Learning Kellan likes Super Smash was a crazy piece of luck. Was it fate that made me run into him in the computer science building? Whatever it was, I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I saw an opportunity to spend more time with him, and I took it. He’s never viewed me as anything more than a teammate, as far as I know, but for a moment, I swear there was a hint of awareness, a spark. Seeing me, as I see him.
Together, we head to the parking lot, bundled in warm layers. The blue of Kellan’s scarf brings out the cool undertones of his skin. Students mill about, some heading to class, others parking themselves on empty benches or grabbing a bite to eat from the campus restaurants. I never get tired of looking at the architecture. Notre Dame has a beautiful campus. Even when the sky is gray and it’s the middle of winter, I still find it beautiful. Hopefully it won’t be too long until spring reaches us.
It’s then that I notice Kellan is limping. “Are you injured?”
“Just sore from practice yesterday.”
Practice? He hardly did anything though. “Did you stay after or something?”
It’s a subtle thing, but his hands tighten in the pockets of his coat. Interesting. “No. But with me not feeling well yesterday, I feel the effects more today.”
Hm. Again, I wonder what he and Sebastian discussed in the locker room yesterday.
When we get to Kellan’s car, however, I stop in confusion. “This is your car?”
He unlocks the door to the Toyota, but doesn’t get in. The wariness is back. “Yes.” After a pause: “Why?”
“I thought you drove a Lamborghini.”
His dark eyes are watchful. The full lower lip, which he sucks into his mouth. It’s a secret fantasy of mine to suck that plump bottom lip myself. And other things.
“Oh.” He chuckles and waves a hand, though his shoulders hover around his ears. “That’s my weekend car. This is my day-to-day car. I’m always afraid of it getting hit so I use this one, especially in the winter.” He gives a nervous twitch. It’s an odd gesture. Odd, because I’ve never seen Kellan do anything like it.
The only thing I can do is chuckle, though admittedly it’s awkward. “You’re... not what I expected.”
“Oh?” He folds his arms over the roof of the car, scrutinizing me in a very un-Kellan way. There’s something closed about his features. Shadows gather in the hollows of his cheeks, the dip in his chin. He’s a mystery I’d like to solve, a gift to unwrap, slowly and with great care. “How so?”
“One, you like Zelda. That’s something I didn’t expect. You’re always talking about soccer, and that’s cool. I mean, we’re athletes, right? But I always wondered what your hobbies were. And last year you called me a nerd, so I assumed you didn’t like that stuff.”
Again, the lower lip caught between his teeth. There’s a slight sheen to it, a dampness from his tongue. I’m glad there’s a car between us because my dick is starting to perk up and I have to think of other things—going to the dentist, plant fertilizer—before it deflates. Bad dick.
He’s not very well trained.
“Well, I do like Zelda. I like all kinds of video games.” Simple, no nonsense response. An underlying seriousness to his deep voice. And maybe the first bit of openness I’ve felt from him? “And I don’t think it’s stupid, so if I gave you that impression, I’m sorry for that too.” He gets into the car, and waits.
Once I settle into the passenger seat, I look at him in profile. I can’t help myself. This is the closest I’ve been with the guy, and I’m still convinced it’s going to blow up in my face unless I plot this thing just right. He likes video games. Cool. So ply him with Zelda and Super Smash Bros. Next step is to find something else he can’t resist.
“Directions?” he says.
“Oh.” I start. “Right.”
When we reach my apartment, it’s with a heat pulsing in my stomach at the thought of being alone with Kellan Dumont. The guy I’ve been crushing on for half a year.
“So,” I say, pushing open the front door. “This is it.” I gesture to the open space. It’s small, but orderly. I hate mess. Even a plate in the sink makes my eye twitch.
The walls are off-white. I think that’s a requirement for apartments. Wood flooring that’s covered with rugs of various colors and patterns. A beige couch and a flat screen. A requirement for an athlete. The kitchen is off in a little nook. I try to cook when I can, but I’m usually chained to my computer so I can finish assignments on time. I’m getting better at it, though. For example, last week I made black bean burgers and they didn’t give me food poisoning.
Kellan takes it in, his hands in the pockets of his coat. The cold has brought color to his cheeks beneath his day-old stubble. God, the man is too good-looking for words.
“What do you think?” I ask. Kellan comes from a wealthy upbringing, so I’m sure his apartment is larger, nicer, and with better amenities.
He says, with sincerity, “I like it. I like how cozy it is. It’s the perfect size.” He hesitates near the door. I think he’s waiting for me to go to the living room.
“Let me give you the tour,” I say. “You can drop your backpack on the kitchen table over there.”
He does so, giving me a lingering glance before looking around.
“This is the living room, the kitchen.” I lead him to a short hallway. “Bathroom. And this is my room.” I push open the door. It’s clean, thank God. Beige carpet, a queen-sized bed, dark blue curtains that match the bedspread. Glad I remembered to make my bed this morning. I don’t want Kellan thinking I’m a slob.
