Dean
CHAPTER FOUR
Okay, it’s three on the dot, not like I’ve been counting down over the past week or anything.
I knock on Nick’s apartment door and hold my breath.
Please be ready, because you seem nice otherwise, and I really don’t want to get pissed at you, and your cute face looks so much nicer when you’re smiling instead of scared—
“It’s open!” Nick yells, and I turn the knob.
I slip my sneakers off in the entryway as soon as I spot a shoe rack by the door. This place is neater than Nick keeps his backpack, for sure, and I round the corner—
Woah, fuck.
Fucking fuck.
Nick’s lying face down on the couch, and I can’t help but notice the ass on him, not that I could miss that damn mountain range if I tried.
I’ve resisted the temptation to find him on social media, and while I know baseball players work their glutes a lot, what’s in front of me is nothing short of an extremely pleasant surprise.
Nick shouldn’t wear anything but tight gray sweatpants. I’m only human, and I have eyes, which really, really like what they’re seeing.
“Uh, hi,” I say, cutting my inappropriate thoughts off.
He turns his head toward me, giving me a wave over his shoulder, and pushes himself up with a movement which makes his back arch.
That just serves to accentuate his tight waist, leading up to wide, wide shoulders—
Jesus. I’m ridiculous. Averting my gaze, I pretend to engross myself in unpacking my laptop, setting it on the dining table with excessive care and attention. I need to use my brain, and I can’t let it shut down upon getting a second-long glimpse of something I should be able to brush off.
Maybe I need to get laid, if that’ll help me avoid thirsting over the guy I’m tutoring.
Even though I’m avoiding any risk of murky involvement prior to going home, my self-imposed protection plan won’t do much if I slip up otherwise—one and done, to give my overactive emotions no chance of latching on.
“Okay, I’m thinking we can go over your next module and then review the written task you have due tomorrow?” I suggest, snapping back to the task at hand, and Nick saunters over, nodding once.
“Sounds good.” He deposits himself in the seat next to me at the table, flicking through his textbook, and the pages waft a breeze over that makes my hair fall onto my forehead.
I need to get a haircut. For practical reasons, and not because Nick’s short hair looks way too neat in comparison.
Someone needs to run their hands through it and scruff it up real nice.
“Right! Okay, module seven!” I say with way too much urgency. “Now you’ll learn how to tell the time.”
“Aww shit.” He slumps over the table. “I can barely do that in English.”
His joke draws a laugh out of me, and without thinking, I playfully shove his shoulder. “Give yourself some credit, man. You were on time today.”
“Hell yeah. I’ll take it.” He pumps his fist, and that smile, coupled with how he’s undoing everything he messed up on last week, makes my heart go inconveniently soft.
I move his textbook between us and straighten the pages, in need of yet another distraction. “Alright, let’s get to it.”
Nick and I fly through the short module, and we’re way ahead of schedule when the front door flies open, making me instinctively tilt my head up. A guy, who I assume is Nick’s roommate, walks in, dropping a gym bag to the floor and giving us an upward nod, which Nick returns.
“Sup, Nicky,” the guy says, running a hand through his fluffy blond hair. Nick’s face sours at the nickname, and I purse my lips to hold back a snicker. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is my buddy Dean. He’s tutoring me in Chinese.”
We’re buddies? That’s fast, but I’m not gonna complain.
“And Dean, this guy is my roommate Jeremy. We’re both on the baseball team.”
Yeah, I could tell the guy is some kind of athlete, too. Holy biceps. I catch myself staring and snap out of it, only to lock eyes with Jeremy seconds later, who’s doing the exact same thing to me.
Interesting.
“Nice meeting you, Dean,” he says, his voice a little quieter than before. Then he turns to Nick. “Bro, why the hell are you only friends with hot people? You’re like, discriminating at this point.”
And then Jeremy winks at me.
Oh, is he flirting?
Bold man.
Nick scoffs. “Come on, man. Take a look at yourself, and you’ll prove that little theory very wrong.”
Jeremy clutches his chest as if Nick drove a dagger through his heart. “Well, we aren’t friends anymore, so my little theory still stands.”
I narrow my eyes and lift my head toward Jeremy, catching his gaze as it tracks along my seated body. Again.
Yup, this guy is interested.
Would it be rude if I cut our session short so I can hook up with Nick’s roommate?
Definitely. I push the intrusive thought out of my head; joke-flirting back isn’t nearly as rude, though.
“I’m with you, man,” I say. “Nick’s got hot friends, and you’re Exhibit A.” And for effect, I return Jeremy’s wink, exaggerating a little. Blond, himbo-y men aren’t exactly my type, but I wouldn’t turn him down if we were both being serious.
And if doing so wouldn’t get messy, with how often I’m tutoring Nick.
And if I didn’t have to tutor Nick right now.
Jeremy’s expression darkens, and I prepare to backpedal out of whatever I got myself into. “My room’s the one on the right at the end of the hallway. Just in case you aren’t kidding.”
Nick chucks a stray pen at Jeremy. “Dude, fuck off and stop trying to get in my tutor’s pants. I don’t want Ramirez to kill me if I fail again.”
“Ooh, is someone getting a little possessive?” Jeremy coos.
Nick sputters. “What? No. Fuck you.”
Aww, flustered Nick is adorable. Maybe I’ll teach him some swear words in Mandarin so I can see him blush again.
“Sorry about my douche of a friend,” Nick mutters after shooing Jeremy away. “He’s been kind of weird since the start of the semester, but I can tell him to back off if he becomes too much.”
“Nah, I’m good. It’s funny.” I purse my lips, deciding to change the subject away from Jeremy. “Alright, why don’t we go over the assignment now?”
Nick clicks around on his laptop and turns the screen toward me. I skim the assignment—the class has to write a hundred characters describing a friend, and it seems like Nick chose someone called Ian. Leaning closer, I squint at the next line.
And then I laugh.
Not because Nick’s answer is necessarily wrong, but damn, as I find out through reading the rest of the paragraph, it’s unhinged.
“So, the grammar isn’t bad,” I start, and I have to take a second to collect my thoughts. “But I have a few comments.”
“Hit me.”
“The first two sentences are mostly fine, but it kind of goes off the rails after that.” I clear my throat and start translating. “‘Ian is an idiot, but he is my best friend.’”
“Yeah, we bond by annoying each other as much as we can.”
“I get it, but this is an assignment. For a grade, and I can tell you used some kind of dictionary because there’s no way you learned these words in class.”
“I might have had some help,” he supplies.
Ignoring him, I continue reading. “‘Because he is nice, he is also very loyal because if someone annoys his,’ uh, lover? ‘He will—’” I have to stifle another laugh. “‘He will slice a whore.’”
“Uh-huh. He’d cut a bitch for the people he loves.”
I let out a disbelieving scoff that’s maybe a little too loud. “Okay, you can’t just take something in English and put it in another language. And again, this is for a grade.”
He scratches the back of his neck, leaning back and giving me a better view of the blush creeping up toward his sharp, square jaw. “Yeah, you're right.”
“Okay, let’s make some changes.” I look at him for approval, and he nods. “First off, did you mean to refer to Ian as ‘she’ here?” I click on the character in question to select it.
“No. Did I do that?”
“Yeah. So one thing to know is that every pronoun in Chinese sounds the same, but the characters are slightly different. You typing this out is probably what tripped you up.”
“Oh my god. I give up,” he mutters.
“Dude, you don’t have a choice. You made your bed.”
“At least you’re in it, too.”
I snicker, a blush of my own threatening to make an appearance, and remind myself Nick is just doing that funny bro-flirting we guys have somehow adopted for the purposes of platonic bonding.
If he’s into guys, my best guess is he wouldn’t be acting like this without knowing I’m gay. I haven’t seen him on any of the apps, and yeah, while I stayed off social media, I made sure to double-check the dating apps the night after our first tutoring session.
Nobody new was online, only the usual rotation, so I’m out of luck.
On the flip side, I’m also fluent in straight man, and I can dish it out real good myself. “Yeah, but we aren’t going there until you get this right. If you’re gonna give me brain, I need to know you have one.”
Nick huffs, at least partially—it gets stuck in his throat and comes out as a strangled laugh, followed by another. “Fuck. Man, that was good. Jesus.”
Was it? I mean, he found it funny, and I’m not gonna take that from him.
“Alright, enough,” I say, steering us back toward something a little more serious, like his place on the team that’s at risk if he fails this class. “Let’s do this.”
We get on with it, and in around fifteen minutes, he has a smooth, correct, and appropriate little essay, all ready to turn in.