the gay crowd at all.

“I’m not even sure if me and Harold are going to date.” He hated

saying it out loud. There was some part of him—even though he hated
to admit it—that had assumed Harold would be there whenever Owen
wanted.

Daisy Harris

It had seemed like all Owen had to do was curl his finger or send a

text message and Harold would be there, all nervous energy and pink
cheeks. Trying to cover the hard-on in his pants.

Owen felt like shit for wishing things were still like that between

them.

“Why not?” Jack looked up from his books.
“What, now you want me to date a dude?” Owen pulled off his

shirt in order to change into another one. And although he’d never had
a sexual thought about Jack in his life, he moved partway behind his
dresser to change.

“I don’t give a shit one way or another. I’d just thought Harold

would have been psyched.” He shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

Owen guessed that what he’d said was akin to saying Owen was

good looking. And yeah, a dude like Jack would think that made him
sound gay.

“Harold’s got a lot more going for him than most people give him

credit for.” Owen pulled on his shirt. It matched his eyes, and he
remembered how Harold had licked his lips the first time he’d seen
Owen wearing it. But as Owen looked in the mirror he wondered if
now it was too boring. Maybe this new rock-star version of Harold
would want Owen to be flashier or more obvious.

“What, you mean because of his dick?” Jack asked.
“What?” Owen spun around. This was ridiculous. How small was

this school? “Where the hell did you hear—?”

“Brittany wouldn’t shut up about it.” He frowned as he said it, as

if maybe he were jealous of Harold getting so much attention. “She
and the girls couldn’t let it go all night.”

Yeah, he was jealous. “Well, either way, that’s not what I’m

talking about.” Owen dropped his jeans. He was wearing a pair of
plain white briefs and really wanted to change into something
snazzier, maybe his blue boxer briefs with the lettering on the
waistband. He wondered if he’d even be in a position for Harold to
see them then realized he just needed to wear his jeans low slung.

My Fair Dork

“I like him. He’s a good guy.” Owen felt his cheeks heat. He

didn’t normally talk about feelings and stuff with his roommate.

“To each his own, man.” Jack got off his bed. He kept his eyes

averted while Owen changed but went over to his closet and opened
the door.

Pulling up his jeans, Owen asked, “Hey, where you going

tonight?” Whatever weirdness Jack had had about Owen being gay, or
bi, or whatever must not have been that serious, because the energy
between them had settled down. And Jack was acting more normal.

“Same party you are, right? Charley Horse is playing.” Jack

wasn’t huge into the music scene, so Owen raised his eyebrows in
question.

Jack shrugged. The twitch of his mouth was shy. “Brittany asked

me to go. We’ve been hanging out a little.”

Owen smiled. Well, that explained his roommate’s decent mood.

Jack hadn’t had a girlfriend since fall semester. And that had only
lasted a couple weeks.

“Of course, she’s going because Harold was talking it up.” Jack

pulled off his shirt a little forcefully.

If Harold knew how jealous he’d inadvertently made Jack, he’d

think it was funny.

“Harold invited her?” This whole thing was getting too

complicated. Owen couldn’t tell if Harold had been flirting with the
girl Jack was hoping to date or whether he was just inviting everyone.

“What’s up?” Jack asked.
Owen closed his mouth, realizing he’d been staring off into space.

“Nothing. I just…” Man, he wished he were hanging out with the
girls. They were easy to talk to about relationship stuff. But
unfortunately, Jack was the only one around. “I can’t get a bead on
him.” Owen picked up his phone and thought about texting Harold.
But Harold hadn’t texted all week. And Owen was too unsure about
things to put himself out there again. “I don’t know if he’s still into
me.”

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“For fuck’s sake.” Jack punched Owen in the arm as he passed to

get to his bookshelves. Then he picked up his deodorant and shoved it
up his shirt to get to his armpits. “Just talk to the guy. Or ask if he
wants you to suck him off. What the hell?”

“You don’t get it…”
Jack sighed. “I get it perfectly. You’re used to everyone liking

you. Like girls falling all over themselves to date you. And guys
wanting to hang out with you all the time.”

Owen frowned. He hated that his roommate was right. “Not

everyone,” he grumbled.

“Well, close enough.” Jack shoved his wallet in his back pocket.

Then he peered in the mirror and mussed his hair. “And now this
guy’s actually making you work for it. And maybe you like him
enough to try.”

That hit a little too close to home, and Owen crossed his arms. His

older sister had said something similar to him right around the time
she went away to college. Emma had looked at him sadly and said
something to the same effect—that he’d never known what it was like
to have to work for other people’s attention.

He’d thought she was exaggerating, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“I did try.” He’d gone out of his way to hang out with Harold,

danced with him. Owen had put himself out there plenty.

“And did it work?”
Owen couldn’t help but smile. He remembered Harold’s

breathless kisses. His warm body pressed close. “Yeah. For a while.
But then…” Well, then Owen had put what other people thought
above Harold. And for the stupidest reason ever, because as Harold
had so deftly pointed out, Owen had been the one to suggest they
make out in public.

“Well, then keep trying, dumb ass.” Jack headed toward the door.
“You’re going already?” Owen watched him. It was only eight

thirty.

My Fair Dork

101

“Yeah, meeting up with Brittany for a pregame.” He waggled his

eyebrows, clearly hoping that they were going to do more together
than get drunk before they hit the party.

“Have fun.”
Owen lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He could text

Harold and see what he was doing. Harold’s room was only on the
other side of the hall. But Owen had a feeling that if he tried to go
over, Harold would say something about Owen only talking to him
when they were in private.

No, he was going to have to win Harold over where everyone

could see. Owen checked the time on his phone again. He could head
over to the party already if he wanted. It wouldn’t be going yet, but
maybe he could offer to help set up, keep an eye out for Harold.

With a steadying breath, Owen rolled out of bed. He had a plan

and a mission. Harold had liked him before, and he’d like him again.
And Owen would spend all night if he had to making sure it
happened.

* * * *

The lights were brighter than Harold had thought they’d be as he

walked into the party.

At his side, Tesha leaned to his ear. “You see him?”
Harold spotted Owen near the stage, duct-taping some cords

together. And though Harold had been planning to play it cool and
ignore him, when Owen looked up and smiled, Harold’s knees went
weak.

“He looks happy to see you.” She was staring at the same spot

Harold was, able to see because she was wearing platform shoes.

“I know.” Harold grinned to his ears.
The party was in full swing around them, and it was an interesting

mix. The band had drawn a mixed crowd of students, even though the
party was being hosted by the Queer Student Alliance.

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Harold made his way around the edge of the room to where Owen

was standing. It was funny. Before, he would have waited for Owen
to come to him. But Harold felt like he was floating, pulled in by the
draw of Owen’s eyes. And the promise he saw flickering that Owen
might not push him away when he got there.

“Hey,” Owen said when Harold was a couple feet away. He

smiled brighter and held out a hand. “You want to dance?”

There was fun and teasing in his eyes. And something deeper, too.

If they danced here—out in the open—Owen was admitting to the
world they were a couple or at least had a chance of becoming a
couple.

Harold couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.
“Yeah. Of course.” His fingers touched Owen’s, and that was

almost enough to make his lip tremble. But then Owen pulled him in
closer, so they were an inch from touching.

Owen put his hands on Harold’s sides, the way he might dance

with a girl at a junior high prom.

Smiling, Harold did the same—but he draped his arms around

Owen’s shoulders. It was a funny position, since Harold was taller.
And he switched his hands around, one on Owen’s shoulder and one
to his hip, while Owen shifted his hold to match what Harold was
doing.

“Sorry.” Harold winced. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

They swayed side to side, completely different from how the rest of
the students were bumping and grinding or flat-out moshing against
one another.

Someone bumped into Owen’s back, pressing his and Harold’s

torsos together. But with a startled look, Owen eased back to get more
space between them.

Harold wanted to ask if Owen was okay with this—the dancing in

public. But he didn’t want to ruin things by pointing out the obvious.
That maybe Owen wasn’t ready to date a guy.

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103

A hand landed on Harold’s back, stroking between his shoulder

blades, and Harold twisted his neck around to see who it was.

“Hey, you made it.” Neil rolled his eyes over Harold’s body in a

way that suggested he might have had a few drinks.

“Yeah.” Harold tried to ignore the eye rape and be nice. After all,

Neil had invited him to the party. “Great band.” He hoped he didn’t
sound too lame.

“Want to dance?” Neil wrapped a suggestive hand around

Harold’s waist. His touch must have intersected with Owen’s, but
Neil acted like Owen wasn’t even there.

However, Owen shrank out of Harold’s hold. “Uh, yeah. I don’t

mind.” Owen shrugged, his eyes downcast.

Harold stared at him, hurt battling with anger. Was Owen just

going to walk away? Right when they were together for the first time
in days?

“Thanks, man.” Neil didn’t look at Owen, just pulled Harold into

an embrace and started moving against him.

Over Neil’s shoulder, Harold watched Owen’s back. He was

pissed. So fucking pissed that Owen was doing this to him. He’d
changed his clothes and his hair and attitude. He’d done everything to
get Owen to like him. But Owen was going to throw that all away
because he was what—scared?

Well, Harold was scared, too. He spent his whole life scared. And

he wasn’t standing for Owen blowing him off.

“Ooh, baby.” Neil thrust into Harold’s hip.
Harold hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten a hard-on. Between

watching Owen walking away and being angry, he’d been more
focused on what he wanted than on what his body was doing.

But Neil noticed, and he was winding a hand down Harold’s body

to cup his dick. “That’s an impressive tool you got there.”

“Yeah.” Harold stepped away, pushing Neil off him. With a

dismissive look, he said, “It is.”

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Harold wound through the dance floor, chasing Owen’s retreating

form. When he got close enough to reach him, he grabbed Owen’s
wrist and wrenched him around.

“What?” Owen squinted in confusion.
Harold sealed their mouths together and grabbed his back. He

could feel Owen tensing, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next, but
Harold didn’t let up. He wouldn’t. He wanted Owen more than he’d
ever wanted anything in his life. And though Harold never let himself
want things he wasn’t sure if he could get, this was different. He was
willing to risk getting hurt, risk everything, for a chance of standing
next to Owen. In the cafeteria, in the dorms, at parties. It didn’t
matter. He wanted them together.

After a long moment, Owen softened, kissing him back.
They swayed a little, and Owen’s hands rose up to Harold’s

shoulders, bending him so they could keep kissing.

Without having to think, Harold reached down and palmed the

place where Owen’s lower back curved out into his hips. Harold
hadn’t meant to grind on him. Not now, when their kiss had slowed to
gentle pecks and soft nuzzling. But Harold couldn’t help pulling him
closer. And if that meant their dicks brushed together, well, that was
an added bonus.

“Mmm,” Owen whispered in his ear. It was obvious he was still a

little awkward dancing so close in front of people, since he kept his
face hidden in Harold’s neck. Still, Owen surreptitiously thrust
against his hips. “That all for me?”

Harold grinned. He buried his blush in Owen’s shoulder. “Yeah,”

he whispered. His heart was thudding so hard and strong, Harold
wondered if Owen could feel it. “Only for you.”

He could feel Owen’s smile on his neck, his breath as he laughed

across Harold’s skin.

Over Owen’s shoulder, he could just make out Tesha grinning at

him like a proud mother. And near her, the girls from the party the
other night were hanging out with Owen’s roommate, Jack.

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“Hey, how did he take the news?” Harold pulled back far enough

to check Owen’s expression. “Your roommate?”

“Eh, you know.” Owen shrugged. He didn’t seem able to keep the

smile off his face any more than Harold could. “I think he’ll get over
it. As long as he doesn’t have to deal with hearing any gory details.”

Harold had been pretty happy with what they’d done in bed so far,

but the thought of gory details made him wonder if Owen felt the
same way. “You know, I don’t expect you to…” He let the words
float out between them, even though his dick gave a desperate throb
against Owen’s belly.

“I know.” Owen shifted how he was dancing, getting a flirtatious

hip motion in the mix. He must have gotten tired of the prom-style
dancing and was eager to show off, as usual. “I’m sure we’ll figure it
out.”

“Yeah.” Harold hoped his smile wasn’t too nervous. He’d

practiced on himself a little, at least with his fingers. He’d always
figured that he’d have to be on the receiving end of sex. But now that
the reality was staring in his face, dancing like Adam Levine and
Tatum Channing mixed together, he was a little nervous.

Unfortunately, he was also so aroused he wasn’t sure they’d make

it home before ripping each other’s clothes off.

And they were not hooking up between buildings again. Not if

Harold had any say in it.

“Can we go home?” Harold shouted over the music.
Owen tilted his head so the lights glinted off his highlights. But

his brown eyes were wide with concern. “You’re not having fun?”

Harold pinched his lips. “I am.” He darted a look to the front of

Owen’s jeans. “I’m just a little…”

The slow smile that spread over Owen’s face was so sexy Harold

began to rethink fooling around between buildings.

“Sure thing.” Owen took his hand and led him off the dance floor.

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Harold watched his body move, the way Owen’s butt flexed as he

walked. Nerves twisted his insides, but he wanted to do it so badly—
to lose his virginity, or at least half of it, to Owen tonight.

Owen rubbed a thumb over Harold’s palm as they walked, but he

didn’t speak. Not until they were in the dorm and Owen gave him a
husky, “You wanna do it in your room?”

“Yeah.” Harold knew it meant get off, not necessarily the big it.

But Harold still shivered from his shoulders to his toes. “Come in.”

His fingers shook on the handle, but he got his door open. And

maybe Owen had meant the big it, because he was pressed into
Harold’s back the second they’d closed the door.

He pushed Harold’s shirt up and over his head. Unzipped Harold’s

fly and eased down his pants. Harold’s dick bobbed up, hard as it had
ever been, lifting from between his legs.

Owen left Harold’s pants pooled around his calves, so Harold

couldn’t move much. But somehow that made it better. He was totally
naked except for his feet, and that last bit of clothing made him feel
all the more exposed.

“What do you want me to do?” Owen asked. He jacked Harold off

as he said it, and his voice was teasing and light.

Harold kicked off his pant legs. This wasn’t going to work unless

they could both move freely. He turned around and pulled Owen into
his chest. After a messy kiss, he looked right in Owen’s eyes. “I want
you to make love to me.”

He knew it sounded sappy, and Harold didn’t care.
“Of course I will.” Just like always, Owen didn’t tease him. He

just smiled up at him with his deep, dark eyes.

“Okay.” Harold worked Owen’s pants open. He didn’t really

know what he was doing but knew that sex would work better if
Owen was out of his clothes.

Owen’s dick filled his hand, hot and perfect. And before Harold

knew what he was doing, he’d gone down to his knees to suck Owen
into his mouth. It felt thick and good. Hard enough to show Owen’s

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excitement. The salty brine of pre-cum exploded on Harold’s tongue,
washing away his nervousness.

But Owen caught him under the shoulders. “I’m not gonna make

it long if you keep doing that.” He pushed Harold onto the bed in a
playful shove and dragged his shirt off. Then, buck-naked and
smiling, Owen hopped onto the bed.

“So, this isn’t too different than with a girl, right?” He rubbed up

next to Harold, hand going to Harold’s chest, his dick, his balls. Owen
kissed Harold’s jaw and then brushed his lips across Harold’s mouth.

“Um, not exactly.” Harold liked that Owen was going full steam

ahead. And since Owen had had plenty of sex with girls, he didn’t
seem too scared of what they were planning. But Harold had done
some research, and he doubted Owen, who’d only decided to be gay
five minutes ago, would have been that thorough. “You have to use
lube.”

He wondered if he could die of embarrassment. Just saying that

much made him feel like he would burst into flames.

“Well, I knew that.” Owen snickered against his neck, working his

way up to Harold’s ear.

“Oh, and don’t put your mouth on my earrings.”
Owen lifted his head and frowned. Apparently, he’d been

planning to do exactly that. “They hurt?”

“No. Just healing. Don’t want to get an infection.” Omigod.

Harold must have sounded like the biggest nerd, being worried about
bacteria at a time like this.

But Owen just pressed a kiss onto his mouth. “Okay.” He kissed

lower, over Harold’s belly. And when Harold figured out where he
was going, he held his breath.

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“Have you, um, ever tried anything on yourself?” Owen lapped at

Harold’s cap. He held his root, stroking up and down soft enough he
wouldn’t get Harold off too fast.

“Yeah. Some.” Harold’s words were pants even though Owen was

barely touching him.

Owen opened his lips wide and tried to fit them over Harold’s

head. It didn’t really fit. Owen could get the head in his mouth but not
with enough room to do anything fun with it.

So instead, he just sucked on the underside, right under his slit. He

jerked Harold’s cock while he did it, working some spit up and down.

“Omigod.” Harold jerked, twisting in Owen’s hold. “You should

do it. I mean, I can’t wait, and…well, I want to come while you’re
doing it.”

Holy fuck, the thought of Harold doing that—shooting hard while

Owen was inside him—may have been the hottest thing Owen had
ever imagined. “Don’t I have to do something first?” He worked his
fingers over Harold’s balls, down to his asshole. It was dry when
Owen tried to push a finger in, and he saw what Harold meant about
lube.

“Hold on a sec.” Harold must have known what Owen was

thinking, because he scooted off the bed and walked bare assed to his
closet. He dug out a bottle of clear liquid and a packet of condoms.
Both unopened.

His face reddened as he handed both to Owen. “I got them when I

was at the mall.”

Owen couldn’t stop himself. He launched off the bed and took

Harold’s face in his hand and kissed him with everything he had.
Even when they weren’t really together and Owen had been being
weird and sending mixed messages, Harold had never given up
thinking they’d be together.

No. He’d known they’d be together. Even when Owen might have

given up.

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“I love you, you know that?” Owen wasn’t sure he meant it.

Everything had happened so fast, and maybe it was too soon. But he’d
never felt this way before. And if it wasn’t the big L, he didn’t want to
be in love, because love couldn’t be better than what he felt at that
moment.

“No.” Harold shook his head. “I didn’t know that.” His eyes

sparkled with dampness, but he pulled Owen down onto the bed with
him. And this time, he wasn’t shy at all. He spread his legs and curled
his hips up so that Owen’s cock settled alongside his balls.

It felt good. So much that Owen wanted to just put on the condom

and start pushing into any hole he could. But Owen reached for the
lube bottle and bit open the plastic. He wet his finger and reached
under them both to smooth it over Harold’s hole.

“You don’t have to be so careful.” Harold arched his back as if he

were trying to get onto Owen’s fingers.

It was a little awkward, and Owen had to twist his wrist a different

way. But then he pushed while Harold pressed, and his finger slid in
all the way to the hilt.

“Ah, God.” Harold arched more, so that his neck was a graceful,

pale column. He looked so pretty with his forehead puckered.
Moaning in pleasure while Owen slid slowly in and out.

“Ready?” Owen humped against Harold’s leg. He wanted to give

Harold enough foreplay, but he thought his dick might explode if they
didn’t get going soon.

Harold’s opening clamped down, strangling Owen’s finger.
“Um…” Harold let out a long breath, like he was trying to relax.

His body softened, and his eyes fluttered closed. “Maybe use two
fingers first?”

Owen kissed him again. He lined up his fingers close, almost

crossing them over one another, and then pressed slowly inside.

He couldn’t imagine what Harold must be feeling at that moment.

But by the face Harold made—mouth open and trembling, eyes
pinched shut—he knew it must have been freaking intense.

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“Does it hurt?” he asked. Owen watched Harold’s face, trying to

unravel enjoyment from agony, but he couldn’t figure out where one
left off and the other began.

“No.” Harold opened his eyes to half-lidded. “Well, sort of. But I

like it, too.”

Owen smiled, keeping up an easy rhythm of his fingers. In and

out. “Tell me when.” He pushed deeper, feeling Harold’s body give a
little more.

“Okay.” Harold blinked open his eyes. He watched Owen

steadily, not breaking that contact even while Owen suited up and
swiped lube over the top of the rubber.

“What about you?” Owen asked, falling over Harold but holding

himself on one arm. Harold hadn’t said he loved Owen back. And
maybe it was like Jack said and Owen just needed everyone to fawn
over him. But he didn’t think so. Mostly, Owen really wanted to
know.

“I like you well enough.” There was only the tiniest hint of a tease

in Harold’s eyes to show he was kidding. Or maybe doing that
understatement thing he liked so much.

“I guess that’ll have to be enough.” Owen grinned like an idiot as

he gave Harold another kiss. Then, when their lips were an inch apart
and he could taste Harold’s breath and feel Harold’s gasps, he pushed
forward.

Harold’s eyes closed, and his nostrils flared. But Owen didn’t

know if he’d done the right thing or the wrong one.

His cock was lodged most of the way in, and Harold was hot and

tight and sweet all around him. But Owen knew, from some deep
place, that Harold wasn’t ready for him to start thrusting.

This was different from the sex he normally had. More connected,

asking more of him. But that was okay, because Harold was his best
friend.

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“Yeah.” Harold nodded, opening his eyes slightly. He shifted so

Owen went deeper. Harold’s body pulled him in all the way. And
Harold lifted his legs higher, so his thighs clamped Owen’s sides.

“God, Har. You feel so good.” Owen chanced a shallow thrust. It

bent Owen’s brain in half, how amazing it felt, but Harold looked like
he could barely take it. “You okay?”

Harold nodded, but his face was pinched.
“You want to stop?” Owen really didn’t want to give up. He

reached between them to grab Harold’s cock and stroked it with his
lube-slick hand.

“Omigod.” Harold gasped, arching. He’d only been half-hard

when Owen starting rubbing, but he filled to granite in only a couple
strokes. What’s more, when Owen chanced a few gentle pumps in his
ass, Harold whispered, “Oh. Fuck, yes.”

Owen picked up his pace, trying to balance where Harold was at

with how hard he fucked him. But the closer Harold got, the more he
seemed to be able to take, until Owen was snapping his hips, shifting
up so he could watch his cock disappearing inside Harold’s body,
watching Harold’s gorgeous dick get veiny and dark.

“Omigod. Go. Do it.” Harold gripped his arm. “Yes.”
And Owen went at it fast and rough, yanking on Harold’s cock for

all he was worth. And when Harold came it was like fireworks—long
ropes shooting up to his chin, his body hot and tight and jerking.

His ass clamped down on Owen’s dick, milking him as if Harold’s

body was designed to make Owen come harder than he had in his life.

Owen didn’t know what he sounded like, but he hoped no one was

asleep on the hall. Because he shouted as his body shivered from his
knees to his shoulders. Pleasure scorched him, burned him up from
inside. And the hottest fire was right in the middle of his chest, where
his heart pounded so hard it might have burst.

He fell onto Harold so that their bellies splattered together in a

mess of sweat and juices.

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“Holy cow.” Owen wondered if he’d be able to breathe again any

time in this century. He wanted to ask Harold if it had been good for
him, too. But the nice thing about guys was that they couldn’t fake
orgasms.

He rolled onto his side, trying not to get any spunk on the bed in

the process. Owen wondered if Harold would be up for showering
together, now that they’d be doing more than showering.

“I think you broke my penis,” Harold said at the ceiling.
Owen chuckled. “How’d I do that?” He smiled at Harold’s sated

body. He was all stretched out, cum draped all over him, looking
sleepy but with the sweetest smile on his face.

“I’m not sure I can come like that ever again.”
No understatement. None at all. And Owen preened at the

compliment. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Harold turned on his side, though he grabbed a shirt off his bed

and wiped off the cum. Hitching an elbow under him to sit up, he
watched Owen carefully. “You know, if you ever want…” He nibbled
his lip. “What I had—”

“Har…” Owen said warningly.
But Harold cut him off. “No, I mean.” He darted a look at his

cock, making it clear what he was worried about. “It’s just, there are
other things we can do—like with toys. I don’t want you to feel like
you have to go without it because you’re with me.”

Owen scrambled to figure out what Harold was talking about. He

was under the impression most guys did not want something up their
asses. So he couldn’t figure out why Harold would think it would be a
hardship, like he was asking Owen to live in celibacy.

“And, I mean, if you want to do it with someone normal sized. I

know I’ll be jealous, but I’d understand—”

“Har.” Owen caught his hand. “Stop talking for a second.”
Harold pinched his lips together. Clearly he had a lot to say on the

topic and some kind of dam had burst. But that didn’t erase the fact
that he was sounding a little crazy.

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Owen watched him steadily. “Not to be un-PC, but you’re not

disabled.” He tried not to laugh at his own joke, mostly because he
knew Harold probably didn’t find it as funny. “There’s nothing wrong
with you. You just have a big dick.”

“I know, but—if you ever wanted to bottom, I understand if you

don’t want to with me.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Owen shook him, trying to get him out of

whatever mental loop of insecurity he’d fallen into. As far as he
knew, Owen didn’t even want to bottom. At least not for a while…

Although Harold had seemed to really, really get off on it…
He forced the thought out of his mind. It was one of those things

he probably only wanted because somehow he thought he couldn’t
have it. And Owen was even more certain that Harold felt the same
way.

“I just had the most amazing sex of my life.” He said it slowly, so

Harold couldn’t turn away or brush it off.

“Me, too.” Harold’s eyes were wide and dark and filled with

emotion. “But—”

“No buts,” he said, firmly. “We just fucked like porn stars, and we

can do it again whenever we want.”

Harold twisted his lip. “Well, maybe not for a couple days.”
The words lit a fire in Owen’s balls, made his dick start nodding

back to hard. Maybe there really was something about the sex a guy
knew he couldn’t have that made it all the hotter.

“Well, we’ll have to find other things to do in the meantime.”

They were so gross and sweaty Owen wanted a shower before they
moved on to round two. But Harold must have been thinking the same
thing, because he hopped out of bed and grabbed a towel off the hook.
Then he rummaged through his closet and handed another one to
Owen.

Their eyes met.
“I love you, Owen,” Harold said.
And Owen had to look at his feet, because watching Harold smile

was like looking into the sun.

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Chapter Ten

“There’s too much of it.”
“Oh, stop being a baby.” Harold made a clucking sound with his

tongue and looked harder at what he was doing. “Now take a deep
breath. And let it out…”

“Motherfucker!” Sebastian grabbed his forehead, his eyes

squinting in pain.

But Harold smiled at the wax strip in his hand coated with the

coarse, dark hair from Sebastian’s monobrow.

“Gah. I don’t know how I let you talk me into that.” Seb took one

look at Harold advancing with the tweezers and held up a hand to stop
him. “No! No more.” He sat up in Harold’s bed, still rubbing his face.
“You’ve done enough.”

“Let me see.” Harold pulled his hand away. Seb looked way better

already. With two distinct curves above his eyes, he looked severe but
not Cro-Magnon.

“I don’t see how it’ll make much of a difference.” Seb craned his

head around to look in the mirror. He blinked at himself, twisting his
head to the side and sliding his jaw forward. “Huh.”

“Better, right?” Harold tried not to be too impressed with his

handiwork.

“Not bad.” Seb pointed at one side of his face, where his brows

rose in the corner as if to try to connect with his hairline. “D’you want
to get those ones, too?”

“Yeah, sure.” Harold urged him back onto the bed, where Seb lay

down.

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If anything, he seemed tenser than the last time, but Harold

figured that now he knew how bad it was going to hurt.

“So,” Seb asked nervously while Harold was laying down a sheet

of wax across his forehead. “How are things with Owen? Perfectly
perfect in every way?”

Harold ignored the challenge and yanked the strip from

Sebastian’s skin.

“Fuck!” Seb curled in on himself, pretending to sob into his hand,

though he was mostly laughing. “That fucking hurts like a bitch.”

“Yeah, but look how handsome you are now.” He handed Seb a

little mirror he used shaving and then crooned at his best friend, “All
the boys will be asking you to dance.”

“Yeah, right.” Seb stood up. His eyeliner had smudged a bit from

his eyes watering.

But Harold didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d be better off

without the makeup. He’d already stolen Seb’s monobrow. The guy
probably needed a day or two of recovery before he was ready for any
more changes.

“You ready to go?” Harold was eager to get Seb to the Spring

Fling preparty and out of his pity bonanza. “Tyler says he’s bringing a
few friends from that visiting dance troupe.”

He didn’t know why he bothered. Seb refused to take the scowl

off his face.

Oh well, Harold was starting to realize that there was someone for

everyone. And who knew? Maybe some skinny, swishy visiting dance
major would want nothing more than to spend his Saturday night
deflowering a hairy freshman with a chip on his shoulder.

Yeah. That was likely.
“Well, I guess we might as well go.” Sebastian picked his

sweatshirt off the chair and followed Harold out.

The preparty was in full swing by the time he and Seb arrived. It

looked like the entire queer population of Holsum College was
crammed into a little off-campus house.

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Harold had met Gabe, one of the house’s occupants, but he didn’t

know any of the other people who lived there.

“Where’s your husband?” Sebastian asked.
Harold scanned the room and saw Owen at the side, talking to

Griffin and a brown-skinned guy who looked as miserable to be at the
party as Seb was. “Over there.” Harold took Seb by the arm and
dragged him across the room. He loved Seb like a brother, but if he
didn’t cheer up soon, Harold was going to need a break from his
attitude.

“Hey, Har.” Owen smiled at him and hooked an arm around

Harold’s waist. He tugged Harold close, away from Sebastian, and
stuck his nose in Harold’s neck.

“Hi.” Harold knew he was blushing. He still did that practically

every time he and Owen were together in public. It was funny,
because Owen was more prone to sudden fits of straightness, putting
distance between them in circumstances where he wasn’t sure it
would be okay to be seen touching.

But in front of their friends, where anyone could see how mad he

was for Owen? Sometimes Harold felt too exposed.

“Hey, Sebastian.” Griffin jutted his chin to the other side of the

room, where a tiny, red haired firecracker of a man was standing. The
guy couldn’t have been five foot five, and he was as thin as Harold.
But he was looking at Seb like he could eat him alive.

Seb spun so fast that Harold wouldn’t have been surprised if he

knocked someone down in the process. He hissed, “Is he still
looking?” in Harold’s ear. Seb had to go on tiptoe to do it. He wasn’t
all that tall, although he was wide and square.

“Yes. Still watching,” Harold murmured.
But Owen took it a step further. He lifted his hand to the guy and

waved him over.

“Oh, fuck. What are you doing?” All of Sebastian’s pretense and

pissed-off swagger disappeared, and he looked for all the world like a

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guy who’d rather go back to his room and watch online porn than talk
to an actual human being.

Harold leaned into his side and whispered, “You can do this.”
And even though Sebastian had been giving him shit for the

month he and Owen had been dating, he stood up a little taller. And
slowly, he turned around to face the enemy.

“Hey,” the tiny guy said, in a voice so deep Harold was surprised

it came from someone so small. “I’m Joel.”

Griffin was the first to lift a hand in greeting, followed closely by

Owen. The antisocial guy, who Harold was starting to understand
must be Griffin’s boyfriend, nodded but didn’t say hi.

But when Joel’s attention landed on Seb, it was clear that he’d

walked across the room for him and only him. “Hey.” His eyes
sparkled as he held out a hand for Seb to shake. The guy had freckles.

“Hey, yourself.” Seb was acting angry and a little distant.
But Harold could tell it was all bluster.
“Want to dance?”
Seb hooked his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

“Yeah. Sure, I guess.”

He’d barely gotten the words out when Joel grabbed his hand and

yanked him over to where a few guys were grinding to some music.
The move was so forceful that it spun Seb partway around, and
Harold was able to see how his eyes were wide.

In fact, Seb may have mouthed Help me right before Joel grabbed

his ass and started grinding on his hip.

“Oh, man.” Owen’s eyes were watering in his attempt not to

laugh. “His face.”

Harold didn’t want to laugh at his friend, but after all the time

he’d listened to Seb posture about how rough and tumble he wanted
to get in bed, it was funny to watch him stiff and nervous in the other
guy’s arms.

Griffin moved slightly in front of them, blocking their view.

“Come on. Give the guy room to maneuver.”

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Harold shifted around and tried to force his eyes anywhere but the

dance floor. It was awkward watching Seb dance. Like the way he
might have felt if he had a brother.

“Griffin says you guys don’t know where you’re living next year,”

Griffin’s boyfriend called over the sound of the music. It was enough
of a shift in topic of conversation that Harold wasn’t sure what to
make of it.

“No.” Reflexively, he reached for Owen’s hand. If the two of

them threw in their housing numbers with the lottery, they wouldn’t
be guaranteed placement in the same dorm. Harold hadn’t spoken to
Owen yet about where they were planning to live. It had seemed too
soon.

Owen squeezed his hand. “I was asking around. Trying to figure

out where we might like to shack up.” Of course, Owen smiled when
he said it. He’d never asked Harold if he wanted to live together.

But Harold didn’t mind. That was Owen’s way of doing things.

He assumed Harold would be okay with whatever he suggested. And
with the exception of his suggestion of matching tattoos, Harold had
gone along with him for everything so far.

“So, where are you thinking about?” Harold played it cool. No

need to show Owen how his heart was fluttering like mad.

Owen wanted to live together. So much that he’d gone ahead and

looked into it on his own. Harold loved him so much he could hardly
function.

“My apartment’s going to be open,” Griffin’s boyfriend said. “I’m

Raj, by the way.” He lifted his hand in a quick greeting, apparently
meant to take the place of a handshake. “Griffin and I are heading to
Boston at the end of the summer. And the rent is very affordable.”

“Yeah, just so long as you don’t like to take too many showers.”

Griffin winked at his boyfriend, making Harold think there was a
story there.

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Raj rolled his eyes in a way that made it clear he wasn’t mad at

Griffin, just exasperated. Raj didn’t seem big on public displays of
cuteness.

Not like Owen, who was rubbing Harold’s arm. Not that Harold

liked to brag, but Owen couldn’t keep his hands off him most days.

“It’s a loft space above a house,” Raj continued. “Part of the deal

is you’d take care of the owners’ yard. They’re an older couple. I
think they like having someone around in case of emergency.”

Griffin cut in. “Yeah, but it’s almost a mile off campus. Either of

you guys have a car?”

Owen shook his head. “Nah.” He looked to Harold, not because

he was wondering if Harold was going to be magically gifted with a
car anytime soon but as if asking Harold what he thought of the idea.

“I think that would be too far.” Harold wasn’t sure he was ready

to be so disconnected from the rest of campus. After all, they’d just
gotten to school in the fall, and he wasn’t ready to be so far away
from the action of college life.

“Yeah, we’ll figure something else out.”
But Harold could tell Owen was unhappy.
“What about here?” Raj suggested. He put his hands on his hips

and looked around, as if he expected whomever he was looking for to
materialize out of thin air. “Have Nick and Gabe found a new
housemate yet?”

Surreptitiously, Harold took in the lay of the house. It was close

enough to campus to be an option. And Harold liked the idea of living
with other people. He wasn’t ready to be solely responsible for things
in a place of his own, even if Owen was helping.

“Oh, I’ve met those guys,” Owen said.
Not surprising, since Owen had gotten to know just about

everyone in Holsum’s gay community since he and Harold had started
dating. He’d even gotten an offer to pledge Eta Xi, despite the fact
that he hadn’t even rushed.

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“There’s Gabe, over there.” Owen pointed out an older guy lining

up plastic cups on the kitchen counter and pouring a bright-pink
concoction into them from a plastic pitcher.

A red-haired man stood behind him, smirking.
“Aren’t they seniors?” Harold wondered if he’d feel comfortable

living in a house with older students.

“Yeah, but Gabe’s staying here for his master’s. And Nick’s

working not too far away.”

“I’ll text them later.” Owen pulled Harold into his side. He must

have noticed that Harold was getting nervous about making any
decisions that night. He was good that way, never made Harold feel
bad for needing a little time to warm up to ideas. “They’re busy with
the party.”

What’s more, Owen was always willing to make an excuse to help

Harold save face. He really was the perfect boyfriend.

Harold just wished he could be the perfect boyfriend back.
He laid his head on Owen’s shoulder. Harold had to step his feet

apart a little to do it and bend his knees. But Owen felt so nice and
firm against his back.

“You want to dance?” Owen asked into Harold’s hair.
“Yeah.” Harold smiled. He knew he looked goofy on the dance

floor. But Owen always looked amazing. And Owen liked it when
Harold was there to push up against when he was tired of being
admired by the masses. Harold twisted and took both Owen’s hands.
He might not be ready to decide on where to live, but he could go
along with what Owen wanted for the moment.

He pecked a kiss on Owen’s cheek, preening because every guy at

the party was probably jealous. Harold leaned into his ear. “Let’s
dance.”

* * * *

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121

“Um, Har?” Owen wrapped himself around Harold’s back. He’d

locked the door, but it still felt amazingly dirty to be up against
Harold in the dorm shower.

Water sluiced the front of Harold’s body, over his cock, which

was heavy in Owen’s hand.

“Yes?” Harold leaned his head back, relaxing into Owen’s hold.
Owen kissed his cheek and started stroking him off. “Have you

given any more thought to that room in Gabe and Nick’s house?” It
had been a week since they’d met up with the graduating seniors and
gotten the tour of the house. And Owen had tried to give Harold space
to think about it, but Nick was starting to get nervous about finding a
new housemate before everyone left for the summer.

Apparently, he wasn’t thrilled about him and Gabe splitting the

rent without an extra person or people chipping in.

“You’re asking now? Don’t you think that’s cheating?” Harold

twisted a little in Owen’s hold, like an uncoordinated shimmy.

Still, Owen was glad he wasn’t flat-out saying no.
“Oh, come on. It’s an okay room and close to campus. It’ll be

cheaper than student housing.” If only one of them were taking the
room, it would have been more expensive than a room in the dorms.
But between the two of them it was about the same cost. Especially if
they factored in that they’d have a kitchen. “Milk in the fridge. Hot-
water pot for tea.”

“Mmmm…” Harold’s moan may have been about the hand on his

dick or the idea of having a stove at his disposal. It was hard to tell.
“Would you make it for me? And bring it to me in bed?”

Now Owen knew Harold was messing around. “You know I

would.” He could tell Harold was stalling on purpose, pushing Owen
away from the real issue. “What’s the problem? Don’t you like Gabe
and Nick?”

“No. They’re nice.” Harold stepped away, as if he felt guilty

accepting a hand job when he was disagreeing with Owen over
something. “Just…are you sure you want to do this?”

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Daisy Harris

He kept his eyes downcast, soaping his hands though it was clear

he was more wringing his hands than anything else.

“Of course.” Owen felt like he was on an airplane that had

dropped twenty feet. “You don’t want to live together?”

Harold snapped his head up. “Of course I do. I love you.”
“So what’s the issue?”
Harold was always shy and a little insecure. But Owen had

thought he’d gotten mostly over that.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”
Owen stepped up to him and wrapped his arms around Harold’s

hips. All that soap was between their bodies, making their stomachs
and chests slippery. “I love you, stupid.” Owen leaned forward and
nipped Harold’s jaw. “I don’t know why you keep thinking I’ll want
something else.”

Harold shrugged.
“Is this about sex?” Owen had thought they’d worked all that out.

Though he and Harold did just about everything, they’d fallen mostly
into a pattern. But Owen was always satisfied with the result.

He hated to think that maybe Harold wasn’t. “You’re always

saying you don’t even want to try it.”

They both knew what it was. It was the big it—the elephant in the

room that lay like a heavy trunk between Harold’s legs.

“Yeah, I guess.” Harold kissed Owen’s neck, asking for comfort

more than sex. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot for making such a fuss…”

“Nah. You’re not.” Owen rubbed his back, wiping some of the

soap from their fronts around to make his hands smooth. “Any guy
who says they don’t spend a lot of time thinking about their cock is
lying.”

Harold giggled. It made Owen smile.
He leaned into Harold’s ear. “You know I love it when you do

that other thing.” Owen hoped Harold understood he was talking
about when Harold fingered him. Of the pair of them, Owen was

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123

generally more comfortable talking about sex. But he didn’t think he
could bring himself to discuss what they were talking about head-on.

“This thing?” Harold slid his fingertips down Owen’s spine,

stopping right where his tailbone ended and his crease began.

He knew just how to tease Owen right.
“Yeah. That thing.” Owen reached down and grabbed both of

their cocks. He was fully hard, and Harold was most of the way there.
They both gasped. Whispering, he said, “Makes me crazy when you
do that.”

It made Owen horny enough to pound a nail through a wood block

when he thought about this one night when he and Harold had rubbed
off together in about five minutes, both being so horny they couldn’t
wait. But then, somehow Harold had ended up fingering him. With
lube and everything. They’d done it for like half an hour, with nothing
more than Harold slowly working Owen’s hole. They hadn’t touched
anywhere else or even kissed. Owen would never forget the look in
Harold’s eyes that night and how turned on they’d both gotten.

By the time Owen had flipped Harold onto his knees and started

fucking him, they were so on the edge that they’d both come
immediately.

“But that’s not the same as…” Harold teased his fingers lower,

along Owen’s crack. It made Owen nuts how he did that.

“I know.” Owen pulled them slowly. He didn’t want to get them

off too fast. He knew Harold’s body, his recovery time. Owen didn’t
want to have to wait for round two. “But maybe if we work into
it…go slow…”

“I—”
“Let’s go to your room.” Owen shut off the water. If he let Harold

build up a head of steam about his worries, they’d be talking about it
all night. And he knew, down deep, that Harold would only ever talk
himself out of trying to top, not into it.

“Okay.” Harold took the towel Owen handed him. There was a

little smile on his face. Just a small hint of anticipation. Or maybe just

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Daisy Harris

hope. Harold was always happier when he just went along with what
Owen told him.

Harold’s room was dark, but Owen didn’t let him turn on the

light. Anything was possible when reality wasn’t staring a guy in the
face.

“I don’t know about—”
Owen pulled him onto the bed. He didn’t give Harold time to

complain, just flopped down on top of him, chest to chest and cock to
cock. He covered Harold’s mouth with his own.

If Harold was nervous, it didn’t show in his kiss. His lips were

hungry and minty from toothpaste. His hands went to Owen’s hips,
then to his ass, where he pulled Owen into a tighter grind.

“Oh, yeah.” Owen bucked into him. He loved the feel of Harold

against his belly. It was almost difficult to stay on top of Harold with
that giant cock of his taking up so much space. But it always made
Owen feel powerful and hot, lying on top of it, feeling it like it was
his own.

“Here.” He reached over to where they kept the lube. After a

detailed account of sexual histories and an STI test, they’d stopped
using condoms.

“You sure?” Harold rolled them onto their sides.
“Just do what you always do. We’ll see where it goes.”
Harold’s touch was cold with lube. He kissed Owen with warm

lips.

Owen couldn’t tell which was softer, Harold’s fingertip stroking

gently on his hole or Harold’s lips kissing him just on the surface, not
even using tongue.

“I’ll live with you no matter what, you know.” Harold kept up that

slow and tentative touching. He always did that—smoothed his finger
around for so long that Owen wished he had the balls to ask him for
more, until Owen was panting.

“I know.” In the dark, in their bed, he knew Harold would do

whatever Owen wanted, follow wherever Owen led. That only made

My Fair Dork

125

him more eager to give Harold something special. Something more
than he ever thought he’d have.

Harold’s finger dipped inside, and Owen was so turned on and

relaxed that he didn’t even feel a pinch. Just a hot pressure as Harold
pressed slowly deeper.

He didn’t have words to tell Harold that he didn’t need to go quite

so gently. Owen had taken to experimenting on himself whenever he
jacked off. Not that he had much time to rub it out when Harold
wasn’t around, but he still did sometimes. And he’d graduated from
his own fingers to his hairbrush handle a while ago.

“You’re so soft inside,” Harold murmured into Owen’s mouth.

“It’s like you get longer, or deeper, too…when I do it.”

The tenor of his voice, so loving and sexy and full of awe, made

Owen want this more than ever. He wanted them to be connected in a
way they hadn’t before. He wanted to take Harold, the full, quivering,
desperate mess of him, inside and hold him tight.

“Yeah?” Owen blew out a breath, let his legs relax out. He wanted

to tighten but knew if he clamped down on that touch he’d get closer
to coming. And they weren’t ready for that to happen. Not by a long
shot.

“Um…”
Owen felt Harold’s second finger poised next to his first. Harold

must have been asking for permission, because he waited until Owen
nodded to start slipping inside.

It felt a little rough, but Harold must have noticed before Owen

did, because he added some more lube to his fingers.

“You sure it’s okay?” Harold’s touch was shaky, as if he were

excited.

“Yeah.” Owen kissed him, adding a little tongue to show he

wasn’t such a delicate flower. Geez, a guy would think Harold would
have gotten tougher, considering Owen fucked him into the mattress
practically every day.

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Daisy Harris

But maybe it was just his personality, not any fear for Owen’s

well-being. Because when Harold’s two fingers sank down to the
second knuckle, Harold was the one trembling.

“Good?” Harold asked. He eased out a little ways before

stretching in farther.

Owen moaned. His dick was so damn hard. He couldn’t help but

squeeze it to let off some pressure. “Oh, yeah.”

Harold thrust gently, enough so Owen was flying on the sense that

he wanted more. “D’you just want to get off like this?”

“Nah.” Owen could have. All he’d have had to do was tighten his

muscles and rub for thirty seconds, and he would have shot all over
the both of them. But he wanted to see how far they could go. “Do
more.”

He wished he were brave enough to suggest they move on to his

hairbrush handle, but Owen didn’t want Harold to think he was gross.
But he didn’t relish the idea of Harold trying to screw more fingers
into him. He’d tried doing it on himself and preferred something
cylindrical.

“Um…I have a dildo I use…” Harold said. He pulled out his

fingers as if he were suddenly shy. “I mean, it’s clean and
everything.”

Owen felt his lip twitch. He would have grinned if he weren’t so

turned on. “Get it out, baby.”

Harold let out a strangled whimper. He always loved it when

Owen called him baby in bed.

The dresser drawer creaked when Harold opened it, and he was

back on the bed in a second. He eased his way between Owen’s legs.
“This is about your size.”

The dildo was cool against Owen’s leg, but Harold didn’t work it

in. Instead, he licked a trail over Owen’s balls and then laved at his
hole.

“Oh, fuck.” Owen lifted one of his legs higher to get Harold more

room. He was glad the lights were off, because he probably looked

My Fair Dork

127

stupid trying to get Harold more room at his ass. But fuck, it didn’t
matter, because that tongue was magic.

“Okay. Tell me if it’s too fast.”
The blunt tip fit against Owen’s opening, but too fast was the last

thing Harold was going. He’d push in a little ways and then pull it
out. He’d circle Owen’s pucker with his fingertip, then his tongue,
before replacing those with the dildo and pushing a little harder.

Owen was a gasping whimpering mess by the time Harold got the

latex bulb past Owen’s rings of muscles. And he was so close to
orgasm he knew if Harold started to really work him, he’d be done
before they’d started.

“You should do it.” Owen panted. Oh, fuck. It was so intense

having that thickness inside him. And Harold said that was the size of
Owen’s dick? He didn’t know how Harold took it as often as he did.

“No way. Not yet.” Harold slid the toy in deeper then dragged it

out along Owen’s singing nerves.

“Seriously.” Owen grabbed Harold’s wrist with one hand and the

base of his cock with the other. He urged Harold off him and breathed
deeply to slow his stuttering muscles. Owen didn’t want to come yet.
Not when they were so close. “Just come up here.”

Harold climbed up his body. His hips settled between Owen’s

legs, and their bodies pressed together, sweat and skin and heat.

And Owen’s need to come was replaced with a bone-deep desire

to make love.

He reached up behind him and grabbed a pillow and shoved it

under his hips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Harold brushed his mouth over

Owen’s lips, all softness. The feel of it was so unlike the battering
ram Owen felt nudging his ass.

“You know I won’t let you.” Owen reached between them and

took Harold in his hand. There was so much of it, so much power.
“Let me do it, okay, baby?”

128

Daisy Harris

Harold nodded, shivering in his push-up position. He watched

between their bodies as Owen positioned his cock. The room was too
dark to see in detail, but Owen liked how Harold couldn’t stop
watching.

It was so big. But Owen forced his whole body to be soft, relaxed.

Even gentler than Harold’s puffed breaths on his neck. It wasn’t in
Owen’s nature, not really, to go so liquid. But as he worked his hips
down, pushing onto Harold’s cockhead, he knew the only way to get
all that power in him was to give up total control.

“Omigod.” Harold shook harder.
Owen felt the burn then the second of stinging give when the head

worked past his barriers. And then, all of a sudden, it was too much,
too wide inside him. There was no way he’d fit.

“Owen.”
He couldn’t unpinch his eyes. But he felt Harold’s kisses against

his cheek, and forehead, and jaw.

Harold was yielding and open. And Owen forced himself to be the

same. To go deeper into that place where he took it all in—even the
burning that had gone past pain to something sweeter.

“Ah.” He couldn’t make his breath work or even form a word.
“You’re so beautiful,” Harold told him. He churned his hips in the

world’s softest roll, pushing that thick head only as far as Owen’s
body would allow. “So sexy.”

Owen whimpered. His body ached from his ass through his dick,

as if his whole groin were on fire. He didn’t even think he could
remember how to come. Not even if he tried.

“I want you to have an orgasm like this.” Harold barely moved his

hips. But he wrapped those long fingers of his around Owen’s dick,
squeezing in the sweetest way possible. His lips were soft on Owen’s,
as if he realized Owen was too gone for anything more than tender
touches.

“Uh-huh.” Owen did his best to nod.

My Fair Dork

129

* * * *

Harold slid his grip up Owen’s shaft. “You can do that, right?

You’re close?” It was hard to tell what Owen was feeling. Normally it
was Harold who was overwhelmed when they were having sex.
Harold felt a little alone, with Owen straining and twisting and lost
beneath him.

Normally, he relied on Owen to tell him what to do. He wanted to

take charge, to be able to make it good for Owen. But Harold had so
little experience being the aggressor.

“Uh-huh.” Owen shook his head from side to side, eyes pinched

and mouth open on a wordless shout. So it was hard to tell if that was
a yes or a no.

“Okay.” Harold’s hips stuttered slightly so that he withdrew from

that perfect, sucking heat. Then he bore back inside. It wasn’t a deep
thrust. But it seemed like Owen took him a little farther than before.

Owen gripped his arms so hard he might be leaving bruises.

“Again.” He gasped. “Just…slow, okay?”

Harold swallowed hard. His body was screaming with the need to

move faster. But he held back. “Okay,” he whispered. He took his
hand off Owen’s dick, knowing he couldn’t control his movements as
well if he were trying to get Owen off, too.

“Is this…” Harold swiveled a little, grinding more than thrusting.

He wasn’t even sure if he pulled out at all, only that Owen took
maybe another inch of him.

“Yeah.” Owen palmed his belly, his face softening a bit, like he

was starting to enjoy it more. “Oh, hell…Keep doing that.”

Harold rolled his body, experimenting with moving more quickly

then just rubbing deep. The fast bits made Owen wince, but he let out
these really sexy sighs when Harold stayed deep and rubbed.

“I love you so much.” Harold couldn’t stop the words from

bubbling out. Everything was tight on him. His cock, the way Owen

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Daisy Harris

gripped him so hard neither of them could hardly move. His chest was
so full of emotion he thought it might break with a rushed breath.

“Yeah.” Owen’s hand moved in little circles on his belly, as if he

were thinking about stroking himself but holding off.

“You want me to…” Harold tried to lift his hand to touch him but

was too uncoordinated, and he accidentally pushed in too far.

“No.” Owen’s forehead creased, and he bit his lip, but he

recovered quickly enough. “Just…I think. I’m gonna go. This way.”

Harold felt a little swell of pride in his throat. He’d never gotten

off without Owen or him rubbing his dick. The thought that he might
give Owen that made him feel special. “Okay.” He lowered a little, so
their bodies were pressed together.

As carefully as he could, he hitched Owen’s leg over his elbow, so

Owen wouldn’t have to hold a weird angle.

And then Harold kissed Owen, pouring everything he was feeling

into him while he rubbed circles inside his body.

It was slow this way. Owen breathed these small, almost pained

breaths in his ear. And Harold knew his own breaths were matching
time. But they stayed silent, nothing more than the sound of their skin
whispering together and the quiet creaking of the bed. But the
hardness pressing against his belly got tighter, matching the hitches in
Owen’s breathing. And for once Harold didn’t need Owen to show
him the way.

He pulled out slowly, part of the way, then pushed in time with a

roll of his hips. And when Owen moaned, he did it again. Then faster.

Owen’s every breath was a soft keen in his ear.
Everything wrenched tenser, throbbed closer. And even though it

was an agonizingly long buildup, Harold knew there was no stopping
for either of them.

Against his ear, Owen gasped, “It’s…it’s so…”
“Yeah.” Harold didn’t know what it they were talking about. But

he knew what Owen meant. “It is.”

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131

He gripped Owen and worked into him as hard as he dared. And

then Owen was pulsing on him, all around him. It was wet and hot,
because Harold was coming, too. Inside Owen, and Owen between
them, until there was nothing but heat and love. And even though
Owen shifted, pushing him out, it didn’t matter, because Harold
collapsed in his arms.

Owen pressed them together so their cocks shot the last wrung-out

spurts into the space between their bodies.

Harold couldn’t breathe, but that didn’t matter. He could fly.
“Holy…wow.”
“Yeah. Omigod.” The orgasm faded as slowly as it had arrived,

leaving pleasure and closeness in its wake. Harold didn’t ever want to
be apart from Owen, not even long enough to separate their bodies.

It felt like days, years later, when Harold rolled off. They both

stared at the ceiling, still holding hands.

“So, you’ll live with me then?” Owen asked.
Harold would have laughed if he had the energy. “Of course,

silly.” Owen must have known Harold would have gone anyway. But
he liked that he’d asked again.

“Good. But you’re going to have to move my stuff.” Owen

sounded like he was about to fall asleep. Which was a little grim,
considering they both really needed showers. But Harold figured that
if anyone deserved to be looked after, it was Owen. Harold lifted his
head off the bed, peering around the dark room for a towel to clean
them up.

“Why do you say that?” Harold wondered where he’d left his

washcloth. He hoped it wasn’t in the bathroom. He didn’t fancy the
idea of walking down the hall covered in sex smell.

“Because I’m never going to be able to move again.”
Harold shouldn’t have smiled at that. It was wrong to feel proud

of wringing his boyfriend out so badly he couldn’t stand. But just this
once, he let himself feel happy about his giant dick.

“I’m sure you’ll recover.” He hoped he didn’t sound too smug.

132

Daisy Harris

“Not if we do it again anytime this century.”
Was Owen trying to give him a big head? If so, that made Harold

love him even more. Reluctantly, he pushed out of bed and turned on
the desk light.

Owen was already asleep, snoring softly. And splayed out on

Harold’s bed.

And Harold looked down at his cock. He would have said “thank

you” to it. Except that would have made him seem like a crazy
person. So instead, he went over to Owen and kissed him on the
forehead. “Good night,” he whispered.

He was pretty sure Owen smiled.

THE END

WWW.THEDAISYHARRIS.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Birkenstock-wearing glamour girl and mother of two by

immaculate conception, Daisy Harris still isn’t sure if she writes
erotica. Her romances start out innocently enough. However, her
characters behave like complete sluts. Much to Miss Harris’s dismay
the sex tends to get completely out of hand.

She writes about fantastical creatures and about young men

getting their freak on, and she’s never missed an episode of The
Walking Dead.

For all titles by Daisy Harris, please visit

www.bookstrand.com/daisy-harris

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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