Hot Roommate Blues: Last Chances Academy, #1

By Parker Avrile

When it's a crime for your bully to be that hot...  

Stryker:  
I've partied a little too hard a little too often.  
Now I'm locked behind these cold iron gates.  
A cool roommate would make things easier. 
Only they've stuck me with this scholarship kid. 
This so-called good influence. 
Guess the dean didn't notice the roomie's hot body. 
It's going to be so much fun putting this goody-two-shoes in his place. 

Kingsley: 
Being a hacker was cool. 
Being on the FBI's Twenty Most Wanted Under Twenty... not so cool. 
So I've changed my name to hide out behind the ivy walls of this college for the rich and the spoiled. 
Funny thing. 
My cocky roommate thinks he's such an outlaw. 
Dude even thinks he can bully me.
Another funny thing.
He's hot enough to make me want to play along.

 

"Hot Roommate Blues" is a full-length gay bully romance novel that explores the early days of Stryker & Kingsley's young relationship. The Happy For Now ending includes some dangling threads. Their complicated romance concludes in "Hot Mafia Blues," a full-length gay romance with mafia themes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paris April Press
• Release date: Jan 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215001387

Parker Avrile

Like Kyle, I ran away to Vegas. Now I'm running from it. 

Book preview

Prologue

"I don't want to fight you. He looked around the university quad. Nobody looked back. Whatever this was, nobody else wanted a piece. We're going to get in so much trouble."

Oh, it's no trouble for me. I gave him another, harder shove to topple him on his back on the plush green lawn.

He grabbed for my ankle on the way down. Perfect. I let myself fall nice and easy all over him. His own fault, putting himself in the position of being covered by a guy who could wrap him up like a blanket.

How good he felt underneath me with that nice, tight body wriggling all around.

Oh, no, you don't. You're not getting away. You're not going any-fucking-where.

I calmly grasped each of his wrists to pull his arms up over his head. It was a move that brought our faces close together, and he couldn't look away from whatever he saw when he gazed into my eyes.

I felt something shift in his jeans. About the same thing he felt shift in mine.

He wanted this. He wanted this so fucking bad.

I licked my lips.

Let me up, he said.

Make me.

Chapter One

Stryker

August 4, 2019. My day in court.

Judge Mallory didn't recuse himself. Judge Mallory never recused himself when it came to Dale family matters.

The fix is in. As usual.

I swallowed a smile. It was important not to smile.

True, there was a deputy at each elbow, both men even taller and broader than I was, and I'd been offensive tackle on the Chestnut Dale High School football team.

It was also true that my wrists had been secured behind my muscular back in unnecessarily tight-fitting stainless steel police cuffs.

All the usual drama.

Well, the shackles on my ankles were something new. I didn't especially appreciate how the short length of stout blue chain between those shackles forced me to move forward in a slow shuffle.

But that's show business for you.

As we waited, a camera flashed from an iPhone held high by a reporter from the local fish-wrapper. He must be new. Photogenic as I might be—all raw muscle in chains—the editor would never let him run that picture.

The bigger deputy's radio crackled. A heavy door swung open. The men at my elbows escorted me into the so-called private chambers.

Judge Mallory was already there—a bald guy in a black robe. He let his wire-frame reading glasses slip down his nose so he could study me over the lens. I tried to look like a properly remorseful prisoner of the county.

That too was the usual drama.

The deputies folded their big, beefy arms over their chests. I stood there in the hot seat. Well, I guess it wasn't a seat since I was standing. The judge had arranged chambers so that attorneys could pace and talk and stand, while he sat high on a platform to glare down at them. It was meant to make you feel small, and it probably worked on some people.

People whose last name wasn't Dale.

You may leave us, Mallory said to the deputies. I'd like to speak to the prisoner alone.

Wait. I shuffled in place to rattle my ankle chains. Are these strictly necessary?

The deputies froze in horror. So did the judge.

I swallowed. "Your honor. I meant to say, ‘Are these strictly necessary, your honor?’"

Don't make me repeat myself, gentlemen, Mallory said. Leave us. Now.

The deputies scuttled away like crabs on a beach. The ankle chains and handcuffs remained.

Bastard. A little drama for the mob is fine, but this is getting excessive.

My father will be most displeased. If I wriggled a little more, I could rattle my cuffs as well as my ankle chain.

Judge Mallory rubbed his endless forehead. Your father is indeed displeased.

You and my father have been friends for a long...

Stop wiggling.

What the hell?

We're alone, I said. You and me in your private chambers. You don't have to keep playing judge.

His glasses slid further down his nose. I'm not playing with you anymore, Stryker. You are now eighteen. You knew better than to put me and your father in this position.

It was an impulse. I've learned my lesson.

You are an adult. It's high time you learned to control your impulses. What were you thinking, son? How did you expect this behavior to go unpunished? You hijacked a man's entire delivery truck.

It would be difficult to hijack only part of a truck.

Would you like to add contempt of court to your list of charges?

I squirmed. This encounter was going on far too long. I had another party to arrange for tonight.

I'm sorry, your honor. My father...

Your father and I have already discussed your situation. You will be allowed to see your father before...

This did not sound good at all.

Before what now? I tried to shrug the tension out of my shoulders. My father should have told you already that he was going to pay for the fucking truck.

Your father has already paid for the fucking truck.

Then where's the problem? Everybody's happy.

Mallory broke down and removed the offending glasses altogether. Sitting back, he examined my face. Apparently, you see better at a distance at that age.

The feeling of being inspected was not a comfortable one.

No, Stryker, he finally said. Everybody is not happy. Everybody is pretty much at the end of the line with you. And you will either address me with respect, or you will be silent.

I went silent. Let him interpret that how he wanted.

What did you think was going to happen when you helped yourself to that truck?

The guy shouldn't have left his keys in the f... I mean, your honor, the guy left his keys in the ignition, and he presented me with an irresistible temptation, and I, um, your honor, sir, that's kind of, isn't that entrapment? My confidence returned as I made my case. I didn't even need my lawyer. The owner should be arrested for leaving his keys in an unlocked vehicle. Honestly, that is as clear-cut a case for entrapment as you're going to get.

He sighed. Where is Mr. Henley this afternoon?

Eric Henley was my attorney. An all right guy. He got me out of a few tight spots. But the advice he'd given me this morning was completely unacceptable.

I fired him.

Mallory sighed again. I've known Mr. Henley for a lot of years. Almost as long as I've known your father. I know damn good and well he already explained to you, multiple times, that leaving keys in an unlocked vehicle may be foolish, but it isn't a crime, and it most certainly isn't the crime of entrapment.

But, your honor...

Silence, Mr. Dale. I don't want to have to explain to your father that you talked yourself into jail.

So he wanted to play hard-ass today. Someone must have told him it was an election year in Chestnut Dale County.

This is how it's going to go for you, Stryker. Out of respect for your father, I'm going to defer hearing this case for the length of the academic school year so that you can proceed with your educational pursuits.

What the unholy actual fuck? I've already graduated, your honor.

I'm talking about college, Stryker.

Fuck you, judge. I see how it is.

My father and I had been fighting for months. I deserved a year off after high school graduation. That's what all the cool kids from good families did in Europe. They took a gap year. My father seemed to think I should go directly to college, then to law school, and then into the family business of running anything that turned any profit whatsoever in Chestnut Dale County.

Two words for that. Bore. Ing.

For Judge Mallory's benefit, I pasted a bland expression of regret on my face. That sounds like a wonderful opportunity, your honor, but it's too late for me to get into college this year. The semester begins in three weeks. Admissions are undoubtedly already closed.

Oh no. The fucker was smiling. You know there is one college where you will always have a place.

No way, your honor.

I've checked with the dean of students at Chestnut Dale U. They already have a room in the dorm set aside for you. It's perfect. You'll be able to get away from some of your unfortunate associates who keep pulling you back into the party scene.

But your honor. That's the fuckup college. And I enjoy being pulled back into the party scene.

You'll fit right in, Stryker. Your father and I have agreed this is the best solution to your situation.

This is bullshit, your honor. We both know it's bullshit. There has to be another way.

Oh, there's definitely another way. Judge Mallory continued to sit back, all relaxed and up on his high horse looking down his nose at me. If you like, I can assign you a court date for next week. Wednesday afternoon is available. Henley too will make himself available if so ordered. Your father is already aware.

A court date was the last fucking thing I wanted. Your honor, there is no need to be hasty.

This an election year, son. I can't be seen as soft on crime. You are a criminal.

But, your honor, I'm only a criminal if I'm convicted. I made the old baby blues go wide and innocent. Was this the face of a jailbird?

True, the evidence against me looked bad. There was surveillance video from some stupid-ass camera outside the store where I drove that tempting truck out of the parking lot. And, of course, there were lots of videos on Instagram and Twitter from the party I threw. Why shouldn't there be video? I was a Dale. Nobody worried about video. We had a judge in our back pocket.

At the moment, the judge in my back pocket seemed to have developed an unfortunate case of steel rod up the old wazoo. Stryker, son, listen to me carefully. If you appear in that courtroom on Wednesday afternoon, here is what's going to happen if you follow your attorney's advice and plead guilty. You'll be sentenced to a year in county. In the unlikely event you manage to behave yourself, you may be eligible for early release in eight months.

Outrageous. My father will never contribute a penny to one of your campaigns again.

Since you spoke in the heat of the moment, and your threat was heard only by me, I will ignore your verbal attempt at obstruction of justice. This time is the only time I will ignore it.

I flopped my lips like a fish, but I was afraid to spit out another word too quickly.

This wasn't right. He wasn't getting away with this.

No fucking way he was getting away with this.

Speak slowly. Calmly. Be the more rational person.

I'm not guilty of anything, your honor. We both know there was never a clearer case of entrapment in this whole f... benighted county. Everybody's out to get me because I'm my father's son. I shouldn't have even been arrested in the first place. The guy has his truck back, and my father already paid for the alcohol we bought.

"The alcohol you stole."

Asshole.

As I was saying, he said. If you ignore your attorney's advice and insist on putting your case in front of a jury, that jury will review the video evidence and be forced to return a verdict of guilty. My hands will be tied, and I'll be forced to hand down a sentence that's in line with state guidelines for grand larceny and hijacking.

I glared daggers at him.

Five years in the state penitentiary. Your father would be extremely distressed by such an outcome, which means I would be extremely distressed by such an outcome. And you don't want to disappoint the two of us any more than you already have.

You and my father conspired to set this up. You both wanted me in trouble so you could court order me into college. How is this even legal? I started to fold my arms in defiance over my chest, but the stupid handcuffs wouldn't let me. I want my lawyer.

Is that a formal request to delay this hearing? Because you will be waiting in the county jail if it is.

I looked down at the shiny marble floor. No, your honor.

I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear that.

I swallowed hard. No, your honor. No need to delay this hearing, your honor.

This is an opportunity, Stryker, if you are willing to use it. I'm giving you one last chance, son. You go to this college, and you stay in this college for a full academic year, and you behave yourself and don't get expelled, and I can expunge the video record of your offense as well as your arrest record. But if you refuse to do anything to help yourself, I can't help you either.

I kept studying the floor. My chains had scuffed it in a few places, but it was otherwise clean. They must have some special way to clean off the scuff marks. Too bad. I kind of hoped it stayed scuffed.

The heavy door opened at my back. I didn't have to look around to recognize the familiar footfall.

Harrison Dale. My father. The iron billionaire of Chestnut Dale County. His silver hair clashed with his red face.

You're both in on it, I said. You ganged up against me.

Your mother and I are done being embarrassed by you, Stryker. He didn't look embarrassed. He looked furious. "Take the fucking deal. Owen and I are both sick of seeing you in these chambers. And while you're at it, you might as well hear my deal."

I bit my tongue to keep from saying something to make the situation even worse. I'm listening, Father.

If you can't last one fucking year in college, I wash my hands of you. Stay in fucking school, stay out of jail, or you are no longer my son. Your brother Greg will inherit everything.

My half-brother Greg. My perfect half-brother. Easy for him to be perfect since he was only three years old.

Fuck me.

I was fucked, wasn't I?

I'd been replaced.

Yes, Father, I said. I hear you. You won't regret giving me this chance. I promise to make you proud.

He snorted. You don't have to make me proud. Just don't flunk out, and don't get expelled, and we'll call it the best that can be expected out of you.

Chapter Two

Kingsley

D o you know why you're in my office, Mr. Blake? Professor Conrad, dean of students, leaned forward across the vast acreage of his mahogany desk. With a snap of the wrist, he yanked off his tortoiseshell reading glasses, a gesture that sent his Einstein-styled white hair flying in several directions.

His pale eyes, almost as white as the hair, looked as blind as a pair of ice cubes. Didn't matter. Glasses or no glasses, he might see my face but he couldn't see into my soul.

I know exactly why I'm in your office. Your people couldn't recognize a fake high school transcript if it bit 'em on the ass.

The communication I received said something about a welcome orientation. I too leaned forward. My eyes were big, brown, and featured long, flirty lashes. Conrad, pushing fifty, was very far from my type, but I already knew I'd be attending Chestnut Dale University or I'd be attending no university.

So I batted those big brown eyes for all they were worth.

If you had a college degree, nobody ever went back to check out the holes in your high school record. The man you were in college was the man you were forever.

Without one...

Well, without one I was well and officially fucked.

Ah yes, of course. Campus orientation. Your new roommate will be arriving shortly to show you around the place. Conrad glanced at his Rolex Cosmograph. However, I wish to speak with you in private first.

Uh-oh. Yes, sir. Of course. I appreciate your taking the time.

My palms were getting sweaty. Good thing we'd already shaken hands.

Chestnut Dale County, Tennessee. I'd come a long way from Lincoln Park, and not because I thought green hills were prettier than steel-and-glass skyscrapers. Like it or not, I needed to keep my head down in a quiet, isolated place for a few more years, until the statute of limitations ran out on some of my more creative hacks.

Chicago was a great place to be a kid. You had a lake, you had parks, sometimes you had snowball fights. Our museums boasted some of the biggest dinosaurs in the world. What more does a kid want out of life?

Alas, my childhood ended at age thirteen on the day my parents were killed in a hit-and-run auto accident. The news and Chicago's finest had a field day. It seems the accident wasn't any accident at all.

According to various investigators, my well-to-do accountant parents had only one client, the Demayo crime family. My parents proved an enemy of the Demayos was embezzling from a Demayo-owned pizza chain. The enemy fired back by ordering a hit on my parents.

The hitter was caught, then the guy who hired the hitter. They went upriver, but it didn't bring my parents back.

Conrad, busy shifting old-fashioned manila folders, could know nothing about any of this.

Nobody ever again could know anything about any of this.

I took a deep breath.

He doesn't think you used to have another name. He's just a lonely old man in love with the sound of his own voice.

Ah. Conrad finally found the folder he'd been looking for. I must say that your high school records are most impressive. Class valedictorian. And when we received a copy of your speech... well, that was most inspiring. So many seniors these days seize the opportunity to score a cheap political point, but you...

I could relax, even zone out a little. Conrad didn't need to tell me what was in my files. Fiction, science fiction. I'd crafted every word of it myself.

It takes some skills to get false records into the system, but I had the benefit of an unusual education. After my parents' murder, Joseph Demayo, the capo himself, took me into his own home. I no longer attended school. Instead, I was tutored by a team of handpicked experts who trained me in the fine art of the online invasion. Why rob a man by sticking a gun in his face when you can rob him peacefully at a distance with a perfectly crafted line of code?

The admissions committee was much impressed with the three hundred hours you spent working with Habitat for Humanity. Conrad didn't seem to notice the lack of calluses on my fingers. People look, but they don't see.

Yes, sir. It was very fulfilling to give back to the community in that way.

As long as I was building the perfect scholarship kid, why shouldn't he be a valedictorian who hammered on houses for the homeless in his spare time? Small dreams are for small minds.

Dangerous place, the South Side, or so I've heard, he said.

I tried to look all modest and unassuming, the very picture of a young superhero reluctant to toot his own horn.

Conrad smiled. I smiled back. Dude was buying the whole story hook, line, and sinker.

So why this uneasy feeling he was about to drop a bomb out of the blue?

And the Herron-Debberts Scholarship. A most generous entity. His smile flickered for a moment. Although I will confess we had not previously heard of this organization.

There was, of course, no Herron-Debberts Scholarship. That too was a carefully crafted invention. I needed a way to pay for my college. A kid couldn't just show up on his first day of school clutching a gym bag stuffed full of hundred-dollar bills. And Demayo was no longer available to sign the checks.

A mere three years after I'd arrived in his home, the FBI served a no-knock warrant on Joseph Demayo and most other members of his extended family. It was pure dumb luck they came when I'd slipped out into the night to meet another boy. It was still dark when I started home, but I knew what it meant when I spotted the first roadblock.

It meant I had a chance to run and fade back into the night.

I'd been running ever since.

My computer skills let me change my identity once, twice, three times. Anything to erase my trail. But now I was eighteen, and it was time to pick a solid identity once and for all. Kingsley Blake. That was who I was now, who I'd be forever.

A good kid who went to a good high school, got good grades, did good deeds.

Dean Conrad had been talking for a long time. I flexed the muscles in my ass without wiggling. The wooden seat in front of the wide mahogany desk was hard.

He stopped. Took a deep breath.

I hope you won't take this question the wrong way.

I can't take it any fucking way if you don't fucking ask it already.

"What made you choose Chestnut Dale? I would like to believe our press department is doing a better job of getting word out about our fine little university, but the reality is that we're struggling to attract students of your caliber. He tapped the folder again. With your transcript, you could have attended almost any university you chose. I'd like to know what caused you to select us, so that we can do a better job of reaching out to other high-quality candidates."

I'd drilled myself, endlessly, on every possible question he could ask.

Every possible question except that one.

The real answer would get me kicked out the door harder than a football at the Super Bowl.

I'd designed my own spider to crawl the college admissions programs of the United States and Canada. Chestnut Dale stood out as a