DEAN
CHAPTER TEN
“Fuck, he pushed me off of him,” I groan. “And then he ran off because I’m an asshole who pushed for too much.”
Claire sticks out a stiff arm and pats my back exactly twice. “That…sucks. Sorry.”
I know she means well, but I learned very quickly not to expect much comfort to come from the likes of her.
“Yeah. It’s whatever,” I mutter. “But I really thought there was something there.”
Sighing, Claire offers her bottle of tequila to me, which I refuse with a shake of my head. “Look, Nick could be going through something. Don’t overthink things.”
Easier said than done.
“This is exactly why I don't try hooking up with guys I already know,” I add. “Because fucking it up is more than a strike to my ego.”
“Hey, we should go out tonight so you can stop moping around,” she suggests, and I’m grateful for the subject change. “I’ll snag a table at Fusion, or we can go to The Barrel.”
Neither of those options sound appealing, but I'm feeling a dive bar more than a dark, expensive club. “Let's do The Barrel.”
Claire’s phone is out within a second, and she sends a barrage of messages in quick succession to someone before getting a reply. “My brother’s there with a few of his friends. Let’s join them.”
I stay firmly planted on my couch. “Your brother’s on the baseball team. Who exactly is he with?”
A flicker of realization crosses her face, and she sends another message. “The two freshmen, and everyone except Nick, Jeremy, and Ian. The baseball team is having a freshman initiation night.”
“At a bar?” That’s met with nothing more than a shrug, so I continue. “Okay, let’s go, I guess.”
“Come on, man. Where’s the energy?” Claire dumps some of my vodka into a glass along with some of the lemon soda she brought. “Take this and get changed. Maybe into something less boring than yesterday.”
I comply, accepting the drink and dragging my feet into my bedroom.
The Barrel isn’t where you go if you’re dressed nicely, so I grab a random pair of black pants and a sweater that’s half a size too large.
Wincing, I down the mixture Claire poured for me, holding my breath as the liquid burns my throat, and give my head a shake.
Then the two of us put our jackets on and make the short walk over to WMU’s infamous dive bar that walks a fine line between serving underage college kids and staying in business.
“Oh, and if my brother hits on you, pour a drink over his head for me, won’t you?” Claire says right before we walk in.
“Wait, he’s—”
Into guys? Not one second after pushing the doors open, I get an eyeful of Oscar Wu with a slim, brown-haired dude on his lap who sticks a hand up Oscar’s gray T-shirt the very next second.
“Noted,” I say. Claire doesn’t have to worry—I guess her brother’s cute, but he’s also a freshman. And…Claire’s brother. And Nick’s teammate, not that the third thing matters as much.
“Hey, idiot,” Claire says, giving Oscar’s head a firm smack. “I brought a friend. Be nice to him while I get drinks.”
“Steve is getting us all shots. Hold up,” Oscar says, pulling back from his guy before sliding him off into an empty seat. “Hey.” He sticks out his fist, and I bump it as we introduce ourselves.
“So, uh, is the whole team here?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
Oscar passes a few shots along from Steve before turning back to me.
“Nah. Nick, Jeremy, and Ian aren’t here, and Steve is wrangling some of the other guys back from who knows where.
But this is Hunter, the other freshman on the…
” He turns to his right only to find another empty seat, and looks around, pointing at the other end of the room after a pause, and chuckles.
“That’s him. Steve is about to cockblock. Watch.”
The crowd parts, giving me a clear view of Hunter, a tall-ish athletic guy with wavy brown hair, being pulled close to another guy by the waist.
Wait, is Hunter also…
“Is anyone on the baseball team straight?” I wonder out loud as Steve herds Hunter back over, the other guy in tow.
Oscar barks out a laugh, dimples denting his tanned cheeks as he fiddles with his shot glass. “Nah, most of the team is very, very straight. But WMU was one of the first colleges to have an outwardly supportive varsity sports program, so we’ve been a popular destination for queer athletes.”
“Makes sense.”
He points his free hand at me. “And just for the record, that doesn’t mean any of us have hooked up with each other. We’re professionals, after all, and we have a squeaky-clean record to uphold.”
I guess there’s a level of professionalism between “hooking up with a teammate” and “not taking the freshmen out to a bar as a team-bonding activity.”
I don’t have time to comment, though, because Steve has finally wrangled up the team, or the portion that came out tonight, and slurs a drunken toast for the two freshmen.
“Okay, now drink,” Claire whispers from behind me, and we all do.
The shot is vodka, which I can stomach well enough in doses, or if it’s mixed. Blinking through the burn, I glance around the dark room to get my bearings, and when I spot an opening at the bar, I head over to order something for me and Claire.
And there’s nobody working behind the counter, apparently. Frustrated, I rest against the sticky wooden surface to wait, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the last thing I want to.
Nick.
He’s third-wheeling a couple with a massive height disparity and way too much affection for each other. The two are nauseating, in an adorable kind of way, which distracts me for long enough to let Nick notice me. He averts his gaze as soon as it connects with mine.
Damn it. He can’t even look me in the eye. I really screwed things up last night, didn’t I?
I’m about to turn on my heel and head back to the table of drunk baseball players when Nick jerks his head up, finally restoring eye contact.
And then he heads over.
He isn’t avoiding me like I’m contagious? That’s a surprise.
“Hey,” I say, sending a nod his way. Caution lines my voice, and I hope it doesn’t creep him out.
“Hi.” Nick runs a hand through his hair, tousling the short strands in a way that’s so inconveniently attractive. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
I shrug. “Yeah. I got dragged out by my friend on the softball team, and we ended up crashing your freshman initiation.”
We both chuckle before retreating into painful, awkward silence.
Sheesh. Judging from Nick’s expression, the poor guy is going through it. He fiddles with his fingers, biting his lip in a way that’s nervous and cute, before darting his tongue out to wet his lower lip.
Jesus. Literally everything this man does is fucking hot. It’s like the world is punishing me for being an unhinged horndog by sending me someone who isn’t into me.
“Look, man. I’m sorry about last night,” Nick offers, sticking his hands in his pockets.
Huh? He’s sorry? For me coming onto him? “No, I’m sorry. I’m—”
Every single light in the building turns on at once, blinding me with harsh, white fluorescent hellfire.