NICK
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dean is a great guy, and he’s also the biggest fucking asshole I’ve met. I mean, there had to be something to balance him out, and as I’m finding out now, it’s how the fucker sleeps.
Why the hell is he diagonal?
I have no choice but to spoon him, or maybe I’m clinging to his body because if I didn’t, I’d fall off the damn bed. He’s taller than me. I should be the one in his arms, not the other way around—
Aww, he just sighed. That’s adorable, just like his silly laugh from last night when he couldn’t start a fire.
Nope, scratch it—he’s getting comfortable again, which involves him ramming his ass into my stomach.
And his leg into my usual morning wood. Awesome. So much for my blanket fort. At least we didn’t need covers last night, not with how hot this guy keeps his apartment.
Risking a loud, dramatic fall off of the bed, I heave my hips backward and push my torso forward, in the hopes his subconscious takes the hint and follows.
He does the opposite, rolling toward me and planting his head smack dab onto my chest.
“Come on,” I mutter, trying and failing to angle him away from my crotch. I will my stupid dick to behave itself for once in its twenty-one-year existence, but when Dean grumbles and drapes his hand over my stomach to stabilize himself, I get harder.
Hold up, that’s…not new, but it hasn’t happened in ages.
It's also been ages since I've had another guy in my arms like this, even though this time, it's only happening because Dean is a—
“Fucking dickwad,” I mutter when he nuzzles his head, and his spiky chin stubble, into me so hard I almost fall off the bed again.
Straining my neck, I manage to peek at the clock to catch the time. It's past noon already. Mister Mattress Monopolizer can stand to wake up.
His butt is sticking up into the air, and giving him a little spank would be a funny way to jolt him awake, but it'd also be mean. Putting a hand on his round, firm-looking ass would send him the wrong signal, and besides, he said he’d get all horny if I touched him. I don’t want to lead him on.
Blinking through my tired confusion, I realize I've spent the last thirty seconds staring at his butt. I don't do that shit.
And why am I still staring at Dean's ass?
Because it's hot?
Shoot. Maybe I'm in my head and trying to convince myself again, but when I shift my gaze further up, I fixate on how his black T-shirt is riding up and exposing a strip of smooth skin.
The tight feeling in my core stays.
Okay, I’ll try looking further down, avoiding his sleep shorts entirely and focusing on his bare legs.
Those aren't any less appealing. I've seen my teammates’ legs, and they were just…legs.
Dean's are fucking mouthwatering.
He's got the biggest, most toned calves I’ve ever seen, and they're covered in a thick layer of hair, which I'm really focusing on for some reason. He’s definitely set for playing basketball. His legs are shuffling slowly on top of the sheets, and he bends a knee—
“Ouch! Jesus Christ!”
He bends that knee into my thigh, narrowly missing my nuts. My pained yelling only gets a cute, sleepy complaint out of Dean, who tries to push me away, but I’m too stubborn. I’m not letting him win that easily, even though this is his bed. He invited me in, after all.
So I stay still, straightening his wandering knee out with a nudge from my own.
“Move over,” he mumbles. “I have, like, no space.”
Is he fucking kidding me?
“Alright, enough! Time to wake up!” I sit upright, shaking his shoulders and jabbing his ribs, drawing a sharp yelp.
“Dude, what the hell?”
“Dude, what the hell?” I repeat, grinning back and lowering my voice to mock him. “I just spent the last half hour trying not to let you push me onto the floor.” And checking you out, too.
He runs a hand through his messy hair, scrunching a few strands between his fingers, and finally turns his heavy body around to witness the sheer unfairness of how he’s “sharing” the bed.
“Oh, shit, you’re right,” he mumbles, a sheepish grin creeping across his face. “I don’t usually have someone else over.”
“Is that so?” I scoff, poking his exposed stomach. “Aww, it sounds like the campus fuckboy’s no-sleepover policy has turned him into a selfish asshole.”
“I’m not a fuckboy,” he complains. “Just a boy who fucks.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I say. “It’s just funny when I call you one.” Smiling, I ruffle his…knee?
Why did I ruffle his knee? At least I know how soft his leg hair is now, and—why on earth do I care? Still? And why do I want to plunge my fingers back in there?
Dean drags himself upright and faces me, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. “Anyway, I’m sorry for the rough night. How can I make it up to you?”
My mind immediately flies to its go-to “suck my dick, bro,” but I stop myself to avoid giving any more mixed signals.
Fuck, now I’m spacing out and imagining how he’d look sucking my dick. And how it’d feel. Probably way better than the last time someone did, because I’m sure he wouldn’t say some shit like come on, man, what kind of a fucking pussy says no to a blowjob—
“Do you have breakfast?” I ask instead.
“Yeah, right here.” He chuckles and points to his crotch, prompting me to smack his chest, and he gets up, still laughing. “I have eggs and shit. I won’t be long.”
The fact that he's still making lewd jokes is relieving, but what isn’t is how it’s like his pec left an imprint on the front of my hand, even though I’m the one who gave him a smack.
Huh. If Dean expects me to wait for him alone, he’s sorely mistaken. I follow him out into the kitchen to find him taking eggs out of the fridge.
“I was thinking more, like, cereal or something,” I say, feeling embarrassed. “You don’t have to cook for me.”
He waves me off. “Are you kidding? One, I don’t have cereal since my lazy ass forgot to buy any, and two, you stayed over. I’m cooking you breakfast.”
Turning away, his wide back makes a reappearance, and he doesn’t see the confused expression spreading across my face as I sink onto the couch.
Dean’s the first guy to make me any kind of breakfast, not counting Ian, who does that for everyone. I made awkward exits from my hookups’ places before they got a chance to even offer, and then in my freshman year, Josh and I had dining plans.
So yeah, my friendly, totally non-sexual sleepover with Dean is resulting in him being the first person to go to the effort of putting bread in a toaster and—
Holy shit, he’s scrambling the eggs, too? Not just tossing them in a pan?
And he’s doing all this for my sorry ass after I rejected him?
My standards must either be shot or simply neglected, because those simple actions make my heart go all mushy.
Damn it, he’s so nice, and he isn’t even trying, and…and holy hell, he’s so fucking hot.
I realize in the nick of time that I’m ogling Dean's entire backside, and I’m barely able to cover my growing erection with a couch cushion before he turns around.
I avert my eyes to the relative safety of his sleep-mussed black hair. The back half of it is sticking up. The front half is falling in front of his forehead and making my heart race.
“Hey, I gotta take a leak,” he says. “Make sure the toast doesn’t burn?”
“Yeah, sure.” I stay seated, keeping the pillow over my crotch. “You know what? Let me handle breakfast.”
His eyebrows rise in time with the appreciative smile materializing on his lips. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” At that, he walks those sexy legs into the bathroom, and the privacy gives me space to bury my face in my hands and let out a silent groan.
After everything that went down last night, where I probably bruised his ego by going on and on about how I couldn’t be attracted to him, now is when said attraction decides to show up? When Dean has gracefully shut down any prospects of making good on that by rewinding the clock to before?
The sound of the sink running makes my head perk up, and I focus my attention on the stove. Dean cracked the eggs into a bowl but didn’t get around to scrambling them, and when I peek at the burner, it’s way too high for a scramble to work properly.
Instead, I pour the unbeaten eggs into the skillet and fry them, cutting them apart with the spatula and plating them with some toast as Dean comes back.
“Yo, those look amazing,” he says.
I shrug. “Eh. I know my way around a stove.”
“Man, I’m so jealous. I can’t cook for shit.”
We settle down at his dining table, which thankfully isn’t as rickety as his couch, and dig in, finishing breakfast in record time.
“So,” I start, breaking the silence as soon as we’re both done, “do you have any plans for today?”
He shakes his head, the fork still in his mouth. “Nah. It’s still shitty outside.”
A peek out the window confirms it’s still pouring.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, though,” he continues. “Again, I’m not chucking you out into a storm. There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink, and you can use my products if you wanna freshen up.”
Nodding, I go to do that. I grab one of the promised toothbrushes and scrub hard, getting my teeth really clean and sparkling. I don’t know why—it’s not like I’m gonna kiss Dean or anything.
Aaand why did I have to think about that?
It isn’t gonna happen. We already did, and I freaked out.
There’s no way he wants a repeat of our scorching hot kiss in the Kappa Boom Boom Room.
The way he had his hands on me was something else, and I shudder at the recollection of his fingers sliding over my chest and the moan he let out when I sucked on his tongue.
I make a mindless grab at my dick, and yup, I’m rocking a semi, although if I think about it, I’m harder than semi.
God. This is so fucking frustrating. Again—I can get aroused by the thought of Dean, and not to him when he’s right in front of me, until today?
I’m so fucked up.
After spitting the toothpaste into the sink with a lot more force than necessary, I rinse my mouth out and go back to the living room, noticing Dean has retreated to the couch, huddling under a blanket with the breakfast dishes still on the table.
It’s his house, and he can do what he wants, but I should be nice and help out. I promptly collect them and deposit them in the sink. Three seconds is all it takes, and then I go to the couch as well to warm up, since this guy apparently doesn’t believe in keeping the heating on during the day.
“You’re making me feel bad in my own house,” he jokes, lifting the blanket to let me under. “Trust me, you can relax while you’re stuck here.”
“Just trying to make myself useful,” I reply, unsure of what exactly to say.
“Hey. I am strong and capable.” He snickers, turning toward me and flexing his arms.
I can’t stop staring at them, and he doesn’t fucking stop.
Between us two, I’m the varsity athlete, but he’s seriously jacked. Hell, I’m jealous of his bicep insertions—there’s a nice dome to those arms, and I can’t stop myself from stretching a hand to them.
“You’re acting like a douche,” I tease, giving those biceps a firm squeeze. “That’s supposed to be my job.”
God, the feeling of firm muscle under my fingertips is fucking satisfying. I give them another press, and scoff as I let my hands linger.
And shit, that’s hot.
Don’t lead him on.
But am I still leading him on if I might want to go further?
My dick twitches. Scratch might—
He chuckles. “Are you done feeling me up?”
Only if he wants me to be.
Without thinking, I move my hands down to his waist, and the solid sensation underneath my fingertips? Fuck. It sends heat up my arms and straight into my core.
And down to my groin. Holy shit—I’m fully hard. From touching him.
“Would you mind if I said no?” I ask, my voice low. I part my lips in an invitation he doesn’t take.
“Nick…” Dean throws his head back, stretching his neck, and it takes every last scrap of willpower to suppress the pure vampirical instinct that’s telling me to sink my teeth into the pretty expanse of soft, smooth skin in front of me.
He’s being serious, and I hold myself back from leaning closer, but my vision stays fixed on him.
Those serious eyes return to me, and they’re strained. “Please. It’s not funny. You’re torturing me, and I need you to stop.”
I sober up all the way. He deserves to know where I’m at, in case he’s maybe, hopefully, okay with me doing a full one-eighty—from pushing him away to taking that back in the space of two days.
But his lips are pursed, and his expression is tense. If I want a chance to stay friends with him, which has to come before the possibility of going further, I’ll have to be careful.