By Chance (Courtland Chronicles)
By Chance
Book One of the Courtland Chronicles
Cat Grant
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By Chance
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Copyright © 2009 Cat Grant
Revised Edition © December 2012
Excerpt from Revised Edition of Strictly Business © 2012 Cat Grant
Revised edition edited by Jennifer Barker and Rachel Haimowitz.
Cover design by LC Chase
ISBN: 978-0-9884840-0-9 (.mobi)
978-0-9884840-1-6 (.epub)
978-0-9884840-2-3 (.pdf)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This work contains graphic language and explicit sexual content between two consenting male adults. Intended for adult readers only. Not intended for readers under the age of 18.
For more information on the author’s other works, please visit: http://catgrant.com
About By Chance
A life of wealth and privilege doesn’t equal happiness—just ask Eric Courtland. Growing up with a cold, unfeeling father and unstable mother has taught him exactly what he doesn’t want out of life or love. The troubled young man prefers a solitary life and is content to keep it that way until a campus emergency saddles him with an unwanted roommate.
Popular, wholesome, straight Nick Thompson is far more temptation than Eric’s prepared for, but Nick’s warm, easygoing manner gradually cracks through Eric’s prickly protective shell.
After Eric suffers a traumatic attack, their friendship gives way to an intense passion. Eric’s no stranger to casual sex, but what he feels for Nick is something deeper, and more fragile.
Independent Eric doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship, much less with a lover who can't even admit he's gay. But conservative Nick can't seem to find his way out of his own personal closet.
Rock, meet hard place.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Afterword
Coming January 2013 – Strictly Business Book Two of the Courtland Chronicles
Also by Cat Grant
About Cat Grant
Chapter One
January, 1995
Eric stepped inside his room and stopped short, frozen by the sight of someone else’s clothes strewn over the couch. What the hell? Had dorm administration assigned him a new room without telling him?
If so, they hadn’t bothered moving his furniture or changing the number on the door. He let his backpack slide to the floor, shrugging off his parka just as he registered the soft patter of water running in the bathroom.
Confusion quickly morphed into panic, but he held it in check while he tugged off his gloves and rummaged in the closet for his old baseball bat. With the hallways bustling with students returning after winter break, it’d apparently been far too easy for someone to slip in here unnoticed. Someone about six foot three and built like a brick wall, if the giant-sized jeans, boxers and T-shirts spilling out of an equally huge duffel bag were any indication. Common sense told him to call security, but to hell with that. He could take care of this jerk himself.
The bathroom door yawned half-open, curls of steam wafting out, the moist heat stinging Eric’s skin. He poked his head in just as the water shut off, the shower door swinging wide—
And out stepped a dripping-wet Greek god.
Speechless, Eric stood there staring, until he remembered he was supposed to be pissed. “What’re you doing in my room?”
The guy whipped a towel off the rail and around his waist, much to Eric’s relief. He was having a hard enough time keeping his eyes on the guy’s face. Something rang familiar about him, though Eric couldn’t quite place it. High cheekbones, a straight nose, lush lips and dark, wavy hair sat atop a muscular, well-defined athlete’s torso.
“You going to answer me?” Eric prompted sharply, holding up the bat. “Or do I need to press the issue?”
“Jesus, put that thing down!” The guy fell back a step, raking a handful of dark curls off his forehead. “Look, I’m sorry I startled you, okay? I was assigned to this room this morning.”
Eric lowered the bat, raising his eyebrow. “You’re my roommate?”
“That’s what they told me down in the admin’s office.”
Not fucking likely. Still, Eric’s curiosity was piqued. How far did the guy plan to carry this little charade? “Prove it.”
Hands raised as if under arrest, the guy scooted carefully past him and into the living room. Eric followed, waiting as the half-naked giant dug in his bag, then shoved a crumpled sheet of paper under Eric’s nose. “Watt Hall, upperclassmen’s wing. Room 5D, right? That’s what it says on the door.”
Eric stared at the paper, the heat of budding rage inching slowly up his throat. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he snapped, ripping it out of the guy’s hand before heading for the door.
Bypassing the packed elevators, he barreled down the stairs two at a time until he reached the first floor. A line of bedraggled, pissed-off students stretched down the hall and around the corner, most of them still bundled in their winter coats, suitcases and backpacks piled at their feet. Gut tightening at the sight of so many people in a confined space, Eric ignored their protests long enough to elbow his way to the front of the line and into the dorm administrator’s office.
Mickey, the administrator in question, clutched a clipboard in his sweaty hands, frantically flipping pages as two frazzled coeds glared at him. He took one look at Eric and scribbled something on a piece of paper, handed it to the girls and hustled them out the door. “Five minute break,” he barked to the crowd, then closed the door and flipped the lock. Indignant cries went up, fists pounding angrily on the glass.
“Sorry, Eric, but I got a situation here,” Mickey said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “The pipes burst over at Ruggles Hall during the holidays. We didn’t find out till everyone started checking in this morning. I got over a hundred students I need to find places for.”
“Then it won’t be any more trouble to find another place for that guy you sent to my room.”
Mickey stared at him. “You arrogant rich prick. You’ve got no idea how many hoops I had to jump through to snag you that private room—”
“And for the amount of money I’ve been slipping you every month, I expect it to stay private.”
“You’d better be glad I haven’t sent another couple guys to sack out on your floor in sleeping bags. That’s what I have to do with everybody else, ’cause guess what? We don’t have enough rooms!”
Eric came that close to letting fly with a few choice words, but instead he clenched his teeth and counted to ten. Being told to suck it up rankled, even if he was on the wrong side of the argument. As a junior, he was
n’t supposed to have a room to himself. He and Mickey could both be in hot water if Mickey’s higher-ups found out.
“What about the gym?” he snapped.
“It filled up within the first hour, or I would’ve sent him over there already.”
A perfectly reasonable response, which didn’t make Eric’s slow burn go down any easier. “So how long’s this supposed to last? Two weeks? A month? All semester?”
“Who the hell knows? I’m just trying to put out fires.” Mickey eyed the throng on the other side of the door with a sigh. “Look, it’ll be at least a week or two till we find out what’s going on with Ruggles—”
“And what happens after that?”
“If they can’t fix it, they’ll probably offer everybody their rent back and send ’em home.”
“What if he doesn’t take it?”
“Then I’ll find him another place to crash, okay? But for now, you’re just gonna have to deal with the situation.”
“Fine,” Eric muttered, adding a silent thanks for nothing as Mickey opened the door to let him out, heart thrashing with panic as the crowd closed around him. He pushed and bulldozed, throwing elbows until he finally broke free, then bolted downstairs and out the front door.
He slumped against the building, turning up his jacket’s thick wool collar against the bitter January chill, sucking down fresh air until his lungs screamed from the cold. But he couldn’t go back inside—not yet, anyway. So he headed for the Greek deli across the street, ordered a coffee and sat down at a tiny corner table, stirring in a dollop of cream while he ruminated.
Mickey’s tirade had scorched the edge off Eric’s anger, though lingering irritation still needled him. Maybe he couldn’t get his unwelcome guest kicked out through official channels, but what if the guy decided to leave on his own?
Eric sipped his coffee, a slow grin spreading across his lips. He had a pretty good idea how to manage that.
* * *
By the time he got back, his new roomie was fully dressed and busily shifting Eric’s clothes around in the closet to make room for his own. Eric had to bite his cheek to keep from screaming “Stop touching my stuff!”
He settled for slamming the door instead, perversely pleased when the guy gave a start and bumped his head on the closet’s top shelf. “Looks like you’re in for the duration.”
The guy rubbed his head with one huge hand. Jesus, was he that big all over? Eric’s gaze flicked momentarily to the guy’s crotch. “Sorry. Guess I should’ve waited for you to show up before I jumped in the shower.” He held out that huge hand, flashing a toothy grin. “I’m Nick Thompson, by the way.”
Eric stared at Nick’s hand, then back at his face. Now he remembered where he’d seen him before. “The new quarterback—also known as the reason I lost a bundle on the Dartmouth game last semester.”
“You’re not the first person who’s told me that.” His smile turned sheepish—and positively adorable. Of course, Eric’s stomach, empty and acidic from the coffee, would have to pick that moment to let forth an undignified growl. He pivoted on his heel and headed into the tiny efficiency kitchen to forage in the cupboards, hoping he’d left behind something edible from before the winter holidays. He found one lone can of vegetable soup, emptied it into a saucepan and set it on the stove. Tomorrow he’d have to hit the little mom-and-pop store on the corner for groceries, or else steel himself to brave the noisy, overcrowded dining hall.
Watt was far from Columbia’s most luxurious residence hall, with its old-fashioned fire escapes and hardwood floors making the rooms uncomfortably chilly during the winter months. Eric’s room had come unfurnished, but with his mother’s help he’d found a good secondhand couch and armchair. Add a sturdy desk, coffee table and a couple of faux-Turkish throw rugs, and the place could almost pass for a typical Manhattan studio apartment. What it lacked in plush amenities, it more than made up for in peace and quiet. And after the awful Christmas break he’d endured, Eric was in desperate need of solitude.
He’d just started digging into his spartan supper when Nick appeared in the doorway. “They told me this room had two twin beds. You’ve got them pushed together.”
“And they’re staying that way,” Eric replied curtly.
“But where am I supposed to—”
“You’ll only be here a week or two. Sleep on the couch. It’s plenty comfortable.”
Hard to miss the exasperated twitch of Nick’s mouth. Good. His plan was working. “Look, I know you don’t want me here any more than I do, but can’t we try to make the best of it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Nick chuckled ruefully. “If this is your idea of cooperation, I’d hate to see you when you’re being difficult.”
“If you’re dead set against the couch, feel free to curl up in bed with me.”
Nick’s smile faded. “Very funny.”
“Who says I’m joking?” He’d expected another rejoinder, but instead Nick’s gaze dropped to the floor. Triumph curled in Eric’s belly, warming him better than the soup. One more nudge, and he’d have the place to himself again. “You’re the type I usually go for. Can’t say I’m especially enamored of you right now, but what the hell—angry sex can be pretty hot. Besides, didn’t you just say we should try to make the best of the situation?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Whatever.” Eric rose and set his dishes in the sink. “Can’t blame me for trying. I mean, you are a football player. That’s barely even in the closet these days.”
Nick drew back, his jaw tightening as Eric pushed past him into the living room. “I’m not gay.”
“If you say so.” Damn. The quarterback was made of sterner stuff than Eric had given him credit for. Most jocks would’ve either run screaming or punched his lights out by now. “But for the record, I am gay. If you’ve got a problem with that, find another place to sleep.”
“I don’t, as long as you’re not hitting on me every five minutes.”
That stung, though Eric concealed it with a sardonic chortle. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need to force myself on anyone. But if you’re that worried, you’d better use the communal bathroom down the hall. Wouldn’t want me to get another eyeful of that tight virgin ass.”
Nick’s hands curled into fists. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work,” he snapped. Oh, shit. Eric started backing away. “I’ve got nowhere else to go, so it looks like we’re stuck with each other. Take my advice and knock it off.” He snatched a book from his duffel bag and flopped down on the couch.
Relief warring with a plummeting sense of failure, Eric chewed his lower lip, fighting off the urge to kick the nearest solid object. He’d taken what he thought was his one sure shot, never dreaming it’d fly so wide of the mark. He’d screwed up royally—and that wasn’t something he was used to.
Might as well drown his misery with a shower. He grabbed a clean pair of sweats from his bag, then remembered he needed to call home. The phone on his desk had an extra long extension cord, so he hauled it into the bathroom and shut the door. His gaze landed on the vanity, littered with Nick’s razor, shaving cream, comb and a bunch of other stuff spilling out of his shaving kit. Snorting with disgust, Eric scooped everything up and shoved it in the plain black leather case, then started the shower to make sure Nick couldn’t overhear him.
Then he dialed the extension in his mother’s bedroom, holding his breath for five rings until she picked up. “H’lo?”
She sounded awful, groggy and scratchy-voiced. But since she’d spent the past weekend recovering from a handful of sleeping pills washed down with vodka, he wasn’t terribly surprised. “It’s me,” he said. “Just checking to see how you’re feeling.”
“Much better, thank you, sweetheart.” She spoke more slowly now, making an obvious effort to enunciate her words. It hurt so much just listening to her, Eric had to squeeze his eyes shut. “But you didn’t need to call,” she
added. “I know you must be busy settling back in.”
“It’s no problem, you know that.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. Your father’s being very sweet and attentive.”
Of course he was. Amazing what a little guilt could do. But it wouldn’t last. It never did. “Good,” Eric managed to croak. “Glad to hear it.”
“Have a good week at school. I’ll be thinking of you.”
A good week. God, that was funny. He’d be lucky to get through it without chewing his nails off. “I’ll try to catch a train up to see you this weekend. We didn’t get to spend much time together over the holidays.”
“No need, but if you wanna come…” She was fading, slurring, already half out of it. What was it this time, pills or booze? And why didn’t his father take all that shit out of her room, like he’d promised?
“I gave you my pager number, didn’t I?” he said.
“S’right here on my nightstand. G’night, dear.”
“Call me if you need any—” The line clicked off.
He stared at the receiver, pondering whether to call back, if only to tell her a proper goodbye. No point. She was probably face-deep in the pillow by now.
So he hung up, yanked off his clothes and climbed into the shower. He stood gratefully under the hot spray, bowing his head to let it pound his shoulders and the back of his neck. Usually a shower energized him, but tonight his whole body felt leaden, a slow throb swelling over his right eye. He toweled off quickly, then chased down three aspirin with water from the tap.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and sighed. From the hollows under his eyes, no one would ever guess he’d just come back from a month’s vacation. With another sigh, he started tugging on his sweats. If he couldn’t help being exhausted, at least he could be comfortable.
To his relief, he emerged from the bathroom to find himself alone. Nick must’ve gone down to the dining hall. As if on cue, Eric’s stomach grumbled again. He considered heading to the vending machine down the hall for a snack, but he was too damn tired. All he wanted was to roll into bed and let oblivion claim him.