Turning Him Gay: 4 Story Bundle Straight to Gay MM by Noah Clark

Author:Noah Clark [Clark, Noah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B09Y3J5VMV
Goodreads: 60827897
Published: 2022-04-14T22:00:00+00:00

Caught Staring

“Can you please turn it down?” I said, taking my earbuds out and staring at my roommate. “I’m trying to study. I can hear your stupid video game even wearing headphones.”

“So,” he said, grabbing a handful of chips. God, I hated living in the dorms. My freshman year was the guy that smelled like a pet store. Last semester I had the crier. This semester was Jacob and his video games. He’d play them until sunrise some nights. “Go to the library. Libraries are for studying, dude, rooms are for chilling. And it’s the weekend.”

I let out a sigh, threw my books in my bag, and made for the library.

Inside I found a seat at an empty table and started back in on my studying. I was screwed. Finals were in three days and it looked like I would need a miracle to pass calculus.

Why did I have to even pass calculus? I was a liberal arts major. Shouldn’t I be exempt from calculus? When is mankind ever going to need me to perform calculus?

I tried to focus, to just take it one equation at a time. Just advance one small concept after another. Baby steps, I kept telling myself. But whenever I actually put pencil to paper my pulse would start to race, I would start to mix up the order of how to do the equation, then the panic would turn to paralysis and I just wouldn’t do anything, just stare lifelessly at the page.

At the library, free of distractions, I couldn’t even blame my inability to study on Jacob or his never-ending binge of video games. One hour turned to two, then two to three, and before long I’d been there five hours and hadn’t done a single equation. My mind had just been racing and racing, going in loops. Imagining failing, having to not only tell my parents I’d failed but having to retake this fucking course.

I needed food.

I made my way to the cafeteria, looked at the lines for the different shops, and chose the Italian place based on how short the line was.

“What do you want?” The glassy-eyed kid behind the counter said.

“Penne with pesto, chicken, broccoli, green and red peppers.”

The guy started cooking it. There was a reason the Italian shop usually had the smallest line. For whatever reason, they seemed to put the dumbest kids at the Italian shop. None of them knew how much sauce to add, how long to cook the vegetables, or what a normal portion of meat looked like.

“Could you please add a bit more pesto,” I said, eyeballing the mess he was making.

“This is the standard amount, guy.” He said, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Just a bit more? Please?” I said.

“Fine.” He scooped a massive amount of pesto onto my dish, swirled it around, then poured the culinary miscarriage onto a plate. “Enjoy,” he said.

It was truly terrible Italian food, which is a hard thing to totally fuck up. I ate as much as I could before I tossed it.

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