“Cool Cool. Let’s do it again.”
Dell held out his hand for a shake. Cliff grabbed it for a shake and--
“No shaking. This isn’t a job interview. We slap, slide, and snap.” Dell demonstrated in the air.
Cliff nodded, suddenly full of determination. He didn’t like being the weak link. Not on a team, and not in a handshake.
Dell counted to three. Their palms slapped together. Cliff slid his fingers away as Dell did the same. He whipped his fingers in a loud snap that could be heard across the quad. It was three seconds of choreographed perfection.
“That’s what I’m talking about!”
Cliff wanted to hi-five him. Did people hi-five after a handshake?
“Okay. I had to get that bit of housekeeping out of the way. I have to have special handshakes with all of my friends. Go call your folks.” Dell nudged his head at the dorm.
It was Cliff’s first-ever special handshake. A big ole smile took over Cliff’s face as he entered Kempson.
8
BRENNAN
Loft living was chic as hell, but not always practical. Case in point:
It was a hot eighty-five degrees outside, one of those freak October heatwaves. The one window air conditioning unit was powerless against the cavernous space of the loft. It whirred and wheezed out cold air, but the loft remained a sauna, amplified by being on the top floor. Brennan had tried opening the windows, but there was no breeze, no cool air to let inside.
He reorganized the loft so that the table was against the wall with the air conditioning. He kicked his easel and canvas to the corner. Brennan needed a break from them after the lackluster painting session he forced himself to do this morning, another bust. He even considered switching his major to economics. He could be an investment banker, make shitloads of cash, and get through life buying expensive cars to make himself happy.
The creative sinkhole he found himself in gave him more time to put together fun lesson plans for their meeting today. These lessons with Cliff were becoming the highlight of his week. He got to watch someone fall in love with art. And he enjoyed getting to know Cliff as a person, not just Clifford, the big red little brother of his best friend. In high school, Brennan didn’t pay much attention to Cliff. He had seemed one-dimensional. Aggressively normal was the phrase that popped into his mind. But there were layers to Cliff lurking under the surface. He was sarcastic, thoughtful, driven.
Ten minutes later, Cliff rapped on the door. It sent a rush of excitement sparking through Brennan, which caught him off-guard.
Two beads of sweat rolled down Cliff’s face, and damp rings circled his underarms.
“Shit. It probably wasn’t a good idea to make you walk all the way over here. I should’ve met you at the student union.”
“It’s fine. I’ll cool off.”
“Not really. It’s hot as balls in here, too. Do you want some water?” Brennan gestured at the kitchen.
Cliff nodded as he lifted up his shirt to wipe his face.Damn, Clifford has a six-pack.
Brennan filled his glass with as much ice as water. He poured himself one, too. He needed to cool down, and not just because of the weather.
Cliff gulped down his water in seconds, and Brennan refilled his glass. He motioned for Cliff to join him at the table. Sweat prickled on his luscious skin, and in a just world, Brennan would be able to lick it off.
“So what’s on the syllabus today, professor?” Cliff asked as he sat down.
He sat across from Cliff and handed him a folded-up piece of paper. “We’re going to make snowflakes.”
Hopefully thinking about snow would help lower the temperature a few degrees, although Brennan wasn’t minding the sheen slicked over Cliff’s tanned, solid forearms. He couldn’t get over howstrongCliff was.
“Cutting snowflakes? Is this an art lesson or arts and crafts?”
“Cliff’s got attitude. Do I have to bring back corporal punishment and bend you over my knee?”
Oh shit. Did I just say I wanted to spank him?Judging by the deer-in-the-headlights look across the table, that was a big fucking affirmative.
“It’s only part one.” Brennan needed to get things back on topic. No more thinking about Cliff’s tight, round ass and the sound of his palm smacking it.
