Nick
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Good morning,” Dean sings, sarcasm lining his voice.
“Huh—what?”
He throws a pillow at my face before I can wake up completely.
“Nice nap?” he asks. He’s sitting in the armchair across from the couch where I’ve been dead to the world for—fuck. For who knows how long.
“Shit, sorry,” I say, jolting upright. “Did I keep you waiting?”
Panic seeps through my veins, but Dean simply shrugs, restoring calm to my system.
“Nah, the door was unlocked so I let myself in, and it’s only just past four. You’re good.”
Okay, crisis averted. I don’t want to annoy Dean—he’s too good for that.
“So, are we gonna learn stuff today, or am I just gonna watch you snore on the couch?” He’s leaning back, smiling with his arms crossed, and my eyes drift up his body.
It isn't like Dean usually dresses like a slob or anything, but there’s something different about him today, something that’s elevating his vibe above where it usually is.
Maybe it’s his clothes. I never really noticed them before, but when I take a closer look, he’s wearing stuff more in line with the preppy nature of WMU’s student body—nice pants and a polo, one that makes no secret of how he works out.
Shoot, am I underdressed? I mentally kick myself for my slob-like outfit of jeans, a hoodie, and the couch blanket covering everything up, even though I’m in my own house.
“Yeah, let’s get to it.” I haul myself up. “Are you going somewhere after this?”
He shrugs. “Nah, I’ve got nothing planned. I just fell behind on laundry.”
Huh. It could be his haircut, too—the sides are cleaned up a little for sure.
Shaking the distracting speculation out of my head, I peer at the dining table, only to find it littered with Jeremy’s latest partially opened shipment of protein bars and workout supplements.
“Do you mind if we study on the couch today?” I ask, sitting back down. “The table’s messy, and I’ll give Jeremy shit for that later.”
Dean rises to his feet and deposits himself next to me, running a slow hand through his hair which has definitely been cut since the last time I saw him. “That’s fine by me. Just don’t fall asleep.” He leans down to grab his laptop, and I get a whiff of his apple-scented hair product.
I noticed his crisp cologne before, but his hair? That’s new. And pleasant as hell.
The whole guy always smells nice, and there’s something deeper there too, something I’m sure the women of WMU appreciate.
“So, you have to self-study the first three chapters of your next textbook over the break,” he says, once again forcing my attention back to the task at hand instead of him as a person. “Do you mind if I take a peek at what we’re working with? I don’t have a copy.”
“Yeah, of course.” I retrieve the textbook from my bag, and he flicks through the chapter headings after I hand the book over, raising his eyebrows sometime around the halfway point.
“Huh. Your textbook is…surprisingly progressive.” Then he flips back to the first page. “And it was published in China.”
“Do those two things cancel each other out?”
He shrugs. “Not as much as they used to, that’s for sure. I can add it to the long list of reasons why I’m excited to go back.”
Gears turn in my head as I stare at the open textbook, trying hard not to seem too invested in what he said.
He sucks in a breath, like he’s steeling himself for something—
“I’m gay, by the way, if you were wondering why I brought it up.”
He’s gay too? Hell yes! Wait.
No!
Damn it!
Why can’t Dean just be straight and therefore inaccessible? Or a total scummy douche if he has to be into guys.
He’s a decent person, he isn’t my teammate, he’s fun to be around…
And he’s gay.
Fuck.
I know exactly where this leads.
I don’t know if he knows about me, but regardless, I sure don’t want things to change between us.
“Oh, nice. That’s cool,” I say, even though him being an option isn’t cool for me and my peculiarities. “Do, uh, people back home know?”
Hello? Invasive much?
He must read my perturbed expression because—fuck—he shoots me a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, man. You can be curious.”
I let out a relieved breath. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks.”
“My parents don’t know, but they probably wouldn’t care that much if they knew, but it’s still weird because of…society and expectations and stuff.”
Your parents don’t care? Must be nice. “Makes sense.”
“And in general, it really depends on where you are and what you do.” Dean flicks his eyes off to the side. “In my case, I lived in a city and went to an international school with parents who meet with all kinds of people for work. That’s probably the best position to be in for someone like me.”
“That’s good,” I manage.
He snorts. “Yeah. Although my parents might throw a fit if they knew how much studying I really did at my ex’s house. We had everyone fooled.” Chuckling, he leans back and breaks into a wider grin. “Because the gayer two guys act with each other in public, the straighter they seem. It’s foolproof.”
“Right.” I don’t offer any more; Dean being into men makes things complicated. In theory, there’s nothing stopping me from asking him out, and from the way he’s been checking me out ever since he got here, I’m sure he’d say yes. But him checking me out is precisely what screws things up for me.
The odds are we’d go out, end up at one of our places, and he’d want to hook up.
There’s no holding out until the third date between guys, at least not from what I’ve experienced, and when a guy is in my bed, looking at me with the kind of unbridled excitement I can only ever hope to feel again, I don’t have it in me to disappoint.
“So, uh, do you have a boyfriend you’re bringing back home?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.
He snickers, and I hold my breath, hoping his eyes are gonna go all soft as he waxes about his amazing boyfriend who he’s been with for ages, who makes him very, very taken and unavailable—
“Nah.” He drags the word out, all casual and relaxed. “I’m not dating until I’m settled. I learned that lesson in high school.”
“So you’ve been breaking hearts across two continents for what, five years?”
He smacks my chest. “Come on. I dated a guy in senior year, and we broke up before college. And since I’ve been here, I’ve been—”
“A total fuckboy?”
My quip earns me a funny noise of protest. “Come on. I’ve been a respectful, not-quite-prolific enjoyer of other men on a mutually casual basis.” He rolls his eyes at me, grinning, and turns toward the coffee table. “Enough with the ribbing. Let’s get you educated.”
Maybe I’m not his type. He’s already tall, but he could like taller men, or have a preference for smaller, skinnier guys to have some kind of contrast—I’m only a little shorter than he is.
For both our sakes, I can only hope Dean isn’t into me. My heart rate picks up as my mind flies through the prospect, and I take the blanket off of my lap to avoid overheating.
“Are those new jeans?” Dean asks me, and I nod. “I like them. You look good.”
The compliment doesn’t help my racing thoughts, so I try to deflect. “Dude, are you flirting with me?”
He snorts and trails a finger up my forearm. “Only if you want me to be.”
Excitement rises from my chest, spreading to my face and revealing itself in a nervous smile before I can conceal it. Maybe he isn’t. Hopefully, he isn’t. I don’t want to like him. Dean is nice. Sweet. But if he’s flirting…he’d be like everyone else who has in the past.
I roll my eyes and bat his hand away. “Aw, do you wanna play gay chicken?” I hold my breath, but as expected, Dean backhands my shoulder and snickers.
“You’ll have to try a lot harder to get out of this tutoring session. Come on, let’s focus.”
I exhale. Phew. He’s just being a bro, like I thought. As he said—the gayer two guys act with each other in public, the straighter they seem. Even though I’m not straight, the joking works for my purposes.
Dean clears his throat. “So, do you want to take a crack at this practice exercise? I think it’s basically a review of your last module with a few added bits.”
“Sounds good.” I snag a pen from the side table and take my textbook back, flattening the page on my lap and squinting at the page and making my way down the lines of characters.
Meanwhile, in the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Dean leaning back and stretching up, pulling his phone out, and getting comfortable.
His tall body slides down the worn couch fabric, closing the distance between us, and—oh, god.
His knee brushes mine. Sparks fly up my leg and into my stomach, making my heart flip and my eyes water.
I bring a hand to my face and rub my forehead, hard, and Dean huffing makes me turn to meet his amused gaze.
“Yo, are you fucking flexing?” he asks, chuckling. “I get it. You’re a varsity athlete and you’re hot.”
Fuck.
Fuck!
He is flirting with me—he isn’t being nearly crude enough for this to still be for laughs, and when I focus on his soft stare, the heat behind it is unmistakable.
Dean definitely wants something from me. While that realization isn’t making my stomach sink with pure dread like the last few times I got it, I’m still not feeling anything close to what I know I’m supposed to.
I force myself to imagine it, him pushing me against the wall and making out with me. Removing my clothes, pushing my shoulders down to put me in prime dick-sucking position, fucking my mouth, twisting those long fingers through my hair as he—
Nope. It all sounds amazing in theory, but I don’t get so much as a tingle in my nuts at what’s objectively a dream come true for a gay guy.
“Yo, pay attention,” Dean says, playfully shoving my shoulder. He must see my screwed-up face, because his expression hardens. “Are you okay?”
I probably look like I’m on the verge of tears. Thinking on my feet, I reach behind the couch and grab Jeremy’s bottle of allergy pills and pop one, wincing as I swallow the dry mass without any water.
“Yeah, thanks for asking. I’m… Uh, pollen,” I mutter.
“That’s still a thing?” He chuckles. “It’s getting cold.”