Ex Equals

By L.A. Witt

On his first day teaching math at a community college, Chris Reuben gets an unexpected and unwelcome blast from the past: one of his students is his former shipmate… and ex-boyfriend.

Justin Hayes isn't looking for a second chance when he signs up for his ex's algebra class. All he wants is a passing grade and maybe a shot at mending fences with the man he loved—and hurt—while they were deployed three years ago.

Pain, guilt, and bitterness aren't the only lingering feelings, though, and even if three years is enough to melt the ice between them, they've already put their careers on the line for each other once. Can Justin convince Chris that what they had is worth risking their careers and hearts again?

This book was previously published.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GallagherWitt
• Release date: Feb 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780991359318

L.A. Witt

L.A. Witt is the author of Back Piece. She is a M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies.

Book preview

Ex Equals

By

L. A. Witt

On his first day teaching math at a community college, Chris Reuben gets an unexpected and unwelcome blast from the past: one of his students is his former shipmate... and ex-boyfriend.

Justin Hayes isn’t looking for a second chance when he signs up for his ex’s algebra class. All he wants is a passing grade and maybe a shot at mending fences with the man he loved—and hurt—while they were deployed three years ago.

Pain, guilt, and bitterness aren’t the only lingering feelings, though, and even if three years is enough to melt the ice between them, they’ve already put their careers on the line for each other once. Can Justin convince Chris that what they had is worth risking their careers and hearts again?

This book was previously published.

Copyright Information

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 persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Ex Equals

Copyright © 2013 L. A. Witt

Second Edition.

First Edition published by Amber Allure, an imprint of Amber Quill Press, 2011-2013.

Cover Art by Libbie Hawker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at [e-mail]

ISBN: 978-0-9913593-1-8

"I totally closed this book (on my phone) with a Happy Book Sigh [...].

And really, what more can you want than that?"

—Joan/Sarah F, Dear Author, B+ Grade

"Excellent story that rings true as two former lovers

try and make their way back to each other."

—Lasha, Jessewave Reviews, 4.25 out of 5 stars

CHAPTER 1

Chris

6:42 P.M.

Only two minutes since the last time I’d checked my watch. Three since the time before that. Chuckling to myself, I rubbed my tired eyes. What was the worst that would happen if I showed up late? My students would write me up?

Ah, but consequences or not, eight years in the military had left me with a nearly neurotic need to be on time or early to everything. Last night, I’d barely slept, and when I did, I kept dreaming of being late to every one of my classes.

So far, in between sucking down as much coffee as I could get my hands on, I’d made it to every one of them exactly ten minutes early. It wasn’t like I had far to go; three of my classes were in one room, two were in the next room over, and they were about a two hundred foot walk from my office.

It was, however, my first day on the job. No sense slacking from the get-go.

Another glance at the watch.

6:45 P.M.

By now, the previous class would be out of the room, mine would be trickling in, and I wouldn’t look like a complete dork if I showed up. I stood, picked up my briefcase from beside my desk, and left. I stopped to lock the door, and couldn’t help pausing to grin at the sign on the window.

Chris Reuben—Math Dept.

There was just something cool about having my name on a door. Maybe not to anyone else, but after almost a decade as a uniformed drone and a few years of grinding through my degrees, there was a certain novelty about it. Rolling my eyes at my own thoughts, I pocketed my keys and strolled toward the classroom.

I’d been a nervous wreck before my first two classes, but now I was calm and cool. My other four classes had gone smoothly, so I was confident about this one. Algebra 101. Easy subject, easy curriculum. Plus it was a night class; several of my colleagues around the community college had told me the evening crowd was a hell of a lot easier to deal with. Instead of fresh out of high school kids, it was adults who had to cram in classes between their jobs and family life. They tended to take things more seriously.

I pushed open the classroom door and offered a quick glance and a smile to the eight or nine students who’d already arrived. As I arranged copies of the syllabus and all the other crap I needed to hand out on the table at the front of the room, more students arrived.

One woman who was probably in her mid-forties came up to me with a late enrollment form. I jotted her name down, took the carbon copy of the form, and slid it into my notebook under the roll sheet.

I scanned the room, counting heads. Twenty-one. A quick look at my roll sheet showed twenty-eight, plus there’d probably be more showing up with late enrollments. Not my largest class, but quite a crowd.

I looked up at the clock at the back of the room.

6:55.

Five minutes till go-time.

The door opened again, and I glanced up as three more students filed in. Two of them were Navy, probably from the base down the road. They must have come straight from work because they were still in uniform, and—

Oh. My. God.

The Navy had recently changed their everyday uniforms, shifting the utilities—which were a lot like prison blues—to blue camouflage. I wasn’t sure how effective blue camouflage really was unless they wanted a man overboard to be harder to find, but from an ogling standpoint? Oh yes, they did just fine. Cammies always looked good, and the deep blue had a tendency to bring out eyes in a way that would probably have this math teacher tripping over his words for the entire quarter.

Good thing I wasn’t enlisted anymore. Being in the closet had been bad enough when we were all dressed like prison inmates. This? This would have been torture.

The boys in blue took seats in the back row. Backpacks rustled, papers shuffled, pens rattled. More students arrived. Seats were filling quickly, so I did one last check to make sure I had everything I needed in the order I needed it.

6:59.

I resisted the urge to drum my fingers. With the late enrollments, I had a class of thirty-two now, but only twenty-six in front of me. Much as I didn’t like starting late, I figured I could give the stragglers until ten after, just in case anyone had difficulty finding the room. The campus layout wasn’t terribly intuitive, so students could be forgiven for being a few minutes late.

The door opened again, and when I looked up, my heart stopped.

So much for calm, cool, or collected.

There was no mistaking his identity. Even if I could have convinced myself to hide behind a veil of denial for a moment or two, the uniform—oh, Navy, why couldn’t you have stuck with prison blues?—had his name right there on his chest.

Hayes.

Justin Hayes.

My former shipmate.

My ex-boyfriend.

I blinked. My eyes flicked from his name to his face, and the lopsided grin told me the recognition was mutual. And, according to his glittering blue eyes, not unexpected.

I gritted my teeth. Tell me this is a joke.

Chris, he said. How’s it going?

I bit back my irritation, and forced myself to be completely, if grudgingly, professional. Good. And you? I extended my hand.

He shook it, sending lightning up my arm and into my spine. Fuck, why do you still have to be so damned hot?

Doing great, he said. So you’re teaching now?

No, I’m the fire marshal, and I’ve decided this room exceeds its max capacity by one. Get out.

I cleared my throat. Yeah, yeah. This is my first year. Before he could say anything, I pulled back my sleeve to look at the time. And it’s after seven, so I need to get things started.

Sure. Right. I’ll, um... He gestured toward the back of the room. Take a seat. As he walked away, I forced myself not to watch him. I was not going to notice how good his broad shoulders looked in that damned uniform, and I certainly wasn’t going to think about how those boots might sound when they thumped onto the floor beside my bed. A bed. Someone else’s bed. After what we’d been through, his boots wouldn’t be landing beside my bed any time soon. I wouldn’t touch the son of a bitch with someone else’s dick.

Even still, damn him for still being gorgeous.

Fuck, I do not need this.

I took a deep breath and faced my class and ex-boyfriend. I’d survived four classes without my composure faltering even for a second, but now, before this one had even started, I was a wreck. I was all sweaty palms and jitters like a kid with stage fright.

But I had to bite the bullet and get through it, no matter what, so I took another deep breath, promised myself I could and would do this, and started the class.

As I’m sure you probably all gathered by now, I said. "I’m Chris Reuben, and this is Algebra 101. If you’re in the wrong class, or you don’t have TiVo to record the next few months worth of Grey’s Anatomy, there’s the door." I gestured toward it, and the class responded with a reassuring ripple of laughter.

I handed out the syllabus, all the while pretending not to be aware that I was giving Justin my e-mail address, office phone number, and office location. Of course he could get that information fairly easily from the college website, but it still didn’t sit well with me.

While the copies of the syllabus were passed around, I stood at the podium again and continued the introduction to the class.

Obviously we have some military among us. I glanced at the two guys in uniform who weren’t Justin. I’m former enlisted myself, so I know how the duty schedules and everything can be a hassle. If you have duty days that will interfere with attendance, you’re welcome to e-mail me that information ahead of time so we can arrange makeup quizzes, tests, and whatnot.

One of the two in the back raised his hand.

I nodded. Yes?

Our ship’s gonna be on work-ups for two weeks during the quarter. Will we be able to make up what we miss?

Absolutely, I said. I’m strict about attendance, but I’m flexible when it comes to military commitments, illnesses, and things of that nature. Just give me a heads-up whenever you’re able, and I’ll help you out as best I can. I picked up my notes. So, with all that out of the way, why don’t we get into the fun stuff that you’re all here for? Does everyone have a textbook?

A murmur of affirmatives went through the room.

If not, see if you can share one with someone sitting near you, I said. And everyone please turn to page twenty-two.

For the sake of not overwhelming my students on the first day of class, I’d kept my lectures relatively short. When I wrapped up this lecture at half past eight, a full thirty minutes before class was scheduled to end, no one in the room was more relieved than me.

I closed my book and set my notes on top. And that’s enough for one night. There’s no assignment this evening, but starting Wednesday night there will be assignments following every class. If you miss a class, assignments are listed on the syllabus. I’ll see everyone on Wednesday.

My colleagues were right about one thing: students didn’t stick around after night classes. No one paused beside desks to socialize. No one pulled me aside to ask a question or see if they could swing by my office before they left. No one said anything except good night, see you on Wednesday. As soon as I gave the word that they were dismissed, people were gone.

I wasn’t far behind. I shoved everything unceremoniously into my briefcase, slung it over my shoulder, and retreated to the safety of my office. The door with my name on it was suddenly much too conspicuous, and as I shut it behind me, I caught myself wishing I could have had one of the offices tucked back in a corner. Maybe a shared one without any lettering on the door. But no, the offices were arranged to keep the various departments together, and the math department had prime real estate, front and center on the third floor. If Justin came looking for me, he couldn’t miss me.

And he had my office number on the syllabus anyway.

I dropped into my chair and rested my elbows on the desk blotter. Groaning aloud, I rubbed my forehead