The Glow Up (Franklin U Book 5)

Book Preface

Thick smoke curled from the joint’s tip as I held it to my lips. The cloudless sky overhead bore down on my exposed shoulders, baking my skin in the California sun. I frowned and stared at the sidewalk for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes from my perch on the rooftop of the science building.

“Shit…” I wheezed and sputtered, choking and waving away the exhaled smoke.

“Such a novice. Are we feeling dramatic today?” Tommy asked, and I decided he wasn’t the most supportive friend I’d ever had.

Tommy was the Tommiest of all the Toms with his perfectly styled deep side part, polo t-shirts, and his love for being the life of the party.

“I don’t usually smoke this shit. You know that.”

He rolled his eyes and took a smooth drag like it wasn’t dragon fire. “Edibles are for the weak.”

“Edibles are for people who’d rather not pollute their lungs. But thank you for sharing,” I said without much conviction as my eyes snagged on a guy coming up the path.

I sighed. It wasn’t him.

“He isn’t coming.” My shoulders slumped as I leaned back onto my elbows.  “My life is over.”

“Yup, definitely fucking dramatic.” He held his hand to my forehead, and I swatted it away. “Your obsession is starting to worry me, my friend.” Tommy licked his fingers and dashed out the joint. “This guy doesn’t even know you exist.”

“Yet.”

He laughed, his bloodshot eyes squinting in the sunlight as he stared at me. “Your optimism will be your downfall.”

“Thanks.” I sat up and pulled my legs from over the roof’s ledge. Standing, I wiped my hands on my jeans. “I better get back to work.”

“Don’t get mad at me, dude. I’m only speaking the truth. You’ve been salivating over this guy since freshman year, and you don’t even know his name. That’s kind of… weird.”

“One… I’m not mad.” I held up my fingers.  “Two… in my opinion, names are overrated. And three…  fuck you, I am not weird.”

He stood and set his hands on my shoulders, his grip heavy and strong. Looking me dead in the eyes, he said, “You have got to get a life. Get laid. And get over grumpy science guy.”

“I prefer stoic, handsome science hunk.”

He dropped his hands and laughed. “Christ. You’re hopeless. Are we meeting at Shenanigans tonight?”

“I don’t know. Let me see how late I’m stuck here. I have a shit ton of homework to do.”

“Maybe if you stopped major hopping…”

He let the sentence hang in the air like the smoke from his skunky ass joint, waiting for me to finally absorb it this time. But I was a strong believer in the idea that one shouldn’t have to box themselves into other peoples’ expectations. My moms always taught me to be me. I’d been raised by soap-making, herb-growing lesbian hippies on a northern California farm. Bucking the establishment was my birthright. I took my flightiness very seriously, thank you very much. I’d changed majors a few times since starting at Franklin University a couple of years ago, finally, settling on a business degree. It was the best catch-all major besides liberal arts, but I figured it was more useful since I’d started the university’s massage therapy courses on the side. Owning my own holistic spa-type shop was my end goal, and despite what my mothers had to say about it, knowing how to actually run a business seemed like the smart way to go about things. They had a dive-in approach to everything, and it had always served them well. I’d never wanted for anything growing up. They were the coolest, most-accepting parents a gay kid could ever have, but sometimes, even though the word had my stomach tied up in knots, I craved stability.

“Are we going to rehash the sensible conversation again?” I asked and he held up his hands.

“Hey… you do you. If you want to prolong your stay at this shitty university, that’s on you. I’ll be glad to get the hell out of here next year.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here next year, even if I have to double up my class load next semester.” I stared at the greenhouse, dreading all the work I still had to do before I could head home. “I really need to get my shit done.”

“Go water your plants. I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll try.”

He hummed and rolled his eyes again, knowing damn well I’d probably linger here longer than I should, waiting on my science guy.

“Fine,” I grumbled. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was a pathetic asshole. “I’ll meet you at Shenanigans around nine.”

“Fuck, yeah.” He bumped his fist into my shoulder. “Who knows, maybe you’ll find someone else to drool over. It’s football season.”

“The last thing I need is a closeted meathead.”

He shrugged as he walked backward toward the roof door. “At least the meatheads are real. Better than pining for someone who doesn’t even—”

“Bye, Tommy.”

“Bye, Loser.”

I flipped him off after the door closed and laughed, wondering again if it was time to reevaluate our friendship. My head was fuzzy from the weed and the heat of the sun as I made my way into the greenhouse. I started on the list of things I had to do, but after about thirty minutes, my buzz had worn off. I could feel every minute of this long-ass day deep in my bones. I’d knocked out most of my chore list with only a few things left to finish, but my cottonmouth was unbearable. Grabbing my empty water bottle, I went inside to refill it. The AC was a welcome gift as the roof door slammed shut behind me. There was a drinking fountain on every floor, but the study carrels were on the third. During freshman year, I used to lie to myself all the time about how the water was colder on the third floor, make excuses about wanting to get my steps in, or some bullshit. In reality, he was on the third floor. Grumpy science guy. Carrel number six. Every day.

I didn’t care about making excuses anymore and pushed open that familiar door to the third floor. Students chatted in the narrow hall, clogging the way to the fountain. A few people waved at me, and I nodded with a smile. I didn’t even pretend not to look for him as I scanned the faces around me. His carrel was empty, and I tried like hell not to feel disappointed.

Tomorrow is another day.

I filled my bottle of water and shut out the small voice in my head telling me that Tommy was right. Maybe tonight I should let myself have fun and forget about crushes and soulful, sad brown eyes and meet an actual person instead of fantasizing about the idea of one. Shutting the cap on my bottle, I turned and almost ran into a girl attempting to shove her way through the crowd.

“Shit, I’m—” I stopped mid-sentence.

He was there, carrel number six, tossing his backpack onto the ground with all his thick swoopy dark hair, and baggy sweats and t-shirt. The muscles in his biceps flexed as he pulled out the chair, his chest rising and falling with a deep exhale as he folded his tall body into the chair.

“Fuck, watch where you’re going,” the girl muttered, but I ignored her and walked a few steps toward the study area, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

Acting like I belonged there, mimicking a detachment I didn’t actually feel, I covertly watched him. My science guy reached into his pocket and pulled out his earbuds, popping them in one ear at a time. I wanted to know what he was listening to. Was it music or a class or maybe a podcast? I hoped it was music. Maybe something folksy since that was my favorite, but honestly, he struck me as a classical kind of guy. He was always surrounded by this melancholic, serious, brooding energy that made me think he was more into Bach than The Head and the Heart. God, I should have majored in writing with all the crap I’d conjured up in my head lately.

I was about to leave, figuring I was borderline creepy at this point when he bent over and pulled out a textbook and a pad of paper. I let myself linger for a few more seconds, and like always, he chewed on the end of his pencil, his dark brows pinching together like he somehow had to work out the meaning of life as he flipped through page after page. He bit his full bottom lip and pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned the chair back onto two legs. In the past, I’d thought about talking to him, but every scenario I’d come up with had sounded ridiculous once I’d thought it through. Stuff like pretending to trip in front of him or acting like I thought he was someone else. All of it was beyond cheesy and against my whole organic interaction principle. If I was supposed to know him, I would. I counted to three, taking in my fill, and with a sigh of longing that Tommy would have made fun of me for, I got back to work.

It was a little after five when I finished up and headed home. Already having passed the munchie stage of my buzz into full-on hangry stoner mode, I was more than relieved when I spotted one of my roommates, Brolin, at the grill in the quad. I lived in Liberty Court which was the shared house district on the south end of campus. More specifically, Stormer, aka Stoner House. Adler, Freidman, and Mundell were the other three buildings, all of which had been named after some of the university’s more popular deans. The place had a quintessential California vibe with bright white stucco that soaked up the sun, swaying palm trees, and a stunning beach view from each one of the rooftops. Bistro lights dangled between each building, framing the courtyard where we shared a grill, picnic tables, and a few hammocks, and no matter what time of day, there were always people chilling around the old fountain in the center. The thing never turned on and was more of a safety hazard if you asked me, but it offered seating when we had parties. It was a pretty awesome setup for on-campus housing, and sure as hell beat living in the dorms. I’d lived the communal bathroom life for my first two years here and would rather live in a tent on the beach than ever go back to that.

“What’s up, man?” Brolin smiled as I approached, waving the large metal spatula in his hand. “You just getting off work?”

He pulled me into a side hug and slapped my back. Brolin was a touchy-feely kind of guy, more so than any of my other straight friends, but I chalked it up to the fact the guy was baked half the time. If he wasn’t high, then he was sleeping.

“Yeah.” I pulled away. “What do you have in there?” I nodded toward the grill. “It smells amazing.”

“Steak.” He gave me a goofy, lopsided smile. “A few of the guys from Adler and Friedman pitched in… and I got New York strips.”

I laughed as he rubbed his stomach and licked his lips. Brolin’s two favorite topics were food and fucking around, and with the mop of blond curls on his head, and his affinity for people-pleasing, he was basically more Labrador than human.

“Nice. How much do I owe you?”

He shook his head as he lifted the lid of the grill. “You bought shit for dinner two nights last week. No worries.”

“Are you sure?” I ran my fingers through my hair. “I don’t mind pitching in too.”

“You work too much.” He reached out and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “But if you wanted… I’d be down to share some of those edibles your moms sent.”

“What’s mine is yours,” I said. “I’ll grab some for you after dinner?”

“Cool.” He knocked me in the shoulder with a gentle punch. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” I pointed over my shoulder. “I’m going to head in and put my shit away. Need me to grab plates or anything?”

“Nah. Collins, Watty and Ford said they’d bring the cutlery.”

“The lacrosse guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Right on.” I tugged on the straps of my backpack. “See you in a few.”

Inside, Ross, another one of my roommates, was asleep on the living room sofa, his bong tucked under his arm. The fresh haze of pot smoke made my eyes water as I made my way down the hall. Once I was in my room, I dropped my bag onto the floor and opened my window wide before falling back onto my queen-size bed. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, breathing in the fresh ocean air. If I listened carefully enough, I thought I could hear the waves, maybe even a few seagulls squawking. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and took in all the band posters on my wall, and the pictures of my moms on my bedside table.

These little moments, where I’d let the world spin, and enjoyed the sun as it soaked into my t-shirt, had become few and far between. With my work-study program, school, and trying to finish my massage therapy certificate I didn’t have a lot of time to chill or date and hook up like Tommy and all the other guys I lived with. But I couldn’t complain. I had a fucking spectacular life. San Luco offered some of the best beaches in Cali, and I lived within walking distance of one of them. My roommates, even though they were hell-bent on giving me lung cancer, were some of the best dudes you’d ever meet, and yeah, maybe my crush on the super-hot stranger shouldn’t be a bonus but seeing him every day made me smile. It reminded me it was okay to indulge in daydreams and hope.

Hope for a better grade in stats.

Hope that I would finish all the shit I’d started.

Hope that next time, he’d look up from his textbook, finally see me, and maybe want to know me too.

Frustrated with myself, I slammed the pathophysiology book shut and picked up my phone. I switched off my study playlist and removed my earbuds. The subtle hum of a vacuum drifted up the hallway, and like every night, I was the last student remaining.  I packed up my things, acutely aware of Ron’s eyes on me. The weight of his stare shouldn’t be a surprise anymore, but tonight I could sense his pity from a mile away. He was one of the campus security guards I’d gotten to know over the last few years. Ron was the only one who didn’t harass me about how late I stayed to study, and I appreciated it. Even if it bred too much familiarity. He was about ten years older than me, and kind of attractive in an ex-military, penal code kind of way. The guy had nice hands, but I didn’t have time for nice hands.

I didn’t have time for my own hands for crying out loud.

“I know, I know. I’m leaving,” I said and zipped up my bag. “No need to hover by the elevator like a stalker.”

Ron’s smile was soft as I met his knowing blue eyes. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Hmm.”

I stood and stretched as he crossed his arms, those perceptive eyes traveling to the spot my shirt lifted above my sweats.

“You ever going to have dinner with me?” he asked, and I laughed.

“It’s too late for dinner.”

This was our routine. He’d ask me out and I’d say no. I didn’t even think he actually wanted to go out with me. He’d told me, on too many occasions, how I needed to get out more. How the sun was good for you. How food was important for the brain. I figured most of his advances were out of charity.

“It’s never too late for food. I’m off in—”

“An hour. I’m aware.” I pulled my bag over my shoulder, and he chuckled.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Ron hit the call button for the elevator. The quiet ding echoed through the empty room. “I worry about you cooped up in here all the time. College is supposed to be fun.”

“Not if you’re pre-med.” I exhaled, trying to remember I was supposed to want to be a doctor. I forced a smile and hooked my thumbs under the straps of my bag. “I don’t think fun is on the agenda until I’m out of residency.”

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside with Ron behind me.

“You know…” He leaned against the back of the elevator and crossed his legs at the ankle, the total picture of confidence. “You’ve never told me why you want to be a doctor. Why all this work you’re doing is worth it?”

I leaned back too, my shoulder brushing his. The contact made it easier to relax. Not because I wanted him, but because he was solid and real in a way I’d lost touch with. Sadly, Ron was the only person I talked to outside of my roommate Drew. I didn’t have friends. I didn’t date. I basically existed to read and learn and memorize disease processes and anatomy. I was a walking encyclopedia, but the worst part was, I hated every second of it. I didn’t want to be a doctor—I had to be.

“Money.”

“Money?” he scoffed. “That I don’t believe.”

“No?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the floor. I didn’t want to talk about this. Not with him. Not with anyone. It was too much to even think about. “Money is important to people.”

“To people?”

“To me.”

The elevator doors opened in time to put an end to the uncomfortable questions, and he followed me outside, locking up as I started toward the dorms. “Wait up, I’ll walk with you.”

My smile was real for once. “I don’t need an escort. I’m a big boy.”

“Safety first.”

“You know I’m never going to go on a date with you.” I pushed my hands into my pockets. “You’re not my type.”

“I know. But I…” He stopped and I turned to face him. His expression was serious, and damn it, that unsolicited compassion had returned. “You seem like you could use a friend. I’m mostly fucking with you about the dating stuff. Though I wouldn’t ever say no if you changed your mind.” Ron’s grin met his eyes. “Though…  now I’m curious about your type? You’re into bookish guys I bet.”

“Maybe.” I huffed out a laugh and we started to walk again, my gaze set on the sidewalk, his breathing quiet enough I could pretend like he wasn’t there.

The silence offered a weird blanket of anonymity, like if I opened my mouth and spoke, the words would get lost in the darkness.

“I want to be a psychiatrist,” I said and exhaled into the freedom of saying it aloud. “My dad… he’s struggled ever since my mom left when I was fifteen. He can’t keep a job for more than six months, and he’s depressed all the time. I thought maybe… I thought…” I ran a hand through my hair. “Fuck. I don’t know.”

“You thought by being a doctor you could help him?”

“I guess.”

Music floated from Liberty Court as we passed by. The four buildings were always alive with people and laughter. It reminded me of my sophomore year of high school when I was still myself. When I knew how to be a person without strict agendas. I let myself wish I was inside having a drink or chilling without worrying about every-goddamn-thing.

“At least you like it. That makes the sacrifice all the better.”

I didn’t correct him, didn’t tell him how I was drowning in schoolwork and barely passing my classes. Instead, I smiled and nodded. “I love it.”

“I gotta head over to the gym, lock up for the night.” Ron turned his gaze toward the dorms and hesitated.

“Yeah, sure.” An annoying wave of loneliness hit me. “I’ll see you around.”

“Do me a favor?” he asked as he started in the opposite direction. “Do something fun this week. I bet your dad would want that for you too.”

“Maybe you should be the psychiatrist,” I hollered and he shook his head with a smile as he turned to leave.

The dorm was mostly empty as I made my way up the stairs. It was Friday night, students were out with friends, at parties, or at the college bar, Shenanigans, and I was here alone. Again, that feeling of isolation crept up inside of me and I shook it off as I unlocked the door to my room. My place was the typical college-style layout with white utilitarian-painted walls, two twin beds, and a small desk on either side of the space. Drew’s side was always messy with his clothes spilling out of his closet and laundry basket, and a weird smell emanating from under his bed. He had a huge poster of some football guy above his headboard, and a few smaller ones from a copy of some swimsuit magazine scattered by his dresser. He was a walking, talking, dude-bro stereotype. Despite the fact he’d always been super nice to me, he was constantly trying to get me to hang with him, and hadn’t ever used any typical douchebag gay slurs, I’d chosen to keep my sexuality to myself. I wasn’t in the closet per se, at least not with anyone back home. Ron was basically the only one I was out to on campus, but I figured since I wasn’t getting a boyfriend, or laid anytime in the near future, it wasn’t worth the hassle of having to deal with a possible homophobic roommate. My life was already chaotic enough.

I dropped my bag on my desk chair and flipped through the music app on my cell. Deciding on Van Morrison, I stretched out on my bed and stared at the ceiling, letting the phone rest on my chest. Unlike Drew, my walls were mostly bare. I had a few pictures of my life back home in Atlanta pinned next to my bed. My two favorites were one of me and this writer guy, Wilder, who always came into the coffee shop where I used to work, and one of my dad. The shot was taken six years ago before everything fell apart. The last happy Christmas. Sighing, I sat up and set my phone into the Bluetooth docking station. The red digital numbers on the alarm clock told me I should go to bed, that midnight was approaching, and I didn’t want to be awake when drunk Drew came home with another sorority sister. But the guitar under my bed called to me, like the pulse of my heart inside my head, I could hear it. After a few seconds, I gave in and pulled out the hand-me-down Martin I’d gotten for my thirteenth birthday and unzipped the case. I ran a hand over the smooth pale wood, nostalgia thickening the air. It didn’t matter how many times I’d played it, it always transported me back to a time when there were pancakes on Saturday mornings, and afterschool flag football, and Mom’s Beatles records spinning songs about a revolution and a woman named Eleanor Rigby.

I plucked at the stiff, cool strings, tuning it for the first time in weeks, humming along to the sound, meeting the pitch until the guitar matched my voice. I strummed along to the song playing from my phone and felt like myself for once. I stopped thinking about tests and labs and scholarships and my dad’s inability to get over a woman who never actually cared about him… about us. I was light and easy and fell into the rhythm, and as the song ended and moved on to the next, I followed it. I found myself, even if it was only for a little while, and after two or three songs, the pads of my fingertips started to ache, and I smiled. I was Aiden Russo again, the guy who loved to play his guitar at parties and wanted to start a band and live in the moment as much as possible because the only thing that his mother had taught him was that life was too short to conform.

The thought of her brought my fingers to a halt, and the abrupt sound of it seemed to linger in the air as I caught my breath. In the past, I would have kept playing, forced myself to remember, to wallow in everything, but I heard Drew’s deep baritone in the hall and quickly started to pack up the guitar.

I was just shoving it under the bed when the dorm room door flew open, and Drew barreled inside. Like some kind of big dog running on a linoleum floor, he bashed about, knocking into the dresser before rummaging through his bedside table drawer as he spoke. “Dude… you missed a killer party tonight.”

“Maybe next time.”

He stopped whatever it was he was doing and stared at me, his big brown eyes widening with…oh shit, was that expectation? “If you’re serious you should come with me to Peyton’s next weekend. He’s having a party and—”

“Who’s Peyton?” I asked, trying like hell to seem genuinely interested.

“Are you fucking kidding?” He shook his head, disappointment coloring his tone, and pulled out a pack of condoms from his drawer without a modicum of modesty. “He’s the quarterback of the football team.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he raised his brows as he shoved the foil packets into his back pocket. “He’s like the king of campus.”

“Drew, do I look like I would give a crap about any of this?” I laughed at his wounded expression. My roommate was this giant, muscled, rock of a guy, but could pull puppy dog eyes like no one I’d ever known. “Don’t look at me like that. How would I know who the king of campus is? I don’t do anything except study.”

He already knew all of this, but that never stopped him from trying to be my personal entertainment coordinator.

“Then come to the party next weekend.” He grinned and patted the pocket with the condoms. “Maybe get your dick wet.”

Frowning, I held up my hands. “God, stop. I’m going to act like you didn’t just say that.”

“Listen, Little A…” His nickname, though condescending seeing as I was six foot, made me laugh. “I speak the truth. Maybe your brain would retain more shit if you got off every once in a while.”

“And how are your grades?” I asked and bit back a smile when he groaned.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I’m gonna need your help to pass this chemistry exam I have on Tuesday.”

“Of course.” I kicked off my shoes and scooted back against my pillows. “Unless you think getting some tonight would be a better way to retain everything you’ve learned already.”

“I see what you did there.”

Laughing in earnest, I said. “Oh yeah?”

Drew screwed up his nose and scratched the top of his head. “You know what your problem is?”

“I have a few theories, but I think yours might be more amusing.” I crossed my arms and waited for his brilliant psychoanalysis.

“You need to relax. And lucky for you I have the perfect way to help make that happen.”

“If you’re about to say something gross again, save it. I—”

“It’s not gross.” A flash of pride twinkled in his eyes as he puffed out his chest and held up his hands like he was about to present me with the greatest idea of all time. “The massage therapy program offers free massages. It helps the students get their practical hours or some shit. We should go.”

“And how did you find out about this…or do I want to know?”

“I know one of the girls who works there. We hang out sometimes.” Drew’s smirk told me more than I needed to know. “I’m about to head over to her place.”

“I knew this would somehow turn out gross.”

“There’s nothing gross about a hot blonde who knows how to use her hands. That’s all I’m gonna say.” He grabbed the cologne from his dresser and sprayed it once across his chest, and then once inside the front of his pants. Christ, this guy. “I kind of promised her I’d spread the word about the free massages to my friends. I know you hate being social, but this could help… I mean… and I say this with love, you’re uptight as hell.”

“Thanks.”

I couldn’t help but let his words sink in, though. I used to be fun. I used to love to go out and hang with friends and get blow jobs like any other red-blooded male. I wanted to relax. I wanted to not worry so much, but what other choice did I have? My grades were worse than mediocre, and that was with a shit ton of effort. Drew meant well. He’d been trying to get me out of my shell for the last two semesters, but if I ever wanted to get into med school, I had to keep the old me locked down.

“I can tell you’re going to say no, your face gets too serious and pinched together.” He fiddled with his hair in the small mirror above his dresser. “Just think about it. It could help.”

“Fine.” The word slipped out. “Um… I mean, I—”

“Nope.” He folded his arms with a petulant grunt. “You can’t take it back.”

“When did you turn into a five-year-old.”

He flipped me off and grabbed his keys. “Can you go tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow is library day.”

“What about Sunday?”

“I have to study for—”

“Fuck that. We’ll go tomorrow after I get back from the gym.”

“Drew, I—”

“It’s one hour.” I figured his pushiness was more about getting in this girl’s pants than it was about me, but his brows dipped, and the hint of honest concern was what did me in. “You deserve one hour just for you. You’ve earned it.”

“Okay…”

“Okay?” Drew’s excitement made me want to roll my eyes.

“Yeah… I’ll meet you there.”

One hour.

I could handle that.

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