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fuck. He’d wanted to drink and he’d wanted to get laid, and he’d wanted to feel like someone , but nothing had worked.
    He’d gone back to the house he shared with a bunch of guys who were so much smarter than him it made him want to break something, and when everyone else had been either asleep or out on the town, he’d gone to the one place he never should have.
    “I slept with him,” he admitted, quiet, eyes closed.
    “Marsh…”
    “And it was good. Fuck, you should have seen him. He was so good.” Greg had sucked dick like he lived for it, like he was dying for it, like beneath that genius scientist exterior, he was a cock-slut of the most epic proportions, and worse… “He looked at me like, like…”
    Like Marsh was somebody he wanted.
    Marsh curled up tighter and dug his nails into his palm. “Whatever. As soon as he got off, he kicked me out.”
    “Are you sure that’s what happened?”
    Laughter bubbled up, dry in the back of his throat. It hurt. “Pretty hard to miss the signs. He was considerate, too. Asked if I could make it to my room myself or if I needed help.”
    He chanced a glance up, only to close his eyes right back down. The expression on Yulia’s face was downright dangerous. “He’s an idiot, then.”
    Marsh snorted. “He’s the smartest guy I’ve ever met. Hell, he’d have to be. Sure wised up fast to the fact that he was wasting his time with me if I wasn’t actively touching his dick.”
    “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
    He shrugged. Nonchalance didn’t cover up the way he felt cold inside. And it was the worst kind of self-pitying, whiny crap, but that was why he came to Yulia. She might kick his ass as often as not, but he could say anything to her. Turning farther into her warmth, he mumbled, “What would he want with me anyway? Dumb jock…”
    In the span of a breath, her gentle stroking turned into a sharp tug, and he had to fight to keep from showing how much that hurt. “That’s your father talking.”
    His shoulders shook, and he hid his face. “Maybe. Still.” He bit his tongue, but it didn’t help. Fisting his hand into the space between his body and the couch, he mumbled, “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

Chapter Three
    Good Lord but cold coffee was disgusting. Greg pulled a face as he slugged back the last little bit left at the bottom of his travel mug. Sliding the lid shut, he grabbed a mint from the container of them he kept in his other cup holder and popped it in his mouth. There wasn’t much chance of anyone getting close enough to really appreciate his coffee breath, but still. He had some standards left.
    Not that it was easy to tell, looking around his car. It was a ten-year-old beater he’d picked up used, sure, but he could do better than this. Sighing, he took a minute to ball up the couple of protein bar wrappers and napkins from the seat well of the passenger’s side and jam them in an old fast food bag. Trash and coffee mug in one hand, he jimmied the door handle with the other and let himself out.
    He hit the lock and slammed the door shut behind him, then rounded to the trunk to get his bag. Damn, it was heavy. He slung it over his shoulder and headed toward the house, ticking off the items on his to-do list in time with his steps. Finish analyzing that data for his advisor, proof his proposal for the symposium, come up with some kind of plan for the class he had to TA tomorrow.
    His stomach let out a distressed, rumbling growl, and he rolled his eyes at himself. Food first, then coffee, then work.
    Well, at least he had his agenda set for the evening. And the night. And the late night. Sighing, he dragged himself up the steps and pushed open the door no one ever seemed to remember to lock, only to be assaulted by the sounds of gunfire. Nonplussed, he dropped his bag and shrugged off his jacket, slinging it over the other dozen or so of them hung up on the hooks in the entryway, then peered around the