Chapter 18 Callum
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CALLUM
First grocery run in three years. Let’s do this.
This morning, I finally put my foot down with Ian and told him that I’m not going to mooch off him anymore, and that I’d buy us some groceries.
He tried putting up a fight, he really did, but I practiced using my spine and didn’t back down.
The compromise was that I’m buying, but that I’d drive his car to the store.
That seemed fair enough to me, and it sure beats taking the campus bus.
Oh, and tonight is when we have our date.
I spent months trying not to fall for Ian, only to end up starting a petty argument the very day we’re going out.
It was hardly an argument, if I’m being honest, but still.
There’s no way I’m not stepping it up tonight.
I have to look the part. He’ll always outshine me, but I can do my best.
That’s why I find myself standing in the clothing aisle, contemplating buying the first new piece of clothing since I got here, save for a pack of boxers I got online, which doesn’t count.
After years of wearing the same four outfits on repeat, the multicolored choices in front of me are downright overwhelming. I fight the temptation to text anyone for help choosing an outfit; I’m not going to rely on other people for something as simple as buying a shirt.
Cursing myself for not searching up clothing inspiration before I left, I run my fingers across a stack of polos. I suppose I could go full prep, and I might finally fit at this school, but the style isn’t me. As messy as my past is, I don’t want to completely change myself.
Besides, in the week since we got closer, Ian’s taken to stealing my T-shirts and wearing them himself, so that tells me he likes my aesthetic for some odd reason.
Or he just likes seeing me shirtless. Both might be true.
The section to the right brings a lot more promise. The shirts have buttons and regular T-shirt collars.
They’re called Henley shirts. I think I’ll try a few of those. Also, the model in the promotional poster is hot.
Am I really picking a shirt based on how attractive the model is?
Yes, I am. It isn’t like I have much else to go on.
I have no idea what size I am in this store, so I grab three options and head for the fitting room. Out of habit, I check that the door is locked more times than necessary before stripping my shirt off.
My eyes catch on my reflection in the full-length mirror, and I pause.
My workouts are showing a bit more now, thanks to Ian sharing his protein-rich athlete diet, though I’m nowhere near as defined as he is.
His job is to be an athlete while mine is to shelve books, so it makes sense that my body’s quite a bit softer.
Okay, nope, it’s clothes time. I try the first shirt from the pile, and it’s an immediate no—I’m not trying to buy a crop top. A size up is slightly better, but it kind of drapes over me. It’s a look, that’s for sure, but I’ll try the last option.
Tall-sizing is the way to go. Not a crop top, not too baggy, and not tight like my old clothes. The shirt is a lighter blue than my flannel that Ian likes, but it’s still blue, and that’s enough to slip it into my basket.
It doesn’t cost that much, either. I have some wiggle room in my budget, especially since I got refunded my dorm fees, so I head to the pharmacy section for some more poking around.
There’s a tub of something called “Mess Paste” in the haircare section, and after giving the container a quick inspection, I toss that into my basket as well, since Ian always has his hands in my hair, trying to muss it up.
Is it weird that I’m only doing what Ian thinks is attractive?
Nah.
He’s hotter than the depths of hell my parents would say I’m headed for—I trust his opinion on what looks good, and I’m buying all this for myself, after all.
Once I’m back home, it’s already five. I have a little under two hours to get ready, so I rip the tags off of my new shirt and throw it into the washing machine with the rest of my dirty laundry.
I let the load run on a quick cycle while I take a shower and switch it to the dryer after I’m done.
In the bedroom, I put socks and underwear on, and spend way too much time rummaging around in the closet for my good jeans before remembering that I washed those, too.
Out of instinct, I reach for my wet towel and am about to wrap it around my waist before I pause.
I’m alone. There’s no need for me to cover up. Nobody can see in through the windows, and Ian said he’s going straight to the bowling alley from practice. Besides, even if he was here, he wouldn’t care.
And that’s how I end up sitting around in nothing but my underwear. It’s a little weird, given that I’ve never been only in boxers, except for a few seconds at a time while getting dressed or undressed, but it’s…freeing? In a mundane kind of way. I could get used to it.
While I wait for my clothes to finish drying, I bang out a couple of quizzes for my Motor Learning course, and my nerves get the better of me when I peek at the clock to find that I only have an hour to get ready.
I don’t need to do much beyond getting dressed, but I don’t want to be late. Ian deserves better.
Since I’m short on time, I remove everything except for my shirt and jeans from the dryer and turn up the temperature. Thankfully, those don’t need much longer, so I slip into them with time to spare, and I grab my new hair product to finish up.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and take stock of what I’m working with.
Ian asked me out. He likes how I look, and if I’m being honest, I’m starting to see it.
He’s right about my eyes—wearing blue makes them stand out, and standing out isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
I give myself a smile as I keep trying to replicate the hairstyle Ian gave me a week ago, right before I came out to him and changed the trajectory of our friendship.
It’s a style that would get me admonished back home for being unkempt and corrupt, but here, it’s… attractive.
Okay. If there’s wind, that’ll help me mess it up even more, which is now a good thing. I put on an extra swipe of deodorant for good measure and head out, my heart pounding with excitement as I make my way to my first first date.
For a second, I entertain the fleeting, wandering fantasy that tonight will be the last first date I’ll ever have to go on. What I feel for Ian is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and I can’t imagine directing these swirling, chest-tightening emotions toward anyone else.
The mere thought makes my stomach twist, and I take a breath to redirect. Now isn’t the time to get caught up in speculation—tonight is about having fun and hopefully starting something more.
From what I read online, I need to take things one step at a time with dating, so that’s what I’ll do.