Page 12 of Advanced Chemistry

“We started a business operating vending machines. It’s going well,” I said, refusing to let our former teacher think we were slacking off.

“Can you fix the vending machine at South Rock? I have to push down hard on the F key to get it to work. It’s a hindrance to getting a midday snack.”

“Noted,” I said. South Rock was one of our first clients.

“Mr. M., now that we’re out of the classroom, I can tell you that your chemistry class was my favorite. It had the best view.” Anton’s lines sounded more obvious and less convincing than an actor in a porn scene.

What the hell was he doing? It was one thing to joke about having a cute teacher, but now he was blatantly hitting on Mr. Mathison. Was he just fucking around? How strong was his beer?

“I’m lucky that my classroom has a nice mountain view and doesn’t overlook the parking lot.”

I snorted a laugh. Was Mr. Mathison this oblivious, or was he flirting right back with Anton, making him work for a reaction?

Anton, never one to step back from a challenge, leaned closer. “I wasn’t talking about the mountains, Mr. M.”

The red hitting Mr. Mathison’s cheeks told me he wasn’t that oblivious.

“Now that we’re no longer your students, we’re allowed to be honest with this shit, right?” Anton clapped him on the back. “Seb, you thought Mr. M. was a stone-cold fox, right?”

For a brief moment, his flirty gaze was turned on me, making my mouth go dry.

Anton had a playful glint in his eye. I had no idea what he was up to, but if he wanted to have some fun, fine. I could have some fun, too.

“One hundred percent. Should we tell Mr. Mathison what we used to do whenever he wrote chemical equations on the board?” I flashed both guys a smirk. It seemed flirting was contagious. The weird pheromones buzzing in our little circle went straight to my head.

Anton raised his eyebrows, shocked I would bring that up. If he wanted to fuck around, I’d keep him on his toes.

“I hope the answer to that is solving said equations,” Mr. Mathison said.

“Unfortunately not. We were checking out your ass, Mr. M.” Anton put his hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders. His downright cockiness toward our former teacher was intoxicating. I just…went with it, letting his vibes carry me to wherever we were going.

“We weren’t very good students,” I added.

“If I recall, you got an A-minus,” he said.

“Uh, that’s right,” I said, dumbfounded as his airtight memory.

“And Anton, you squeaked by with a C-minus.”

“Mr. M., that brain of yours is something to behold.” Anton massaged his shoulder.

“We’re no longer in the classroom. You can call me Chase.”

The band switched up songs, segueing into something upbeat that got people on their feet. The space by the stage filled up with dancers.

“I love this song. Let’s go dance!” Anton said to both of us. “You want to cut loose, Chase?”

“I would prefer…” Chase thought about it for a moment, a sense of realization coming over him. “Actually, I see no reason why not.”

“Seb, as Bowie himself implored, let’s dance.” He pressed a gentle hand at the small of my back for a fleeting moment, but it was enough to trigger a torrent of want and dirty hopes and dreams in my head.

Anton snaked a hand around Chase and led us to an opening in the parking lot-turned-concert hall. The sun was shining, the air was warm, the smell of beer and sweat enveloped us. The perfect day infused our bodies as we danced. I was usually so wound up, but there was something about the energy between the three of us that made me let go and enjoy myself. Maybe it was Anton’s fun flirtiness or watching Chase slowly give in. Our arms and hands bumped into each other in a sweaty mess, sometimes by accident, or in Anton’s case, sometimes intentional. There was flirting going on, but overall, we were just three guys having fun, probably having the most fun of anyone in that mess of bodies. We sang along to the music, jumped up and down, threw in some corny moves remembered from middle school dances. I tossed my head back and allowed myself to unclench for a few minutes and live in the moment like Anton. My hand grazed his lower back at one point—accidentally or intentionally, I didn’t know—and his lips turned up in bliss, pleasantly surprised.

He put his hands on my shoulders, leaned his forehead against mine. “We did it, Seb. BS is going to blow up.”

“Chickens. Hatching,” I said.

He cupped my cheek. “Seb…relax.”

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