But I don’t get the chance to find out any of it—not that I’m about to strip him naked and make him shoot his load in a room full of my classmates—thanks to Professor Frost, who chooses that moment to make his grand entrance.
“Good morning, thespians,” he says as he glides into the room, whipping off his cape and draping it over the back of a chair with a dramatic flair. I swear, his picture should be in the dictionary next to the wordextra. “Are we all ready for Questions Only?”
“Is that what we’re doing?” Ian asks.
I know he’s fully aware of today’s agenda. We talked about it last night over a couple of beers and a basket of teriyaki wings at the Biscuit. And no, I didn’t pick the place because the hockey team hangs out there. Although I wouldn’t have objected to a little eye candy, especially if Adam was on the menu. Unfortunately, table seventeen, where the players usually sit, was empty.
“Did you lose your syllabus, Mr. Dominguez?” Professor Frost asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s the only prof in the theater department who calls students by their surnames. I don’t know if it’s a sign of respect or because he’s trying to keep us at arm’s length. To his credit, he did ask us our preferred pronouns on the first day of class so he’d know whether to use Mr., Ms., or Mx.
Ian cocks his head. “We have a syllabus?”
What the Hellman’s? He knows darned well there’s a syllabus. He’s the most organized guy in the whole junior class. He color codes his notebooks, for Christmas sake.
Then it dawns on me. I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s playing the game. Flipping brilliant.
“Do you want to take a look at mine?” I ask him.
“Why would he do that when I’ve got an extra copy?” Courtney, one of the musical theater majors, jumps in, catching on.
“Who needs a syllabus, anyway?” Ian asks with a smug smile. He may be my best friend, but he sure hates to lose.
Professor Frost claps his hands excitedly. “Excellent work. I look forward to a lively exercise.”
His eyes land on Adam, who looks thoroughly confused by our back and forth. “You must be the new student Coach Keller told me about. Alan Serrano, is it? Do you prefer Mr., Ms. or Mx.?”
“Adam,” I correct him, then immediately want to clamp a hand over my big mouth. Why the fuck did I do that? He’s a big boy. A very, very big boy. He can take care of himself. He doesn’t need a goofy theater geek like me standing up for him.
“And Mr. is fine,” Adam adds.
Professor Frost looks from me to Adam then back to me again. I try not to let it bother me that Adam shifts subtly to his left, away from me. I thought he was into me. It sure seemed like it from the way he was eye fucking me in the registrar’s office. Guess my gaydar was off. Or he’s not ready to go public.
“I see you two have already gotten acquainted.” Professor Frost rubs his hands together like he’s a cartoon villain hatching an evil plan. “Excellent. Mr. Serrano, you requested a tutor to catch you up on what we’ve been doing in class for the past few weeks, correct?”
Adam nods.
“Mr. Dennis.” Professor Frost points a finger at me. “You’re it.”
“I am?”
“Unless you object. I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. And I’m sure I’ll have plenty of volunteers eager to assist a member of Burlington’s favorite sports team.”
The girls all perk up, sitting ramrod straight and scooting to the edges of their seats. A couple of the guys, too. I sneak a glance at Adam. He looks even more uncomfortable than he did before. His head is down and he’s staring at the scuffed tips of his sneakers, bouncing one leg up and down nervously.
Even I’m not enough of a jerk to subject him to the circling vultures. The dude just wants to pass this class and keep his scholarship. He doesn’t need to worry about his tutor perving on him. Even though that’s just what I’ll be doing. Although I’ll at least be subtle about it.
I swallow a sigh and shake my head. “No. Of course not. I’m happy to help.”
“Good.” Professor Frost gives me an approving nod. “You can explain today’s game while I get things set up.”
“Today’s game?” Adam looks up from his shoes, his eyes panicked. “Do I have to participate? I was hoping I could, you know, just watch for a bit.”
“No one just watches in this class, Mr. Serrano. And you’re already behind. You’ll need the practice to be ready for our final performance at Vino and Veritas. But don’t worry. We’ll play a round or two before we throw you into the deep end. The best way to learn improvisation is—”
“To do improvisation,” I chant along with the rest of the class. Minus Adam, of course, who isn’t familiar with Professor Frost’s sometimes annoying little mantras. Yet. I give it until next week.
“There’s a public performance?” Adam asks under his breath.
“It’s okay,” I try to reassure him. From the looks of him, not all that successfully. His face has gone gray, matching his Bulls T-shirt. That’s the second time I’ve seen him in a team shirt, and I’m starting to wonder if his wardrobe consists entirely of Moo U gear. “I’ll talk you through it.”
