NICK
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dean yells something, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s a swear word in Mandarin.
When he follows it up with a muttered “fuck me,” I can’t help but smirk.
“Wo cao.” I repeat the supposed curse word to him, and seeing his disbelieving expression makes a smile tug at my lips.
“For the record, I did not teach you how to say that,” he mutters.
“But you just did.” And I repeat the phrase again for good measure.
He rolls his eyes. He’s got the right to do so, since I sent him a bunch of mixed signals, teased him to the point of desperation, and then promptly ditched him. I’m surprised the guy hasn’t punched me in the face.
“God, is this place seriously getting raided again?” I wonder out loud, in part to cut through my own tension.
On the other side of the room, the entire baseball team is clambering out of the windows, avoiding the cops who are streaming in through the front door.
Dean gives me a small shrug, his expression neutral. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Do you want to get out of here?”
“Fuck, yeah.” I scrub a hand through my hair. The cops make it to the escape window just after Ian and Callum jump through it, and I turn back to Dean. “I'm not trying to waste my night waiting to get my ID checked. Let's go.”
“Go? Where?”
Something possesses me to grab his wrist, my heart rate picking up the second I circle it.
Time is running out, so I take off with a surprised Dean in tow, weaving through the murmuring crowd and into the bathroom.
There’s a window in the final stall, which is gonna be our escape route.
We slip into the stall, and I shut the door behind us.
With anyone else, this would be the ideal setting for a lewd joke about bathroom sex, but given what happened between us…
“This is it,” I announce, pointing at the window. “Our escape route.”
His jaw drops. “Nick, that’s a fucking crevice.”
“Hey, I’ve done this before.” I slide the window open, breathing in the fresh air wafting in. “I'll push you, then you pull me through from the other side.”
“Uh, okay?” Skepticism is written all over his face, but it’s clear we’re out of options and time, so he steps onto the toilet and gets his head level with the window. He swivels his head, giving me an expectant look that I return, and clambers through, one shoulder after the other.
He’s a natural.
But he also needs a push.
At first, I try grabbing onto his denim-clad legs, but I can’t muster enough force to get him through the opening.
The only option left is his butt.
It’s a nice butt—I’m sure someone else would describe it as perky or something. The denim of his light jeans clings to those muscles, but now isn’t the time to focus on why I’m noticing.
“I’m gonna have to shove you,” I tell him.
“Yeah, no shit. I can’t reach anything from my side.”
Letting out a sigh, I swallow my nerves and keep going. “I’ll have to push on your…rear.”
“Fine, go ahead. I don’t—”
I push his cheeks with all the force I can muster, making him pop out the other side. I climb up after him right as he’s dusting himself off, doing the same thing with my shoulders and getting my upper body through.
“Okay, I’m gonna need some help.”
He nods, and now it’s his turn to grab onto my wrists, leaning backward and trying to pull me through.
My ass gets stuck. Of-fucking-course. I’m wholly, completely incapable of holding back the snicker that escapes my throat, and Dean’s exasperated expression is what gets me to break into actual laughter.
“What?” he asks, the corners of his mouth quivering.
He’s smiling. Huh. Maybe he doesn’t hate me.
“You, uh, gotta pull harder,” I say after a few seconds.
“I am. Your lower half is blocking things.”
My lower half. The acknowledgement gets me to smirk. “Aww, are you saying I'm caked up? I’m so flattered.”
“Not the time, man,” he groans through a smile. “Here, let me try something. Stretch your arms out toward me.”
I do, and he hooks his hands under my pits and braces his feet against the wall, walking up, tugging hard, and letting gravity do the heavy lifting. Or pulling—maybe “lifting” isn’t the right word—
I break free from the window, and we both tumble onto the grass. I land on top of him, his athletic frame doing nothing to soften the impact, and I scramble to push myself off in case that’s another mixed signal I can send.
But not before the feeling of his pecs digging into mine have a chance to imprint and linger.
Huh.
“Thanks for the help,” I say, offering a hand.
“No problem. Let’s get out of here?”
I nod, and we dart behind the bar, away from the police cars out front, and cut through the woods until we emerge onto a random road.
“We’re clear, right?” he asks, pulling the phone out.
I avert my eyes to give him some privacy. He reads through the thread and scoffs.
“Just messaging my friend Claire,” he says. “She’s your teammate Oscar’s sister.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Oh, nice.”
So that’s why we ran into each other tonight.
We fall into an uncomfortable silence, walking aimlessly along the road, and the plummeting temperature sinks beneath my light jacket.
Unease coils in my gut. I don’t know where I stand with Dean.
He seems fine with me, but that doesn’t change how I definitely left him with blue balls and a bruised ego.
The right thing for me to do would be to apologize for being…me. As usual.
“Again, sorry for freaking out yesterday,” I blurt out. “I got scared.”
Both of us stop walking, turning to face each other from opposite sides of the sidewalk.
His brow is furrowed, and he’s biting the inside of his lips, pushing his mouth to one side. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize. I’m the one who misread shit and, like, made you push me off.”
The hell? It’s me who was stupid enough to lead him on while hoping my deep-seated quirks would somehow fly away?
I try for a little levity. “Don’t say sorry. I’m half-Canadian, so that’s my job.”
He shakes his head. “This isn’t funny. I genuinely feel so fucking bad.”
Ah, shit. My frown returns.
“Well, you shouldn’t,” I insist, and it’s true—Dean did nothing wrong, other than believe me. “I’m the one who sent mixed signals by being flirty, taking you to the Kappa house Boom Boom Room—”
“The what?”
“—and agreeing when you asked me if we could keep going. Again, I’m really sorry. I wanted to try hooking up again, and I used you to see if I’m still messed up.”
I can’t bring myself to look him in the eyes, not when I’m admitting all of this, so feeling his hand on my arm is a surprise.
“You aren’t messed up for not being into me,” he says. “I get it. If I’m not your type or whatever, it’s—”
Jesus Christ, now he thinks it’s him?
I throw my head back and groan. “It’s not…you.” I blow out a breath, frustrated at myself. “I can’t explain it in a way you’ll understand.”
Shaking my head, I migrate to the curb and sit myself down, the cold concrete seeping through my jeans. Dean settling next to me is yet another surprise.
Somehow, he’s still putting up with me, so I purse my lips and think of how to explain myself to him. He deserves that, at least.
“Look, man. I know you’re hot,” I start. “I can see it. I just can’t feel it immediately, and my stupid fucking brain won’t let me begin feeling it for who knows how long and—” I cut myself off with a grunt.
And then he wraps an arm around my shoulder.
After all this, he’s still being friendly. He’s…giving me a side hug, and the comfort I’m getting from it is out of this world.
“It’s okay,” he says, and I blink to stop myself from crying like a fool. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. These things can be complicated.”
I relax into him, still not quite believing how he’s being so…chill about this. “I’ll say. Thanks for not being a dick about this.”
“Of course,” he says. “Thank you for telling me.”
I turn to face him in the silence, and he returns a soft, sympathetic gaze. The lusty heat in his eyes from last night and before is absent, and that makes the lead in my stomach lighten immeasurably.
“Should we…pretend the last twenty-four hours didn’t happen?” he suggests. “Why don’t we go back to being friends and nothing more?”
My jaw drops. This guy’s a fucking saint for forgiving me this quickly.
“Yeah. I’d really like that.” I pause. Logic tells me we should call it a night and cut our losses after the bar raid, but I just got Dean back as a friend.
I check my watch. It’s barely past nine, and I find myself saying, “The night is young, man. Wanna keep it going?”
He stands up, and I join him. “I’m so down. You wanna hit another bar or something?”
The only place within walking distance is Fusion, and I’d rather swim in the lake than go there—
Wait.
The lake.
We can’t swim at this time of year, but it’s close by, it’ll be quiet, and that’s all we need to shoot the shit. After the deep talk we had, I think some bro bonding is in order.
I shoot Dean a friendly grin, clapping his strong shoulder. “Let’s go to the lake.”