Loving Bailey
Contemporary M/M Romance
Now available at
BLURB
If only letting go of past mistakes were as easy as moving out of your
father's house and into your boyfriend's!
Ashton Duval is a professor at the college Bailey attends,
and even though there's no rule against dating students, he knows something
about the strain that power imbalance puts on a relationship. He's been down
that road before, and he doesn't want to put the man he loves in the position
of feeling like less than an equal partner.
Bailey Harris has been in love before, with disastrous
consequences. His heart tells him this time is different though. And after
nearly two years of hands-off dating, he's ready to move forward with his
boyfriend.
Secrets Bailey's held as treasures in his heart, emotions he
hadn't realized were undermining his confidence, and a man from his lover's
past all threaten to destroy the life they've been building.
EXCERPT
Chapter
One
Open
windows let in the salt-soaked breezes of the California evening, and with them
the laughter, shrieks, and good-natured hum of humanity that abounded in the
early summer evening. One of his neighbors was barbecuing, and a delicious
spicy sweet scent drifted in occasionally. He'd turned the television on for white
noise when he arrived home an hour ago, and it continued to drone on in the background.
These weren't the things that kept Dr. Ashton Duval from accomplishing what
needed to be done tonight. The three unexpected and unanswered text messages
from his ex, Dennis Romgarten, chair of his department at the college, weren't
the cause of his distraction either. Nothing he had to say interested Ashton outside
of working hours.
In
the comfort of familiar surroundings with their incumbent noises, a pile of
blue books which contained handwritten final essays from over one hundred fifty
freshmen surrounded Ashton. His colleagues chided him for the old-fashioned
method of test taking. They preferred their students to email essays in typed
format. Ashton figured having the students in his composition classes actually
write their final essays in class guaranteed the work he scored was original
and not copy-pasted from elsewhere on the net. Handwritten exams also meant he
had to squint and strain his eyes to read practically illegible handwriting
from students no longer accustomed to working in pen and ink. The results were
frequently disastrous, but often very telling.
He'd
carefully sorted the exam books into piles, those that would be unbearably
difficult to score, those that were sure to be brilliant, and those that would
be tedious but not painful to read. Over the six years that he had been
teaching Comp 101, he'd developed a reward system of sorts to make the task
easier. One painful essay scored, plus three tedious essays, and then he'd be
permitted to read one from the "sure to be brilliant" stack.
Usually
that system worked just fine and allowed him to plow through the reading and
have this portion of the grading for his class done before the final exam. The
method ensured that he could grade the data assessment portion of the test, one
hundred fill-in-the-blank, multiple choice, and matching questions about
correct word choice, punctuation usage, and grammar, quickly and easily.
Usually.
This
year, there were too many distractions and he wasn't at all able to focus on
scoring the essays, not the good ones, the bad ones, nor the merely tolerable
ones.
Instead,
he sat in the early evening, regretting his insistence that Bailey not come
over. He'd known that if his boyfriend were in the room, he wouldn't get a damn
bit of work done. He'd hoped that the prospect of seeing Bailey when he finished
his grading would give him incentive to finish quickly, but his masterful plan
had backfired.
The
television blithered on in the background about record amounts of summer
traffic and potential danger from sharks or maybe ultraviolet rays at the
beaches. He couldn't focus on any of that. The only thing his mind wanted to
dwell on was that graduation was ten days away.
Ten
days, each comprised of twenty-four hours. Two hundred forty more hours during
which he would do his best to be a gentleman and keep his hands to himself and
his lust in check. “Pomp and Circumstance” had soared to number one on his
personal list of favorite songs ever.
Because
after graduation, he and Bailey could move forward.
So
while he should be thinking about whether the essays that he had to score met
state standards, all he could focus on was that, in ten days, eighteen months
of waiting would come to an end. Blue eyes and plump red lips interfered when
he tried to comprehend a mind-boggling student analogy between Aristotle and
John Lennon.
Strong,
lean muscles and a flat, toned abdomen honed from working construction dragged
his concentration away from a discussion of the merits of uniforms in school. Two
hours of effort had seen less than a tenth of the papers graded. The tiny
fourth pile of scored essays looked pathetic next to its counterparts on the
polished oak table.
The
peal of the doorbell was a relief from the self-castigation of not working. He
tossed the paper he was grading onto the stack and rose. Pushing a frustrated
hand through his hair, he crossed the jute carpet he'd chosen for his living
area to the front door. Peering through the peephole, he couldn't help a broad
smile. Bailey stood on the porch, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking
like he'd come straight from work in his T-shirt and jeans.
Ashton
opened the door and gestured for his boyfriend to enter. Bailey held up a white
takeout bag, an uncertain expression on his face. "I know you said not to
come because you had to work tonight," he said. "But I thought I'd
bring dinner over."
Though
he had requested that Bailey not visit so he could focus on getting the grading
done and be free for the coming week, Ashton heard the insecurity and found
himself unable to refuse. After the way Bailey had been mocked for his crush on
Eden St. Cyr, his ego had been pretty fragile. "C'mon in." He gestured
into the room. A halo of incandescent light from the floor lamp and the
flickering lights of the television lit his comfortable leather sofa. "It's
a bit of a mess." Seeing the vibrant younger man in his cottage reassured
him. He wasn't like Dennis, he wasn't doing to Bailey what Dennis had done to
him.
"I'm
sorry. I know you said you were busy. It's just… I wanted to see you."
Bailey stepped inside and pressed a brief kiss to Ashton's cheek. He crossed
the room to the sofa but instead of sitting, stood hovering awkwardly with the
takeout bag balanced in his big square hands. Ashton hurried after him and shuffled
the graded blue books into one small pile and the un-scored essays into two
larger piles that he stacked on the floor between the sofa and the lamp.
"Have
a seat." Ashton gestured to the sofa.
Bailey
dropped the bag on the table and sat, relaxing into the overstuffed arm of the
sofa. Ashton paused to study him, and then returned to his position under the
lamp. Clearly there was more going on here than an urge to see him. Turning, he
smiled encouragingly at Bailey. The distance between them as well as the
expression on Bailey's face spoke of his discomfort. "Is there something
you'd like to talk about?" He reached out and placed his hand on Bailey's
knee, gave an encouraging squeeze. Once, he'd been young and looked up at his
lover like that. He hoped he did a better job of nurturing Bailey's needs than
his ex had done for him.
Bailey
met his gaze briefly before turning his attention to the TV that still played
in the background. His cheeks were flushed and he seemed fidgety. "You
don't think I can just stop by because I wanted to see you?"
Ashton
slid closer. The clean scent of sweat and sawdust clung to Bailey, more potent
than any cologne his past lovers had favored. He drew his hand up Bailey's arm
to a shoulder then cupped the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles
softly. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Bailey's temple. "I
think," he said, "that if this were any normal visit you wouldn't be
so tense and distant." Not willing to accept the distance, not when their
time apart was coming to an end, he wrapped his arms around Bailey and tugged
him closer into his embrace. "Are you going to make me guess what's
brought you here tonight when you should be studying for your exams next
week?"
Bailey
leaned against him and he could practically feel the heat of his flush through
his shirt. "I need you to promise me you'll do something for me."
"Anything,"
he promised rashly.
"My
dad and Eden want to throw me a twenty-first birthday slash graduation barbecue
party. Will you come with me?"
He
didn't have to think twice about that. In the eighteen months that he and
Bailey had been seeing each other, he'd been waiting for an invitation to meet
Bailey's family. He'd understood with the daily schedule of classes and work
that finding time for the two of them was enough of a struggle. He hadn't
pressed the issue of meeting Bailey's family, figuring Bailey would bring the
subject up when he was ready. "Absolutely. When?"
"Tomorrow.
Just like that?" Bailey drew back slightly, squinting at him. "You
aren't the least bit worried about meeting my dad and Eden?"
"Should
I be?" Ashton kissed Bailey lightly on the lips. "If I recall, they
know you're gay. It will be the height of hypocrisy given their relationship
for them to object to ours. I don't see any reason to be concerned about
it."
Bailey
cuddled close and heaved a sigh relief. "I know. It's just…I thought that
it might be awkward since I'm moving in here after graduation."
"Graduation
solves a lot of problems for us, doesn't it?" Though the community college
didn't expressly forbid a relationship between a professor and a student, much
to Bailey's chagrin, Ashton had refused to allow more than kissing and petting
between them until Bailey was no longer a student at the college where Ashton
taught composition to incoming freshmen.
Ashton
tightened his grip and pulled Bailey closer, urging the younger man almost into
his lap. Bailey went willingly, curling himself into Ashton and shifting until
their bodies were pressed tight together, hip to hip, and thigh to thigh.
"You're
sure you want me to move in here with you?" More tease than uncertainty lurked
in Bailey's voice this time, so Ashton tickled him in the ribs until he giggled
and pushed Ashton away.
"The
bungalow is small, I know, but it's close to the beach and the neighborhood is
great. If you'd rather live somewhere else, I'm not opposed to looking, but I'd
love for you to live here with me while we look." Ashton fell back against
the sofa, laughing. Bailey lurched forward, looming over him. Their gazes
caught and held. The laughter died on his lips as he recognized the heat in
Bailey's blue gaze. He swallowed hard as a surge of passion overtook him.
They'd waited so long, resisted the desire that sparked between them even as it
grew more and more insistent with each glance they exchanged, each kiss they
shared, each caress they dared explore. "Bailey…" he whispered.
Bailey's
mouth firmed with determination. He shifted, pushing Ashton back into the sofa
cushions, propping his elbows against the arm of the sofa so he could lean
forward and brush his lips across Ashton's mouth. Bracing himself for a
familiar onslaught, Ashton exhaled softly. He'd expected passionate demand and
entreaty, this soft coaxing kiss took him off guard and he opened to it
immediately.
Bailey
scooped his arms under Ashton, and despite their similar size, easily
maneuvered Ashton into his lap. Ashton sat astride Bailey, their lips clinging
in a dizzying caress that left him yearning for more.
The
drone of the television faded into nothingness, replaced by the steadily
increasing rhythm of his pounding heart. The rush of blood sensitized his skin and
obscured every sound outside his body, until the only sounds he was conscious
of were the low soul searing noises that Bailey made as the kiss deepened and
his hands wandered.
Bailey
bucked against him, pushing their groins together, and Ashton groaned. Yanking
his mouth away, he panted. "Enough. Please."
"Don't
you…"
"Please,
Bailey. Honey, just a few more days. We've waited this long, a few more days is
okay, isn't it?" In need of distance and distraction to get his passion
under control, he lurched off the sofa and grabbed the takeout. "What did
you get?"
"Thai.
Sesame chicken and jasmine rice from that place around the corner that you
like." He didn't need to see Bailey's face to know he was pouting, Ashton
could hear the displeasure in his voice.
Pour l'Amour de Jacob
