house. Doing so felt wrong
somehow, increasingly aware as he was of his own nervousness. For a while
he'd been convinced that Sawyer didn't want anything to do with him, and as
much as he'd wanted to change the man's mind, he hadn't thought he'd be
able to. He still wasn't sure what the deciding factor had been in the sudden
change of heart, which bothered him; he would have preferred to know why,
mostly so that he could use the knowledge to his advantage in the future.
The bus stopped two blocks from Sawyer's house, the address of which
Google had helpfully provided. Sterling walked up one street and then down
another, noting that the houses were older, but well kept up. No peeling paint
or unmowed lawns. Did Sawyer cut his own grass or pay someone to do it?
Sawyer's house was big and kind of old like the rest of them, with a wide
porch and some tangled bushes lining the path that led up to the front door.
Some of them were roses, Sterling thought, but he didn't know what the other
ones were. He hoped Sawyer wouldn't expect him to know. And of course that
thought set off a cascade of others, thoughts that made him even more anxious
about how this was going to go.
Luckily Sterling knew how to pretend he was confident and self-assured,
even when he was feeling anything but. It was a skill he'd perfected in years of
living with his father—one of the few things he'd learned from his father that he
actually ought to be grateful for, now that he thought about it.
He walked up the path slowly, aware that he was a few minutes early and
assuming that knocking on the door before eight would be as frowned upon as
being late. His cock, which had been at a state of half-mast all day, ached a
little bit as he went up the stairs and checked his watch—7:59. Surely that
wasn't too too early? He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and rang the bell.
Sawyer didn't keep him waiting for long, but the gap between when he
rang the bell and when the door opened still seemed endless. The door was
dark wood, with three stained-glass panels set high up, letting in some light
without compromising privacy. Sterling had time to notice that the rose motif
had carried over to the glass and time to count the panels on the door (six)
before he was staring not at wood, but Sawyer, a phone to his ear and an
exasperated look on his face.
He beckoned Sterling inside with a flick of his fingers and, when Sterling
stepped over the threshold, gave him a nod of greeting. “I have to go, sorry,” he
Bound and Determined
29
told the person on the other end of the phone. “Don't worry; I'll take care of it…
Yes, I know where you keep your lesson plans… No, don't mention it; you'd do
the same for me… Yes, I know you already did… See you soon.”
Sterling didn't want to ask questions, but he didn't need to. Sawyer turned
the phone off and tossed it onto a table against the wall, then gave him a rueful
smile. “Sorry about that. Part of academic life is the endless swapping of favors,
and that was one I owed just getting called in.” The smile faded, replaced by
pursed lips as Sawyer looked him over. Sterling tried not to fidget and did some
staring of his own. Plain green shirt and faded jeans with a thin leather
belt…casual, but like the man himself, a perfect fit. Sawyer always seemed so
damn sure of himself, wherever he was. He wasn't good-looking enough to turn
heads, his neatly trimmed hair an unremarkable dark brown and his eyes, now
that Sterling was close enough to really notice them, a clear light gray. It didn't
matter; he'd still get a second look in any crowd without even trying.
“Shoes,” Sawyer said unexpectedly and gestured at a built-in closet to
Sterling's left. “Take them off, and your jacket, please.”
Trying to reconcile the apology for being on the phone when he'd arrived
with the verging-on-curt order, Sterling obeyed. Maybe that was how you could
tell if someone was
somehow, increasingly aware as he was of his own nervousness. For a while
he'd been convinced that Sawyer didn't want anything to do with him, and as
much as he'd wanted to change the man's mind, he hadn't thought he'd be
able to. He still wasn't sure what the deciding factor had been in the sudden
change of heart, which bothered him; he would have preferred to know why,
mostly so that he could use the knowledge to his advantage in the future.
The bus stopped two blocks from Sawyer's house, the address of which
Google had helpfully provided. Sterling walked up one street and then down
another, noting that the houses were older, but well kept up. No peeling paint
or unmowed lawns. Did Sawyer cut his own grass or pay someone to do it?
Sawyer's house was big and kind of old like the rest of them, with a wide
porch and some tangled bushes lining the path that led up to the front door.
Some of them were roses, Sterling thought, but he didn't know what the other
ones were. He hoped Sawyer wouldn't expect him to know. And of course that
thought set off a cascade of others, thoughts that made him even more anxious
about how this was going to go.
Luckily Sterling knew how to pretend he was confident and self-assured,
even when he was feeling anything but. It was a skill he'd perfected in years of
living with his father—one of the few things he'd learned from his father that he
actually ought to be grateful for, now that he thought about it.
He walked up the path slowly, aware that he was a few minutes early and
assuming that knocking on the door before eight would be as frowned upon as
being late. His cock, which had been at a state of half-mast all day, ached a
little bit as he went up the stairs and checked his watch—7:59. Surely that
wasn't too too early? He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and rang the bell.
Sawyer didn't keep him waiting for long, but the gap between when he
rang the bell and when the door opened still seemed endless. The door was
dark wood, with three stained-glass panels set high up, letting in some light
without compromising privacy. Sterling had time to notice that the rose motif
had carried over to the glass and time to count the panels on the door (six)
before he was staring not at wood, but Sawyer, a phone to his ear and an
exasperated look on his face.
He beckoned Sterling inside with a flick of his fingers and, when Sterling
stepped over the threshold, gave him a nod of greeting. “I have to go, sorry,” he
Bound and Determined
29
told the person on the other end of the phone. “Don't worry; I'll take care of it…
Yes, I know where you keep your lesson plans… No, don't mention it; you'd do
the same for me… Yes, I know you already did… See you soon.”
Sterling didn't want to ask questions, but he didn't need to. Sawyer turned
the phone off and tossed it onto a table against the wall, then gave him a rueful
smile. “Sorry about that. Part of academic life is the endless swapping of favors,
and that was one I owed just getting called in.” The smile faded, replaced by
pursed lips as Sawyer looked him over. Sterling tried not to fidget and did some
staring of his own. Plain green shirt and faded jeans with a thin leather
belt…casual, but like the man himself, a perfect fit. Sawyer always seemed so
damn sure of himself, wherever he was. He wasn't good-looking enough to turn
heads, his neatly trimmed hair an unremarkable dark brown and his eyes, now
that Sterling was close enough to really notice them, a clear light gray. It didn't
matter; he'd still get a second look in any crowd without even trying.
“Shoes,” Sawyer said unexpectedly and gestured at a built-in closet to
Sterling's left. “Take them off, and your jacket, please.”
Trying to reconcile the apology for being on the phone when he'd arrived
with the verging-on-curt order, Sterling obeyed. Maybe that was how you could
tell if someone was
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