Right, he has his job shushing freshmen with his nightclub-bouncer vibes. It’s in the biceps.
Damn it, I'm staring at his arms again.
“The libraries all close at eleven, right? We’ll all be out pretty late,” I say, silently begging him to say yes.
“I’m good, but I appreciate the invite. Thanks.” Callum offers me a tiny smile which manages to undo the knot of rejection in my core.
“Shoot, okay. Next time?” I scratch the back of my neck. “Guess I’ll see you around?”
Iknowhim saying no means nothing. Even so, getting turned down for anything still stings like nothing else. At least I'm good at keeping a straight face now that I have almost twenty years of practice under my belt.
“Sure.” He opens the staff gate and lets me out. “I, uh, have to get to work, but it was so nice to see you.”
Aw, Callum is sosweet. God, this man is precious, not to mention affirming as hell.
I offer a wave, and he smiles back before heading into the library. My head follows him, and I steal a glance at his jean-clad legs as they walk him away.
Sheesh, those are some nice jeans. Faded just right, a little scuffed at the bottom cuffs, and fitting him like a glove.
And when I lift my gaze, I lock eyes with a cute blonde chick across the foyer who apparently had the same idea I did, only with a bit more intention since her head tilts right back to Callum’s…quads.
Yeah, we're totally admiring hislegs. Not his ass. Not at all. Nope. Even if his ass is super nice and super hard to miss.
I chuckle, raising a friendly eyebrow at her, and she smiles back with a shrug before walking up the stairs to her left.
I linger on her departing figure for a few impolite seconds. Holy hell, she's hot. Callum couldget it. Good for him.
But I don’t have time to stand around thinking about Cal.
The walk home only takes me a few minutes, and as soon as I kick my shoes off, I grab a beer and head for the shower.
As I wait for the water to warm up, I strip and grab my dick out of pure instinct. For a quick, fleeting second, I contemplate whether I’m gonna find a hookup when we head out tonight, before letting out a breath and deciding against it.
While I might be in a lengthy dry spell, that beats being called a level-five clinger for wanting some post-coital cuddles.
Fuck that.
Instead, I step into the warm water and crank my hormones away while imagining that I'm being stroked off by someone else. I won't lie, even though spilling into my own hand isn't the same, at leastIwon't scoff at myself and say I'm a creep for cooking breakfast.
Oh well—tonight, I’ll get messy drunk with Sabrina and Laura, try to wingman Nick, and maybe run into some of my teammates so we can all be idiots together. That’s my kind of fun.
Then comes the ever-present question of what I’m gonna wear. It should be simple, especially since I’m a dude who wouldn’t give too many shits anywhere else, but WMU sure has preppy vibes running through most of the student body. Nobody, outside of a few tryhards in the business school, wears suits to class, but there’s a definite pressure to dress up.
Iroll my eyes as I rifle past a quarter-zip in my closet. Isn’t college supposed to be more relaxed than this?
Leafing through my closet, my fingers land on the flannel I wore when I saw Callum for the second time. I smile to myself while pulling it out, deciding that yes, I’m gonna wear it again. Honestly, I have to give it to Callum for breaking that mold for me. He clearly doesn’t care about weird groupthink, and he looks real good in the process.
Great, I’m thinking about him again. It’s the age-old dilemma: do I want tobehim, or do I want to bewithhim?
Like, we’re friends. It’s fine if I admire that part of him. It’s totally natural to take pages out of a cute guy’s book. Besides, it isn’t like I went out and bought a bunch of clothes to match his wardrobe. I’ve owned flannel and jeans and hoodies and a few pairs of boots since I can remember, anyway.
A whiskey and a quick bite later, I bundle up and head over to Nick’s apartment. I knock on the door, and it swings open almost instantly, a buzzed Nick leaning on the frame with a drink in his hand.
“Yo, what’s upppppp,” he drawls, dapping me up before wrapping me in a friendly bear-hug. “Are you ready to get blitzed tonight?”
I grin, pulling a beer out of my backpack. “Oh yeah.”
Nick snatches it out of my hand. “None of that weak shit. I’m making you a real drink.” He heads straight for the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of vodka—his own, not the one he helped me buy earlier. “I’m kinda short on mixers, so I hope you aren’t allergic to peach juice.”
