The Eloquent Jock: Campus Cravings

Chapter One

Sir? Um, Dr. Greenfield? I’m Brendan Kohl, your new TA.

Without looking up, Dr. Scott Greenfield extended a hand in a signal to wait. He’d just about finished reading over a student’s paper and didn’t want to leave just the last few sentences. With that task completed, Scott glanced up and found himself staring at the gorgeous man standing uncertainly in front of him, shifting from foot to foot. He wouldn’t call the guy pretty, but he had a certain something that made it difficult to look away.

Dark brown hair shorn pretty close to his head and green eyes which captivated Scott. And the muscles. Wow. You didn’t get a body like that without hard work. He possessed clear muscle delineation, like on a swimmer’s or runner’s body. Briefly, he glared up at the ceiling of his office and beyond, to the jokester with the mean sense of humor up there.

Really? You had to go and send me this? Yeah, because I need more complications in my life.

His former TA, Terri, had recently been forced to leave school when her beloved grandmother, who she lived with while at school, fell and needed care. Though sorry to lose her Scott understood, the sting of his loss mitigated now that he’d had a look at the new TA the department had assigned.

The kid didn’t look familiar. He must be most of the way through his coursework for a Bachelor’s degree and yet, as far as Scott remembered, never been in one of his classes.

I think I’d remember a face like that.

As if Scott had never seen a hot guy before, he just sat there and drank him in, until the other man cleared his throat and Scott realized he hadn’t said anything yet. Shaking his head, Scott indicated the visitor’s chair. Sorry. My mind gets distracted when I’m grading. Liar. Have a seat. Brendan sat and Scott steepled his fingers, tapping his chin. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I take it you’re a Creative Writing major, though. Nice, safe topics. Yes, stick to those.

Um, actually, no. Scott’s surprise must’ve registered on his face, because the man stumbled on. I’m an English Lit major, but when I met with the head of the department about a work-study he thought I would be able to do this. Especially since I received all A’s on every creative writing course I’ve taken, though you’re right, I’ve never taken any with you. He swallowed visibly. Is that going to be a problem, me not being a creative writing major?

We’ll make it work. No sense throwing this fish back into the sea, since he might get far worse next go-round. How many creative writing courses have you taken?

Six, sir.

You can stop calling me sir. It weirds me out. My name is Scott or, in class, Dr. Greenfield.

Oh, okay.

Six classes is a lot for someone not in this major.

I know, but I like writing.

Can I ask why you chose Lit, then?

Brendan shrugged. I’ve always been fascinated with books. I pretty much had my nose in a book growing up. Well, whenever hockey practice ended, anyway. The major seemed like a logical choice. I’m not a bad writer, but I doubt I could make a living at it. I can be a competent teacher if I graduate with a Lit degree. I’m hoping to go to a small college and coach their hockey team while I teach. Geez, I’m rambling. I’m sorry. Scott wanted to get his mouth on this guy’s. The more he talked, the hotter he got. Ridiculous, but true. Just one more thing. I need to mention that my availability is a bit limited until the hockey season ends.

You’re playing for the college then, I presume?

Yeah.

Scott looked him up and down then heat suffused his face as he realized his once-over could be interpreted a whole bunch of different ways and this guy might not be gay. Not that it mattered. Scott didn’t do or date students.

His brain scrambled to remember what he should be asking the man. Do you, um, have experience as a teaching assistant?

No, but I promise I’ll work hard.

I’m sure they outlined general duties, but I’ll go over my requirements. They’re really not egregious.

Okay. The kid didn’t even blink at Scott’s use of egregious, which impressed Scott. Even many English majors didn’t have a far-reaching vocabulary.

I have a lab session, for want of a better word, in every Wednesday’s class. There are thirty-eight students and I normally divide them into two groups. You would be leading the discussion of one of those groups. I’d like you in the class on Monday and Friday too, as someone who can help steer the class, answer questions before or after, and so on. Besides those things, the only other task I ask of TA’s is to give a second read to papers I’m on the fence about, and those are usually two or three out of the thirty-eight. He took a deep breath. How does that all sound?

I can do that, no problem.

I assume you knew this class wouldn’t conflict with your own load when you agreed to TA?

It doesn’t. And not with my hockey schedule too much either. I should be able to make all the classes, it would just be stuff outside the normal class times that I might have to work around practice or lifting.

Scott nodded, desperate for something for his head to do besides fantasize about having the guy under him, screaming his name. All right, good. Do you have any questions for me?

Not that I can think of.

Why don’t we exchange cell numbers in case one of us needs to get a hold of the other? While they should have some way to contact each other, Scott wanted that number for purely selfish reasons too. Dammit, focus!

Sure. That makes sense. Brendan pulled out his phone and transferred Scott’s information into it and Scott followed suit.

I’ll see you on Friday, then?

I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to it. Brendan stood and Scott belatedly realized he’d never risen to shake Brendan’s hand when he’d entered.

Yeah, you were too busy ogling his body. At least now you know where he got all those muscles from.

He held out his hand and Brendan took it, both of them giving a standard male handshake. Five seconds, one clasp, and it’s done. Brendan left and Scott sank into his chair, looking down at the hand Brendan had just touched. His palm felt hot, as if the simple touch had burned him.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Scott exhaled, his shoulders relaxing from the hunched-up posture he’d instantly fallen into when Brendan had knocked on his door.

Scott wasn’t closeted, but also not one to lead the Gay-Straight Alliance or anything. And to preserve his reputation, he never got involved with anyone from the university. Unfortunately the campus dominated the small town, which made the area not exactly a gay mecca.

He turned back to his computer and clicked on his email icon. One new message. Sighing, Scott opened it to see yet another hey bud, where’s your manuscript-deadline soon missive from his agent. As if he could forget. Scott wrote murder mysteries, but his muse appeared to have packed up and moved away over the summer and he couldn’t get a thing going. He had a multi-book deal with a big publisher and the pressure ramped up every day.

The first had been quite popular, as he’d already had a following from his works with other smaller publishers, but Scott realized, now more than ever, that writing could be likened to many negative things when the words weren’t coming. It would be dramatic to say he felt a thousand-pound weight on his shoulders, but not by much.

Ignoring the email for a minute, Scott leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He needed to write about fourteen more chapters on his book. At the moment it sat at about one-third completion; way under where he should’ve been right now. He knew how he wanted the book to end, but getting from point A, where he’d stopped writing, to point B had turned into quite a challenge. The characters weren’t talking to him. The voices inside his head remained silent, a terrifying thing for a writer.

An image of Brendan popped into his head unbidden, and the actions they engaged in together in this impromptu fantasy definitely weren’t part of the plot of a murder mystery. More like an incredibly hot gay porn film.

Dammit! Scott opened his eyes and spun his chair around to face the window behind him. Lusting over students is dumb, you jackass. Not only is it unethical, it’s too dangerous, even when you’re not on a tenure track. Visiting Lecturer had been the title they’d given him, whatever that meant. Scott would never be considered a full-time, tenured professor and didn’t want to be. He wanted to write, but this gig paid steady money until, hopefully someday, he could support himself off his writing. Scott huffed. "And since when did I start talking to myself? I guess I should be happy something is talking to me."

Sighing, he gathered