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Dalton Beauregard has a plan, and it involves acing all his exams, making the Dean's List every year he's at Lassiter College, and going to med school and becoming a doctor.
Marty O'Brien has a plan too. His is to improve his life by emulating those around him. He's going to need a study plan, a tutor, and... a boyfriend? Dalton can't believe he's even considering this. It's utterly ridiculous. Marty is an idiot, and there is no way he's going to help him learn how to be gay. Or is there? The Amazing Alpha Tau Self-Improvement Project is a lighthearted contemporary m/m romance containing banter, snark, and a dumb frat boy who may have accidentally had the smartest idea ever. Or something. |
I loved the humor in this book. I laughed out loud multiple times. There were also some more serious topics! ... Long story short, this book is cute, hilarious, fratty, and romantic.
- Girl Reads Guy on Guy Reviews
- Girl Reads Guy on Guy Reviews
An excerpt from The Amazing Alpha Tau Self-Improvement Project:
Chapter 1It was Friday night, and there was a party down the street at Kappa Beta Rho. Just like there’d been a party down the street at Kappa Beta Rho on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, because those assholes never shut the hell up. I flicked our chapter president, Stuart, a text message:
The Kappas are at it again.
Stuart had a study group over in the library, but he’d asked me to let him know if the Kappas got on their bullshit again. As far as I was concerned, the question should have been would the Kappas ever get off their bullshit? I was in my third year at Lassiter, and it hadn’t happened yet. Stuart had complained to the dean’s office, but so far, nothing had been done. Which was shitty because we weren’t the only ones complaining. The Alpha Taus across the road were as fed up as we were. God only knew how the Gamma Kappas, who lived next door to the Kappa Beta Rhos, hadn’t burned the place down yet. They must all have had some crazy good noise canceling headphones for nights like this.
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up expecting an answer from Stuart. Instead, I felt a jolt in my gut as I saw who it was from: Emmett.
Hey.
Dammit. I should have blocked him after he dumped me. He had no right to turn me upside down and inside out with one little word.
I was still figuring out what to reply when his next text came through:
Do you still have my Penn State hoodie? And my copy of The Grapes of Wrath? And I think I left my spare AirPods there last time? Can you get them back to me, please? Thanks, D!
He also had no right to call me D. It wasn’t fucking cute now that we’d broken up. Three months ago, when he’d let me know he was coming down to visit one weekend, I’d been so fucking happy. Normally I was the one who went to see him since he said it was too far to travel for no reason, so I’d figured it must be something really special if he was making the drive. I’d waited on the doorstep for him like a sap, but when he’d arrived and I’d gone to greet him with a kiss, the asshole had turned his head away and pulled a face, like I had rabies or something. Turned out that he hadn’t driven the five hours from Penn State to spend time with me after all—he’d driven all that way to tell me that he’d met someone else. Someone who really, truly got him. This was news to me since I’d thought I’d gotten him too, or at least that I’d had him, but no, Brad really did.
Well, good for fucking Brad. He and Emmett could get each other and go fuck themselves simultaneously, as far as I was concerned. Not that Emmett liked fucking anybody. Ask me how I knew.
I had tried not being bitter about the breakup, but it hadn’t stuck. It turned out that being bitter really took the edge off the gut punch that had been my boyfriend of four years—the guy who’d taken me to our high school prom—telling me that he’d met someone else. Someone who got him, as if I never had. As if it was my fault.
When he’d said he was coming to visit, I’d really thought that maybe he was finally giving me that platinum engagement ring he’d bought two years back and promised was for me. But I guessed he’d give it to Brad now. Well, I hoped Brad got contact dermatitis from the ring. With blisters.
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath.
No.
I wasn’t that guy, and I didn’t want to be that guy. Like, I didn’t honestly give a shit if terrible things happened to Emmett and Brad, but at the same time I didn’t want to be the guy who got so twisted up with anger after a bad breakup that he sucked the joy out of every moment, and people started to avoid him. At some point, I had to let it go. What was that saying? Something about living well being the best revenge. And I figured that was because by the time you were living well, it was your indifference that was the real revenge. You walked away without looking back, and you never knew, and never cared, if that stung them or not. Because you were better than that.
That was the guy I wanted to be. The one that was better than that.
So I gritted my teeth and sent a message back:
Sure. I’ll box them up and ship them.
See? I was being the better man.
Thanks, D! :)
“A smiley face? You sack of shit, Emmett! You lying, cheating, dirty sack of shit!”
I slammed my phone face down on my desk and decided that I’d try being a better man tomorrow. For now, I was going to ignore my phone and get some studying done for Organic Chemistry, because there was no way I was going to let my grades drop because of Emmett.
Of course when my phone buzzed again, I checked it immediately.
Ok, thanks for letting me know.
It took me a second to see that it was from Stuart. I didn’t respond and tried to find my place in my textbook. But now I couldn’t concentrate, so I got up from my desk and dug around in my closet until I found Emmett’s hoodie. Then I grabbed the book from my shelf and found his AirPods in my nightstand drawer . I bundled the book and the AirPods in the sweater and sat them on the end of my bed. I’d go to the post office on Monday, and then they would all be gone, out of my life, and I wouldn’t have to think about them—or Emmett—again.
My phone buzzed, and I wondered what else Emmett had left here that he so desperately needed back. A jockstrap? A candy bar? A piece of used dental floss?
I need you to tutor me, help me pass my classes, and be my boyfriend. Help?
It was from an unknown number. I read the message twice, but it still didn’t make any sense.
I don’t understand. What?
Dude, if you can’t understand that, I for real need a different tutor
What the hell was going on? Was I being punked? Who on earth was sending me this?
Who is this?
The dots that let me know the other person was typing appeared on my screen, and finally the next message came through:
I’m coming over.
I blinked at the screen. What the actual fuck? Who was coming over? And why? What if I wasn’t being punked at all, but this was some sort of serial killer scenario? I’d seen horror movies. It could happen. Okay, it probably wouldn’t, but who the hell knew? Nothing made sense, and I was supposed to be studying, not being interrupted by loud parties and asshole ex-boyfriends and weird strangers who wanted me to be their tutor and their boyfriend. Like, and this bore repeating, what the actual fuck?
“Dalton!” Leo yelled from downstairs. “Visitor!”
He didn’t sound like he’d been confronted by a maniac wearing a Halloween mask and wielding a chainsaw, so, my curiosity prickling, I left my room and headed down the stairs.
Theta Phi House wasn’t the biggest or the richest frat house on Fraternity Row at Lassiter, but we were hardly crying poor just yet. When most of our alumni were doctors and surgeons, with a couple of pharma execs thrown in there for good measure, we did pretty well when we sent out our yearly letters begging for funds. The house had been refitted last year. The chrome taps in the upstairs bathrooms actually worked, unlike the old ones, which might have been the originals from 1887. The lights no longer flickered throughout the place. And we now had a kitchen that could handle running more than two appliances at once without one of us having to go and throw the breaker switch. The house was absolutely charming in that old-fashioned way that was reminiscent of old libraries, museums, and gentlemen’s clubs—all of which I liked but only reinforced my desire to eventually live somewhere modern and open and airy, like an Ikea advertisement.
I ran my hand down the polished wooden rail as I took the stairs to the front door. When I got to the lobby, Leo was there. As he heard me approach, he turned around, moved back from the doorway, and revealed Marty O’Brien standing there.
I honestly would have been less confused if it had been a maniac with a chainsaw. Marty and I had talked a few times at football games and barbecues, and I’d thought that maybe he was trying to get to know me better or something, but that still didn’t explain his presence on my doorstep.
“Marty,” I said. It wasn’t a greeting, exactly, more like I was saying it aloud just to confirm with Leo that I wasn’t going crazy. Why the hell was Marty O’Brien here to see me?
“Hey,” Marty said, flashing me a happy grin as he stepped inside.
Marty was about my height, kind of on the skinny side—which was a mystery, because he always seemed to be shoveling junk food into his mouth—and his dark blond hair was cut in an undercut and long enough on top that he could have combed it into a pompadour if he’d wanted. Except he didn’t and left it to the breeze to style, with mixed results. His favorite fashion was shorts paired with Hawaiian shirts that he wore open over his Alpha Tau tees. And slides. The only time I’d seen him wearing footwear with laces was when we played flag-football with Alpha Tau on weekends.
I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing here and then realized that this was possibly something I didn’t want Leo to rib me about for the rest of my time at Lassiter. “Come on up,” I said instead.
Chapter 1It was Friday night, and there was a party down the street at Kappa Beta Rho. Just like there’d been a party down the street at Kappa Beta Rho on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, because those assholes never shut the hell up. I flicked our chapter president, Stuart, a text message:
The Kappas are at it again.
Stuart had a study group over in the library, but he’d asked me to let him know if the Kappas got on their bullshit again. As far as I was concerned, the question should have been would the Kappas ever get off their bullshit? I was in my third year at Lassiter, and it hadn’t happened yet. Stuart had complained to the dean’s office, but so far, nothing had been done. Which was shitty because we weren’t the only ones complaining. The Alpha Taus across the road were as fed up as we were. God only knew how the Gamma Kappas, who lived next door to the Kappa Beta Rhos, hadn’t burned the place down yet. They must all have had some crazy good noise canceling headphones for nights like this.
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up expecting an answer from Stuart. Instead, I felt a jolt in my gut as I saw who it was from: Emmett.
Hey.
Dammit. I should have blocked him after he dumped me. He had no right to turn me upside down and inside out with one little word.
I was still figuring out what to reply when his next text came through:
Do you still have my Penn State hoodie? And my copy of The Grapes of Wrath? And I think I left my spare AirPods there last time? Can you get them back to me, please? Thanks, D!
He also had no right to call me D. It wasn’t fucking cute now that we’d broken up. Three months ago, when he’d let me know he was coming down to visit one weekend, I’d been so fucking happy. Normally I was the one who went to see him since he said it was too far to travel for no reason, so I’d figured it must be something really special if he was making the drive. I’d waited on the doorstep for him like a sap, but when he’d arrived and I’d gone to greet him with a kiss, the asshole had turned his head away and pulled a face, like I had rabies or something. Turned out that he hadn’t driven the five hours from Penn State to spend time with me after all—he’d driven all that way to tell me that he’d met someone else. Someone who really, truly got him. This was news to me since I’d thought I’d gotten him too, or at least that I’d had him, but no, Brad really did.
Well, good for fucking Brad. He and Emmett could get each other and go fuck themselves simultaneously, as far as I was concerned. Not that Emmett liked fucking anybody. Ask me how I knew.
I had tried not being bitter about the breakup, but it hadn’t stuck. It turned out that being bitter really took the edge off the gut punch that had been my boyfriend of four years—the guy who’d taken me to our high school prom—telling me that he’d met someone else. Someone who got him, as if I never had. As if it was my fault.
When he’d said he was coming to visit, I’d really thought that maybe he was finally giving me that platinum engagement ring he’d bought two years back and promised was for me. But I guessed he’d give it to Brad now. Well, I hoped Brad got contact dermatitis from the ring. With blisters.
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath.
No.
I wasn’t that guy, and I didn’t want to be that guy. Like, I didn’t honestly give a shit if terrible things happened to Emmett and Brad, but at the same time I didn’t want to be the guy who got so twisted up with anger after a bad breakup that he sucked the joy out of every moment, and people started to avoid him. At some point, I had to let it go. What was that saying? Something about living well being the best revenge. And I figured that was because by the time you were living well, it was your indifference that was the real revenge. You walked away without looking back, and you never knew, and never cared, if that stung them or not. Because you were better than that.
That was the guy I wanted to be. The one that was better than that.
So I gritted my teeth and sent a message back:
Sure. I’ll box them up and ship them.
See? I was being the better man.
Thanks, D! :)
“A smiley face? You sack of shit, Emmett! You lying, cheating, dirty sack of shit!”
I slammed my phone face down on my desk and decided that I’d try being a better man tomorrow. For now, I was going to ignore my phone and get some studying done for Organic Chemistry, because there was no way I was going to let my grades drop because of Emmett.
Of course when my phone buzzed again, I checked it immediately.
Ok, thanks for letting me know.
It took me a second to see that it was from Stuart. I didn’t respond and tried to find my place in my textbook. But now I couldn’t concentrate, so I got up from my desk and dug around in my closet until I found Emmett’s hoodie. Then I grabbed the book from my shelf and found his AirPods in my nightstand drawer . I bundled the book and the AirPods in the sweater and sat them on the end of my bed. I’d go to the post office on Monday, and then they would all be gone, out of my life, and I wouldn’t have to think about them—or Emmett—again.
My phone buzzed, and I wondered what else Emmett had left here that he so desperately needed back. A jockstrap? A candy bar? A piece of used dental floss?
I need you to tutor me, help me pass my classes, and be my boyfriend. Help?
It was from an unknown number. I read the message twice, but it still didn’t make any sense.
I don’t understand. What?
Dude, if you can’t understand that, I for real need a different tutor
What the hell was going on? Was I being punked? Who on earth was sending me this?
Who is this?
The dots that let me know the other person was typing appeared on my screen, and finally the next message came through:
I’m coming over.
I blinked at the screen. What the actual fuck? Who was coming over? And why? What if I wasn’t being punked at all, but this was some sort of serial killer scenario? I’d seen horror movies. It could happen. Okay, it probably wouldn’t, but who the hell knew? Nothing made sense, and I was supposed to be studying, not being interrupted by loud parties and asshole ex-boyfriends and weird strangers who wanted me to be their tutor and their boyfriend. Like, and this bore repeating, what the actual fuck?
“Dalton!” Leo yelled from downstairs. “Visitor!”
He didn’t sound like he’d been confronted by a maniac wearing a Halloween mask and wielding a chainsaw, so, my curiosity prickling, I left my room and headed down the stairs.
Theta Phi House wasn’t the biggest or the richest frat house on Fraternity Row at Lassiter, but we were hardly crying poor just yet. When most of our alumni were doctors and surgeons, with a couple of pharma execs thrown in there for good measure, we did pretty well when we sent out our yearly letters begging for funds. The house had been refitted last year. The chrome taps in the upstairs bathrooms actually worked, unlike the old ones, which might have been the originals from 1887. The lights no longer flickered throughout the place. And we now had a kitchen that could handle running more than two appliances at once without one of us having to go and throw the breaker switch. The house was absolutely charming in that old-fashioned way that was reminiscent of old libraries, museums, and gentlemen’s clubs—all of which I liked but only reinforced my desire to eventually live somewhere modern and open and airy, like an Ikea advertisement.
I ran my hand down the polished wooden rail as I took the stairs to the front door. When I got to the lobby, Leo was there. As he heard me approach, he turned around, moved back from the doorway, and revealed Marty O’Brien standing there.
I honestly would have been less confused if it had been a maniac with a chainsaw. Marty and I had talked a few times at football games and barbecues, and I’d thought that maybe he was trying to get to know me better or something, but that still didn’t explain his presence on my doorstep.
“Marty,” I said. It wasn’t a greeting, exactly, more like I was saying it aloud just to confirm with Leo that I wasn’t going crazy. Why the hell was Marty O’Brien here to see me?
“Hey,” Marty said, flashing me a happy grin as he stepped inside.
Marty was about my height, kind of on the skinny side—which was a mystery, because he always seemed to be shoveling junk food into his mouth—and his dark blond hair was cut in an undercut and long enough on top that he could have combed it into a pompadour if he’d wanted. Except he didn’t and left it to the breeze to style, with mixed results. His favorite fashion was shorts paired with Hawaiian shirts that he wore open over his Alpha Tau tees. And slides. The only time I’d seen him wearing footwear with laces was when we played flag-football with Alpha Tau on weekends.
I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing here and then realized that this was possibly something I didn’t want Leo to rib me about for the rest of my time at Lassiter. “Come on up,” I said instead.