Freshman Blues Read online

  Table of Contents

  Freshman Blues: A Gay New Adult College Romance (Last Chances Academy, #4)

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  A Note from the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  About the Author

  Freshman Blues

  A Gay New Adult College Romance

  (Last Chances Academy #4)

  by

  Parker Avrile

  ©2022 by Paris April Press

  All rights reserved.

  All characters are consenting adults over age 18. If you are offended by explicit descriptions of love between men, do not read this book.

  Revenge 101...

  Matt

  “CAN MATTY BE SAVED?”

  Yeah, that's me. The infamous teen burglar who supposedly vamoosed with a multimillion-dollar art object.

  I'm nineteen now. The scholarship's meant to give me one last chance to turn my life around. Never thought of myself as a college boy, but I've got nothing left to lose but my freedom.

  Turns out life in an all-male freshman dorm has a lot to recommend it.

  Starting with that surfer hottie from California.

  Hunter

  I'm enrolled in this last chance college for rich eff-ups for one reason and one reason only.

  In the name of publicity and a higher social media profile for the college, they gave a scholarship to the wrong dirtbag. Matt McCoyn sucked my Dad into a disastrous heist that ended in my Dad's arrest. So my Dad's got a monitor on his ankle, and the mastermind skates?

  No way I'm sitting still for that.

  I'm bringing Matt down, and if the school goes down with him, too bad, so sad.

  Fate's on my side. Matt has no idea who my father is. It's so easy to get close when you both live in the same freshman dorm.

  And now he's asking to be roommates?

  Getting close to a criminal can be dangerous, though.

  Especially when the feels start to kick in.

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  Story & cover ©2022 by Paris April Press

  All Rights Reserved

  Except for brief passages quoted for reviews and/or recommendations in magazine, radio, or blog posts, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone, any time, or any place is not intended and is merely coincidental. The cover models appear for illustration purposes only and have no relationship to any events in this story. Brief mentions of real persons, places, or products are used fictitiously and in accordance with fair use. All trademarks remain the properties of their owners.

  It is a violation of international copyright law to upload this book to free, pirate, and sharing sites. Many independent authors and publishers have been forced out of the business by piracy. The small fee you pay to buy this book helps support an indie author. Thank you for respecting my hard work.

  A Note from the Author

  The Last Chances Academy series of books are fast-paced, page-turning escapism with a healthy serving of steam. Freshman Blues is a complete standalone gay romance with two new starring characters. There are no spoilers for the first three books, Hot Roommate Blues, Hot Mafia Blues, or Kickoff Blues, so you can read this one first if you want to.

  From the days of my first novel, The Runaway Model, I've always been excited by the challenge of writing page-turning longer novels. When I first got the seed of an idea for a last-chances academy for hot gay bad boys, I knew it was a natural setting for fast-paced male/male romances full of deception and twists.

  My wish for you is to enjoy reading this steamy gay enemies-to-lovers romance as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Chapter One

  Matt

  June 2022

  Nineteen was supposed to be the gap year in Italy. Gondola rides. The Spanish Steps. Flirty boys with flexible hips. Skinny jeans, maybe by Versace. Some creep whistled to make you turn around. When you did, he'd snap your picture. But that was all right too because the creep would turn out to work for an agency, and then you'd be a model.

  “You're a dreamer, Matty,” my mother would say. “All the McCoyn men are dreamers.”

  And she wasn't? She married a McCoyn man, after all.

  One thing I knew for sure. Nineteen wasn't supposed to be farmer's jeans and a polo shirt. My first name wasn't supposed to be spelled out in embroidered white thread for any random Karen to shout at.

  “Why is all the cider alcohol-free? Where's the wine? I can't host a party with this.”

  My jaw wasn't supposed to be clenched as I repeated, over and over, that the MacPherson farm store made a point of refusing to sell products containing alcohol. “We are proud of producing healthy beverages that support addiction-free lifestyles.”

  Sure, it was fun to see Karen narrow her eyes at my passive-aggro jab. But not enough fun to make up for the fact I was whiling my youth away in rural North Carolina. I was meant to be an It boy, not a country store clerk.

  Nineteen wasn't supposed to find me bounced back to the farmhouse where I'd shared a room with my foster brother Kevin. Even after everything, I figured eighteen would get me off the farm. Who's the singer who said life is what happens while you're making other plans?

  Outside, somebody was roaring around on the riding lawnmower. Kevin, probably. He was a guy who looked for any excuse to get loud with the landscaping equipment.

  Inside, I was alone but not for long. It was one of those days you could tell people were going to jump in their cars to go spend money. They'd tell themselves they were driving out to the farm for the healthy food and clean air. Then they'd yell at me for not selling booze.

  The lawnmower noise blasted louder because the front door was swinging open. My cue to paste a plastic smile on my pretty face. A photographer from an age
ncy could always stumble in, snap my picture, make me famous. Stranger things have happened.

  No, they haven't.

  At first, thanks to the bright day outside, all I got was a silhouette. Lean and tall, the visitor had an easy gait that told you he was in his early twenties even before you saw his face.

  That was unusual. The farm store was not exactly a hangout spot for hot young males.

  Then he stepped out of the glare coming through the glass door, and I saw who it was.

  Uh-oh.

  Grayson Easterly didn't pretend he came to shop. He glanced around to confirm we were alone. “Hello, Matty,” he said.

  He'd be twenty-two now. At nineteen, he'd been something of a clumsy baby giraffe. That fancy college with all the ivy on the walls must have been good for him.

  “Hey, Gray. What brings you to our lovely corner of the world? I'm pretty sure the statute of limitations ran out on that laptop I borrowed.”

  “I bought a new one.” His long, graceful fingers touched a display of rainbow bracelets made in Kenya. We'd sell more if I took off the tiny stickers that said so. Let people think the lovely MacPherson farmgirls crafted them at home in front of the fire.

  But Mrs. MacPherson only shook her head and looked sad when I suggested it. Angle-shooting Matt wasn't her favorite Matt.

  What did Gray want? I hoped he didn't think I had money.

  “Hey, you know I'm sorry, right?” I asked. “I always meant to pay you back. Things got a little out of hand.”

  When he laughed, I saw he still had the freckles. “Don't worry about it.”

  “At least, I didn't take the Mercedes.”

  “I noticed that, and I appreciate it.”

  “I appreciate you didn't file a police report.”

  “Yeah, well.” He was trying on one of the bracelets. It looked too new against the pair he already wore, but three's a luckier number than two. “I should have done more for you, Matty.”

  You think you've heard everything, but you haven't.

  “Why?” I asked. “You were a kid too.”

  “I was a college freshman when you came to me that time.”

  “Yeah, well. That's still a kid. What are you supposed to be able to do about anything?”

  “I knew you were in trouble.” He was frowning at the bracelet, but it wasn't the bracelet that displeased him.

  On impulse, I took the shop scissors in my left hand while taking his bracelet arm in my right. Cut off the price tag, snip, snip, snip. It was done before he ever realized I'd picked up the scissors.

  “I don't need your pity,” I said. “I'm fine.” As fine as I could be, considering my folks were still in federal prison.

  “I don't come bringing pity.”

  Oh.

  When you're a famous thief, people tend to offer you jobs stealing stuff they can't get at by themselves.

  “Bracelet's on the house.” I pointed behind him. “There's the door. Suggest you use it.”

  “Not until you hear me out.” He stood firm.

  But so did I. “There's nothing you have to say that I want to hear.”

  “I'm not here to hurt you, Matty. Just listen a minute.” When Gray raised a stop-sign hand, the three bracelets slid down his arm in a colorful expression of rainbow solidarity. I was supposed to be remembering what a good guy he was. “I already spoke to Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson.”

  “You did not. I would know.” Wouldn't I?

  The thought of people meeting behind my back to talk about me made my skin crawl. I had enough judges making decisions about my life, thank you very much.

  “We didn't want to get your hopes up until...” Gray was losing his college-man confidence in the face of my hard-won skepticism. “Look, this wasn't something I could do alone. You're still on probation.”

  Like he had to tell me that.

  “I'm doing all the things, Fifty.” I gestured around the store. “I have a job. I show up for the job every day. I haven't left the area in...” A long fucking time. Even visits to the parents were out for long periods, what with the federal prisons in virus lockdown.

  “Nobody's saying you've done anything wrong, Matty.”

  “Stop calling me Matty.”

  “Stop calling me Fifty. I'm only one shade of Gray.”

  The door opened. No lawnmower blast this time. Kevin's hair was wet, which meant he'd washed off outside with the hose after he parked the equipment.

  My fake brother hiked a thumb at the door still closing behind him. “Take a break, Matt.”

  “What is this,” I said. “You're in on it too?”

  “Come on.” Gray took three bottles of raspberry-flavored sparkling water from the fridge case near the door. Lifted one high in Kev's direction.

  Kev nodded.

  Gray turned, waltzed outside. The three bottles dangled from his long fingers.

  “Hey,” I said. “What the fuck, Kev? You don't get to give out comps on my register.”

  “No, but I get to give out comps on my register.” Kev pushed his bulky body behind the counter. “Chill, Matt. Everything's cool. I get you've got a low opinion of my IQ, but trust me, I can fly a fucking register.”

  “But...”

  “Go on, get out there, talk to the man. You might like what he has to say.”

  “I seriously doubt it.” But it was the world against Matt McCoyn. So out I went.

  The sunny day smelled like fresh-cut grass. The bees buzzed in the row of flowers running along the cobblestone sidewalk. A hummingbird spiked into the feeder.

  Gray's long stride had carried him most of the way to the wooden spool table under the shade tree. His football player boyfriend was already sitting there. Whatever they were selling me, they were going to sell it in stereo.

  I went over and sat down. “Don't bother to share the Good News. The MacPhersons already got that covered.”

  The boyfriend laughed. “So this is the famous Matthew McCoyn. Boy art thief.”

  “Reformed art thief,” I said. “Hapless victim of conniving adults.”

  “Uh-huh.” He looked amused. “You look real hapless.”

  “Get fucked. I don't need the dance. You guys need something stolen. Fine. Just tell me what it is.”

  Chapter Two

  Hunter

  August 2022

  “Hunter Bryerly,” said the freckle-faced man behind the desk. “You're on the second floor.” He thumped a key card down on the counter. “You're all checked in. You gonna need any help with your bags?”

  “What you see is what you get.” I shifted my shoulders enough to bounce my backpack up and down a couple of times. Bags plural is for the rich kids.

  Of course, at a college like this, almost all the kids were rich kids. The lobby of Bellmount Hall, the official freshman dorm, wouldn't have looked out of place in a four-star hotel. Wide leather couches. A movie-screen-sized monitor playing a movie with the sound turned off.

  No one was watching. Freshman orientation wasn't for another week.

  “If you think you can find your room on your own, I'm gonna head off now,” said Freckles. “You're the last one due to check in for a couple days.”

  “I'll find it.” I held his eyes a beat longer. It's always good to make friends with the guy on the front desk. “I thought I might be the only one to check in this early. Should I apologize for making you come to work?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. More hours, more money. Anyway, there's a few of you who came in this afternoon. I kinda scheduled you all to show up the same day.” He smacked his forehead playfully. “That reminds me.” He flicked a glossy midnight-blue card over the counter.

  I caught it in mid-air. “What's this?”

  “Your invitation. Star party tonight. A little get-together for the early arrivals.” Freckles was already turning away from the counter toward the back office.

  “Where...”

  “The card'll tell you what you need to know.” Freckles tapped two fingers to his temple in a
fake salute. Then he was gone.

  I stood alone in the lobby of Bellmount Hall.

  “Hello?” I said.

  Silence.

  I took a better look at the card. Gold metallic lettering on midnight-blue stock. A few five-point gold stars sprinkled here and there.

  Meteor Storm Tonight 3 AM.

  BYOB Drinks at 2.

  Park in front of Niko's located in the old Nikolo's building.

  Walk around to the gazebo area.

  Please keep your flashlights pointed down.

  The address on the other side suggested a location even more rural than the bucolic campus of Chestnut Dale University. “Three in the morning?” I asked out loud, in case the sound of my own voice could make the empty dorm less lonely. “That isn't just a no, it's a fuck no.”

  TWELVE HOURS LATER, I was pulling into a parking lot in front of a closed restaurant. My headlights briefly lit up two other parked vehicles—a Porsche Cayman, an Alfa Romeo. Rich kid cars.

  Townie vehicles would be trucks. This has to be the place.

  Niko's was a long, low, mostly windowless structure. The neon sign on top of the building had been turned off for the night. In some places, a roadhouse might be open twenty-four hours. I wasn't real surprised to learn Chestnut Dale County wasn't one of those places.

  What are you doing here, Hunter?

  It wasn't the first time I'd asked myself the question. But what the hell else should I be doing? My father was under house arrest, with the majority of our money already seized. The frozen accounts included my Dad's share of my college savings, and the lawyer had already warned me not to expect the feds to shake loose that cash anytime soon.

  If ever.

  We were fucked. And the person responsible for the fucking?

  He needed to pay. Bigtime.

  My car went to sleep when I got out, and the country darkness seemed total. The parking lot's lights were either burned out or turned off. I felt for my phone's flashlight app. Skimmed the beam around the area. Two red eyes lit up.

  Just a raccoon.

  Jolted, I remembered to point my flashlight down. Once my vision got used to the dark, I'd see more shooting stars. Or so said the official website of the Perseids meteor storm.