By Chance (Courtland Chronicles) Read online

  Still, he dredged up enough strength to unpack his bag and hang everything up in the closet. His reflexes were so sluggish he banged his hand on the top shelf, and down came an extra pillow, hitting him smack in the face. He tossed it on the couch, then figured he might as well pull down another blanket while he was at it.

  Afterward, he collapsed into the overstuffed armchair, letting his head fall back against the cushions. Now he could have kicked himself for playing the gay panic card. He’d never been ashamed of his own sexuality, but using it as a ploy to get his own way was just plain low. And yes, dealing with his family this past month had scraped his nerves raw, but that was no excuse for taking it out on Nick, who seemed like a decent guy, even if he obviously lacked the neatness gene. Hopefully he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.

  A key rattled in the lock and the door opened.

  “Hey,” his roommate said in a tight, terse tone, eyes widening when he saw the pillow and blanket stacked neatly on the couch. “Thanks.”

  “Not a problem.” Eric sat up straight, taking a deep breath. “Look, if I offended you earlier, I’m sorry. This hasn’t been one of my better days.”

  “Mine either,” Nick replied with a tiny smile. “Last thing I wanted to do this morning was stand in line waiting for a new room assignment.”

  “Point taken. However, I should warn you that getting along with people’s never been my strong suit.”

  “Gee, I never would’ve guessed.”

  Touché. Eric chuckled. “Okay, I deserved that.”

  Nick’s smile widened into that same toothy, dazzling grin he’d flashed earlier that afternoon. The momentary tightness in Eric’s groin made him profoundly grateful that he was sitting down. “Why don’t we make it a do-over?” Nick extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Nick Thompson. Pleased to meet you.”

  The warmth of Nick’s fingers did nothing to alleviate Eric’s condition, even if it did feel amazing. With the exception of brief, faceless encounters in public toilets and darkened dorm rooms, Eric usually avoided touching other people. He couldn’t be sure of controlling his reactions, a point his body was now hammering home.

  “Eric Courtland,” he replied. “Glad to have you aboard—er, so to speak.”

  Nick’s eyebrow arched. “Any relation to Edward Courtland, the big-shot CEO?”

  The mere mention of his father’s name made Eric recoil inside, but he prided himself on not letting it show. “I’m Big Shot CEO, Jr.”

  “Wow. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This school’s packed to the rafters with the super-rich.”

  “Be glad you’re not one of them. I can sniff out the type blindfolded at a hundred paces.”

  “Yeah? What do they smell like?”

  “Snobby, uptight, insular, homophobic… Ring a bell?”

  Nick’s cheerful expression evaporated. “I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier. Honest, I’m not a homophobe.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We got a do-over, remember?” Eric forced a smile. “As long as you clean up after yourself and don’t blare your music at ninety decibels, we should get along fine.”

  They turned out the lights a little while later. Despite Eric’s exhaustion, he didn’t drop off right away. Instead, he lay there listening to Nick’s soft snoring from the other side of the room, wondering how he was going to get through the next couple of weeks with a raging hard-on.

  Chapter Two

  The dining hall roared with voices and the sharp clank of plates and silverware. Nick spied the top of Ally’s blonde head from across the room and waved her over to his table. As usual, she had her hands full, so he stood to help her with her backpack and lunch tray.

  “These last few days have been insane!” Standing on her tiptoes, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then dropped gratefully into her seat. She looked a bit windblown, hair tousled, cheeks bright pink. She quickly shucked her wool gloves and scooped up her fork, attacking her salad with ravenous abandon. “Can’t believe this is the first time I’ve seen you. I got worried when we missed each other at check-in the other day.”

  “Me too. So where’d they end up sticking you?”

  “Nowhere, thank God. Holly’s sister’s firm’s sent her to London for the next six months, so Holly and I scored apartment-sitting duty.”

  “Lucky you. I’m sacking out on a guy’s couch over in Watt.”

  She took a long sip of her coffee. “That’s not too bad, is it? Don’t they have their own kitchens and bathrooms? The kind you don’t have to share with eight other people, I mean.”

  “I’d rather have the eight other people. Eric’s not exactly Mr. Warmth.” Nick shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It’s only for a little while, right?”

  “Um, well…” She glanced around nervously, then leaned in closer. “The Spectator’s holding the story till next week, but it doesn’t look good. I interviewed one of the top guys in building administration, and they’ve had contractors and insurance adjustors in the past few days assessing the damage. The hall needs a complete re-pipe job, plus replacing most of the flooring and drywall. They’re estimating repairs will take most of the semester.”

  “Oh, great.” As if he didn’t already feel like bashing his head against the nearest wall. “Fuck! What am I supposed to do now?”

  “Didn’t you just say you’ve got a place to crash?”

  “Yeah, but Eric’s not happy about having me there. Guess I can’t blame him. If I came back from Christmas break to find a total stranger using my shower, I wouldn’t like it either.”

  Ally’s coffee mug froze an inch away from her mouth. “That’s how the two of you met?”

  “Would I make up something like that?” She burst out giggling, and while Nick tried to shame her with a glare, it was a losing battle. “Go ahead, laugh. You’re not the one who’ll be sleeping in a cardboard box on the street.”

  “Oh, c’mon, you don’t think this Eric guy’d kick you out? I mean, he can’t—not legally, anyway.”

  “But he could make the next few months hell for me, if he really wanted to.”

  “Well, I can ask Holly if it’s okay for you to stay with us, but you’ll have to sack out on the floor.”

  “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll just have to get through it.” He shrugged. “Eric isn’t that awful. I mean, it got kind of weird there at the beginning, but we ironed things out. He’s just not very friendly. Plus, he’s a real neat freak.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lucky him, snagging the King of Slobs as a roomie.”

  “He’s been pretty cool with it, as long as I keep the bathroom picked up and don’t let my mess migrate over to his side of the living room. Could be a lot worse.”

  “Isn’t that what they said about the Black Plague, when it only killed half of Europe?”

  They were both through with classes for the day, so Nick invited her over to take a look at his new digs. Her gaze ping-ponged between the couch, piled high with clothes, rumpled bedding and books, and the other side of the room, with its neatly made double bed and a sturdy oak desk so spotless it looked as if no one had ever used it.

  “Oscar and Felix, together again,” she quipped with a grin.

  As if on cue, the door opened. Eric shut it behind him, glancing pointedly from Nick to Ally, then back at Nick. “I wasn’t aware we were expecting guests.”

  Nick’s stomach sank. Shit! Last thing he needed was to get Eric pissed at him again. “Eric, this is Ally Taylor,” he said, pasting on a smile. “We used to be suitemates over at Ruggles. Ally, meet Eric Courtland.”

  “Wow.” Ally reached out to grasp Eric’s proffered hand. “I had no idea Nick was hanging out in such rarefied company.”

  One corner of Eric’s mouth curved up in an ironic little half smile. Nick wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or nervous. “What exactly has he told you about me?”

  “It’s more what he didn’t mention. Not all of us are lucky enough to land billionaires for roommates.”

  Eric l
et out a snort. “My father’s the billionaire. I’m just a poor student.”

  “Pretty nice room for a poor student.”

  “A poor student on an allowance. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” He slung his backpack off his shoulder and onto his desk, then peeled off his coat and wool cap, his short sandy-blond hair sticking up in spiky tufts. “I’m going to fix myself some lunch.” With that, he disappeared into the kitchen.

  Ally shot Nick a pointed glance, sidling up to him to mutter, “You weren’t kidding about the not-friendly part.”

  Nick shrugged. What else could he say? Eric was just…well, being Eric.

  “I’d better get going,” she added. “Oh, before I forget—you took Stevenson for early twentieth-century US history last semester, right? I was wondering if you still had your notes. He talks so fast I can’t keep up with him.”

  That was especially ironic coming from Ally; Nick had to bit his lip to keep from laughing. He dug around in the closet until he found his old US history notebook. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to her as he ushered her out the door. “Save me a seat in Mitchell’s class tomorrow, otherwise we’ll end up missing each other again.”

  “Will do.” She grinned. “And good luck in there with Mr. Motormouth.”

  “Shut up.” He closed the door, then headed into the kitchen for a soda. Eric was sitting at the table, eating another bowl of soup, a thick textbook spread out open-face on the table. He glanced up briefly when Nick came in, but didn’t say anything.

  Nick sighed. As usual, it was up to him to break the stony silence. “Sorry about that. I should’ve asked if it was okay before I started inviting people over.”

  “As long as you keep it to one person at a time, it’s fine by me.” Eric finished off his last spoonful of soup before pushing his bowl away, then leaned back in his chair. From this angle he looked pale and fragile, his cheeks and jawline jutting out like razor blades. Weirdly enough, it seemed to suit him. “I’ll probably be gone this weekend, so you and your girlfriend can have the run of the place.”

  “Ally’s not my girlfriend,” he said, wincing inwardly. It’d come out a lot sharper than it’d sounded in his head. “Not anymore, anyway.”

  “Really? You two seem pretty close for exes.”

  “Good friends usually are.”

  “My mistake.” Eric dog-eared a page in his textbook before flipping it shut.

  Nick couldn’t resist glancing at the cover. “Economics, huh? Is that your major?”

  “Double major, actually, with political science.”

  Impressed, Nick stifled the urge to whistle. Most of the well-off guys in his classes skated by on “gentlemen’s C’s,” but in the short time they’d been roommates, he’d never seen Eric go more than an hour or two without burying his nose in a book. “That’s pretty heavy-duty. Guess you’re getting ready to follow in your dad’s footsteps, huh?”

  Eric’s lip curled. “Hardly. I want nothing to do with Courtland Industries or anything else my father’s involved in. Lately I’ve been considering a career in politics.”

  “You want to run for president or something?”

  “Eventually.” Eric smiled. “After I get my doctorate out of the way.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that if I look up ‘ambitious’ in the dictionary, I’ll find your picture?” Eric laughed—and this time, it actually sounded sincere. Taking it as a favorable sign, Nick yanked out the other chair and sat down. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  Eric pondered it a moment, then nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “For someone who wants to run for public office, you sure don’t seem to like people that much. I haven’t seen you down in the dining hall once.”

  “That’s an observation, not a question.”

  Annoying, even if he was technically right. “Okay, then. Why do you avoid people?”

  Eric flinched. “I’m, um, not especially fond of crowds.”

  “That’s a pretty big handicap for an aspiring politician. You’ll have to give speeches in front of huge crowds when you’re campaigning.”

  “True.” Eric flashed him the same tiny half smile that had made Nick so nervous earlier. This time it sent a sharp zing! sailing through him, tingling all the way to this fingertips. What the hell? “Since you’re so astute at diagnosing my problem, how do you suggest I cure it?”

  “What time’s your first class tomorrow?”

  “Ten, I think.”

  “Good. The dining hall’s pretty deserted after nine. C’mon down with me tomorrow, and we’ll have breakfast.”

  Now Eric stiffened, shaking his head. “I don’t normally eat breakfast.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” He nodded at Eric’s bowl. “Is that what you live on all semester? No wonder you’re so skinny.”

  “Your concern’s flattering, but there’s no need—”

  “Just humor me, okay? One meal downstairs won’t kill you, I promise. Who knows? You might end up liking it.”

  A slow grin crept across Eric’s face, right before he burst out laughing. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that, I wouldn’t need a trust fund.”

  Amazing how happy—cute, even—Eric looked when he let himself smile like he really meant it. It softened his features and put a warm spark in those pale blue eyes. Nick smiled back, even as his stomach did a weird little flip-flop.

  Chapter Three

  Five minutes in line, and Eric was already itching to bolt. He clutched the tray Nick had handed him and looked over the morning’s breakfast menu with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “This place stinks of rancid grease.”

  “That’s one reason to avoid the scrambled eggs,” Nick replied. “Besides the fact that they’re powdered eggs.”

  “Then what would you recommend from this delicious selection?” He barely refrained from rolling his eyes, but Nick’s lopsided smile told Eric he’d picked up on the sarcasm in his tone.

  “I usually go for the oatmeal, and milk instead of coffee.”

  “Fine by me.” He let Nick order for both of them, then slid his tray down to the next station, reaching over the counter to take the steaming bowl handed to him by a dining hall worker.

  A very familiar-looking well-built dining hall worker who winked at him and said, “Hey.”

  From the puzzled crinkle between Nick’s eyes, he’d obviously picked up on that too. “You two know each other?” he asked as they moved to the end of the line.

  “Only in the biblical sense.”

  “Oh.” Twin spots of high color sprang to life on Nick’s cheeks. “Sorry.”

  Twenty years old, and he still blushed? God, how charming. Eric couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Baskets of assorted apples, oranges and bananas sat next to the cash registers. Nick grabbed two apples and two bananas, putting one of each on his and Eric’s trays. “For snacks in between classes. They’re a lot healthier than chips or candy bars.”

  “You’ve got this down to a science,” Eric observed, handing his meal card over to the cashier.

  “When you’ve been on a training diet for six and a half years, you learn a few things. C’mon, let’s go sit down.”

  But no sooner had they entered the dining room when Nick froze, gaze locked on a bunch of jocks at a nearby table, all sporting blue-and-white Columbia Lions letterman’s jackets.

  “Friends of yours?” Eric prompted, giving the room a quick once-over. True to Nick’s word, the place wasn’t that crowded.

  “Teammates. And believe me, no one I especially want to talk to.”

  Strange, but still, none of his business. Eric spied an empty table close to one of the hall’s front windows and headed toward it.

  “Would you rather sit in the corner instead?” Nick called after him. “It’s quieter.”

  “I prefer sitting where I can see outside.” He shrugged. “City-dweller’s paranoia, I guess.”

  “Whatever you want.” Nick followed
, then sat down across from him and started digging into his breakfast.

  Eric spooned up a healthy mouthful, chewing it a few times before realizing it was a leaden, flavorless mess. It stuck to the roof of his mouth, so thick he could barely work his teeth through it. At last he managed to swallow, chasing it all down with a generous slug of milk.

  Nick glanced up from his bowl. “What’s the matter?”

  “This stuff tastes like the paste they give you in grammar school art class, only hot.”

  Nick picked up a salt packet and a pat of butter and handed it to him. “Try some of this.”

  It helped, if only a little. The salt gave it flavor, and the butter made it go down easier. Eric shrugged and took a smaller bite. It was all just fuel anyway. Weirdly enough, now that he’d started eating, he realized he really was hungry.

  “Do you eat this slop every morning?” he asked, training his incredulous gaze on Nick’s half-empty bowl.

  Nick laughed. “Every winter since I was a kid, but my mom’s oatmeal’s a lot better than this. Only thing that keeps you warm when you’re out in subzero temperatures milking cows.”

  “You grew up on a farm?” With an odd pang, it dawned on him that he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in Nick’s background until now.

  “Yeah. My folks own a dairy operation upstate, a few miles from Seneca Falls.”

  “You’re kidding.” Eric set down his spoon, darting a glance around the room to make sure Rod Serling wasn’t lurking nearby. “I grew up on the other side of the lake, in Geneva. My mother still lives there.”

  “Get out!”

  “It’s the truth, I swear.”

  Nick laughed. “So here I am, rooming with a guy who’s lived ten miles away from me my entire life. What are the odds?”

  “Well, we didn’t move there until I was ten. I was actually born right here in the city.”

  “And I’d only visited the city a few times before I got accepted here.” Nick wagged his head. “This is too bizarre.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you end up at Columbia?”