Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
CALLUM
Mmm. Oh man, I’m warm. This bed is comfy. It smells so nice here, like cinnamon and some kind of herb and—
And a certain extremely hot man.
Who I now live with.
Who I have a stupid crush on.
Shoot. Living with Ian is supposed to save me from sharing a hotel room in Vermont with three other people, but less than a day in, it’s already clear that I jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
With said fire being lit by Ian with the purest intention of keeping me warm, without him knowing that it’s burning me alive.
I let out a frustrated, resigned sigh into the spare pillow he gave me. It’s firm and plush and probably costs twice the GDP of my hometown.
What do his not-spare pillows feel like? As soft as his heart?
Oh, god-freaking-damn-it. Why did I have to go there? Especially after yesterday? Hugging Ian the way I did made me feel filthy. Even though he’s the most laid-back guy I’ve ever met, not that I’ve met very many, I can’t stop thinking that I’m taking advantage of him.
He offered to let me stay here, but I’m still taking up his living room. Strike one.
Strike two is the fact that I hugged him with way more intention than he did.
He initiated, but in a friendly, reassuring way.
Feeling his solid body on mine made something in me snap, and I took.
I wrapped my arms around his muscular shoulders, breathed in the smell of his masculine shampoo, and let myself get all mushy and lusty over a guy who’s been nothing but good to me.
Why am I like this? All weak over something that should be normal.
Before I can talk myself down from the scary cliff of inappropriate feelings, I hear some kind of clatter behind the bookshelf, and then Ian muttering a muffled curse.
After slipping on my hoodie to cover my rumpled hair, I step into the dining room to find him putting jelly on a piece of bread with slow, cautious movements.
“Oh, hey,” he says, focusing on his bread. “Did I wake you up?”
“Nah, I’ve been awake for a while,” I lie. It’s almost noon, and I really made up for my night in the gym by staying dead to the world for who knows how long.
Ian nods before putting the jar back in the fridge, and the difference in how he’s walking is noticeable. Or rather, it’s audible because now, I can hear him.
“Were you trying to be quiet before I came out here?” I ask, caution lining my voice.
“Yeah, didn’t want to disturb you, not after your night in the gym.”
A pang of guilt slams into my stomach. This is why I didn’t want to stay here—I’m making Ian slink around his own apartment.
“You don’t have to do that. Don’t let me make you feel uncomfortable or anything.”
He waves me off with a chuckle, one that’s a lot more at ease than I would have expected. “Dude, I’m not uncomfortable.”
Then why was he walking around on tiptoes?
“And even if I was,” he continues, “there’s no way that’d be anywhere near as bad as the alternative. If I have to be a little quiet, it’s no big deal, as long as it means you’re not hauling yourself to and from Vermont every day.”
I know Ian’s words should be reassuring, but they don’t settle me. “Sure, just let me know if I can make this easier for you.”
He sighs, leaning against the dining table. He faces me, and his eyes soften. “Cal, you’re way too nice. I invited you to stay here. You’re allowed to exist, man.”
I’m about to agree, if reluctantly, when a yawn cuts me off. I stretch up, and when I bring my arms down and my attention back to Ian, he’s looking away.
“I gotta, uh, take a leak,” he says, darting down the hallway.
Okay. That was abrupt.
Remembering my responsibility to make coffee in lieu of rent, I amble into the kitchen and take stock of the machine. There’s a tube leading into a metal box off to the side. It’s a mini-fridge full of milk.
He has a separate fridge for the milk he makes coffee with. Holy crap, we lead totally different lives.
I press the most worn-down button on the machine, and it spits out a drink, and once it’s done, I make a normal coffee for myself. Ian comes back right as it’s finishing up, so I hand him his mug.
“Did you make me coffee? You know I was kidding about that being your rent, right?” He takes a sip before I can think of a reply to fumble through, and then his eyes widen. “It's a latte. You actually remembered what I drink.”
I nod, and before I can tell Ian that the faded latte button on the machine was a convenient reminder, he puts the mug down to launch into a hug.
“Broski, oh my god. Absolutely no homo whatsoever, but I fucking love you.”
No homo. If only he knew. He sure wouldn’t say he loves me, even as a joke.
“It isn’t a huge deal,” I mumble. That’s all I can muster before something raw and tender crashes into me. It’s like hugging Ian saps all the reluctance and tension out of me, replacing it with helpless affection, and I can’t do anything but hold him back.
Even when it means a lot more to me than it does to him.
Then, right as the warmth in me risks slipping down to somewhere entirely inappropriate, he jerks back and pulls away, the absence searing my skin and tempting me to grab him back.
“Yeah, uh, anyway, thanks,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head.
“I gotta head to practice, and I’ll be back late tonight.
” He dumps the coffee into a travel mug and shoves a couple of protein bars into his backpack.
“The season’s starting pretty soon, so you might not see too much of me. I’ll send you my schedule."
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in his apartment where I’m still out of place. It takes a few seconds for me to get my bearings, and once I do, I realize I’m wrapping an arm around my waist where Ian was hugging me only a few minutes ago.
I tense up, shaking my head, and my phone beeps with a text. As promised, it’s Ian’s schedule.
Ian Scott
Hey man, here’s my schedule, FYI
Basically I’m gonna be out of the house by 8 AM on Mon/Wed/Fri, and by noon on Tues/Thurs. I won’t be back before 7 PM on weekdays but realistically I’ll be home closer to 9
That’s a long time to spend out of the house. What’s he doing?
Fucking baseball practice lmao
Makes sense.
Weekends are a bit of a crapshoot tbh but I’m out doing stuff most days
You don’t have to send me your schedule. I’ll be gone more than you so you can have the house to yourself
My stomach sinks. Is that why Ian’s planning to be gone for so long?
Is he trying to avoid me?
I down my coffee and retreat to the couch, curling up under the thick covers, trying to talk myself out of all this negativity.
Realistically, I haven’t done anything wrong. Ian told me to move in with him. So did Laura. It’s been one night, and he hasn’t said anything.
Then again, he could have been impulsive. Maybe his morning routine includes watching TV on the couch that I’ve robbed from him. He might have had a realization overnight.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a slow exhale.
There’s no use dwelling on something unconfirmed.
I drag myself off of the couch and get ready for a day of studying here, and I work through a few assignments that I’ve been neglecting.
Other than grabbing food and bathroom breaks, I don’t leave the dining table, and it’s almost eight when my phone lights up with another text from Ian.
Hey bro I’m heading home from practice, I'll be back in 5
I type the last few sentences of my French assignment and run it through a grammar checker, and I upload it right as I hear a key in the lock, turning slowly before the handle jiggles a few times.
Does he know how to unlock his own door? I stand up, walk over, and pull the door open.
Ian tumbles forward, falling face-first into me. He lets out a yelp of surprise, and I stick my arms out to catch him.
And my hands happen to snag on his clothes, slipping underneath them.
Oh, Jesus, I'm touching his bare skin. He's so smooth and warm, and my fingers slip into the wonderful little dips of his back muscles.
I yank him upright and withdraw my pawing hands. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks for catching me,” he says. He straightens and smooths his sweater down. It’s a baseball team hoodie, partially unzipped and revealing a flash of his green practice uniform. “How was your day?”
“Good, I just…studied.” And tried not to overthink you.
He gives me a small nod before shedding his sweater, his arms stretching the fabric of his uniform and making my mouth go dry. I choose to straighten my sneakers on the shoe rack to stop myself from staring.
“Sorry, I stink,” he says, stepping aside. “Let me go shower.”
My eyes follow him down the hallway as he walks away, and instead of averting my gaze like a decent person when he yanks his jersey off, I linger for a few seconds. Holy crap, those are some broad shoulders. And holy crap, that back is something else—
Oh, come on. I can’t keep doing this. He’s already avoiding me, intentionally or not, and I’m living in his house fixating on the dimples in his back muscles, for Christ’s sake.
The same ones I felt underneath my own fingertips not two minutes ago.
Shaking my head, I head for the couch and try to relax.
I’ll stay out of his way. I’ll give him space, give him my schedule, and pick up some more late shifts in the library to give him some peace and quiet at night. That’s the only decent thing to do.
The supply room in the library is where I take my breaks at work, and I'm sitting in silence.
The door swings open, and it's Ian. My heart flips, and for the first time, I don't stop myself.
“Hey.” None of what he says after that registers because I can't focus. He’s wearing a green tank top and shorts, neither of which leave anything to the imagination.