Page 1 of Top Shelf
Chapter One
Ferris
There werea million things I thought I’d do with my life, but the one decision I’d made that was the most shocking—and yes, I counted it over being drafted at twenty into the NHL—was joining a fraternity.
I was not a “frat guy.” I was the guy future frat bros bullied the fuck out of in middle school and low-key tormented in high school.
I was the guy they pushed into lockers and threatened to trash can whenever they got bored or were trying to impress their cheerleader girlfriends. And of course, those girls always laughed, then shot me a look of pity and offered to partner up with me in Foods when their macho dickhead boyfriends weren’t around.
I was the “safe” guy. The nonthreatening one. The gay dude with no experience because I was too autistic and too socially shy to ever tell someone I had a crush on them, let alone make a move.
Officially in my twenties now, I was still a virgin because I had no idea how to even begin to get a man to want to sleep with me. And that was my biggest problem since all my other queerfriends had been jumping into bed with both each other and randos since freshman year at Boston U.
I was the weird one. Queer since I could remember, and I never felt the need to be in the closet because, well, it was always obvious. I was my own gay pride parade, but I had no idea how to cross the line and touch another man’s penis.
Maybe it was because I called it a penis? That didn’t seem like it was sexy. Cock was probably a better word. Or dick? Meat stick? Thick rod?
Shit. Maybe I should have read more romance novels or something.
There were days I wished I were more of a stereotype. Everyone believed gay guys on campus were, you know, easy. And maybe they were. Maybe I might have been if I’d been born different, but I was who I was. I was the youngest of six boys. I was the weirdo in the family photo lineup, all short and awkward, with my shoulders perpetually hunched and my face unable to make a proper smile.
By the time they had me, my mom and dad must have been out of all the genes that would make me a tall, muscular zero on the Kinsey scale dude-bro like my brothers.
The only thing their combined DNA gave me was incredible balance, amazing hand-eye coordination, which was responsible for my goalie skills, and a low-support-needs autism diagnosis when I was seventeen and still not socializing the way they wanted me to.
That last bit, of course, was what led to the whole frat thing. An internal dare to prove to my parents that it had nothing to do with me not trying hard enough. So I pledged, and while my terror about what they’d make me do was real, it turned out that the severe rules and restrictions being put on frat houses—and punishments being dished out, oh, and funding being cutfor violating those rules—meant things were different than the “good ol’ days” of hazing freshmen until one of them died.
There were still times I was pretty sure I was the diversity hire—being gay, being half Pakistani, being autistic—but whatever the case, I was welcome. Even when I decided to try and get kicked out my sophomore year because I was tired of frat things. I was going to lean into the gay and try to make the president uncomfortable so he suggested that I leave.
“Question: has there a problem with me liking men?”
At that point, after two years of bro culture, I was feeling very done. Being on the hockey team was bad enough. I didn’t need allthis.
Derek, the Kappa Omicron Kappa president about to graduate, just raised a brow at me. “Bruh, it’s not our business where you put your dick.” He didn’t need to know then that I hadn’t put my dick anywhere. Not yet.
The guy who was sitting next to me—Colton, the absurdly hot one who looked like he belonged on Calvin Klein underwear billboards in NYC, not on the Boston U campus—snorted. “I mean, come on, dude. We’ve all thought about sucking a dick or two in our time.”
Derek coughed and eyed him. “Uh. Speak for yourself?”
“No? Really?” Colton asked, his eyes darting to Cosmo, one of sophomores on the hockey team with me, who was busy on his phone. “How about you?”
He looked up. “Uh. What?”
Colton mimed sucking a cock with his fist.
Cosmo blinked at him. “Are you asking me for advice? Because I have some. The guy I’m dating right now does this thing with his tongue that?—”
“We’re getting off topic,” Derek said quickly.
“Oh, fuck off, it was just about to get good!” Colton complained.
I ducked my head, blushing as Cosmo asked Colton, “Are you coming on to me?”
There was a moment of tension, and Derek glanced over at his friends like he was worried he was going to have to step in between the two.
Colton looked him up and down slowly, then shook his head. “Nah. Not my type.”
Cosmo shrugged and went back to his phone, and I stared off into the distance because what the fuck just happened? My attempt at being ousted for being too gay had been thwarted by a conversation about blow job technique.
