He makes contact with the underside of my wrist, and it’s electric. Shifting uncomfortably, I try to make the annoying, inconvenient sparks of affection in my tailbone disappear.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “It might have been my dad’s?”
“I don't know your dad, but you wear it better, that's for sure.”
Where is Ian going with this?
“Looks great on you,” he continues.
Humor, apparently.
I let myself laugh at my own expense, the self-deprecation gnawing a little less than usual, before realizing that Ian isn't laughing. Confused, I open my mouth to speak, and he narrows his eyes at me.
“I wasn't kidding. It’s warm and rugged…” He trails off, almost like he's on the cusp of saying something else.
And depending on what comes next, it might clue me in as to whether he's actually being sincere about my lack of options.
“I’m fucking starving,” is what he says, reclaiming my attention with what seems to be his favorite word,fucking.
“Oh, okay.” There aren’t too many other ways for me to respond to that, are there?
“Do you want anything?”
My reply is automatic. “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
Right on cue, my stomach grumbles, betraying me.
Ian grins. “Doesn’t sound like it. What’s your favorite food?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Italian? Or the kind of Italian you get in a small town.”
“So, like chicken parm, pizza, that kind of stuff?”
I nod, and Ian taps around on his phone before setting it down. “Okay, I got you chicken parm and breadsticks from the place downstairs. Hope you’re okay with that.”
What? I jerk the almost-empty mug of beer away from my lips and freeze. “How much… How much do I owe you?” I ask, trying to play it cool while reconstructing my growing but precarious bank balance from memory.
“Nothing.” Ian ignores my confusion. “You’re my buddy, and I invited you over.”
“That’s…”That’s so nice of you, Ian. Thank you.“That’s a lot. Are you sure?”
Ian backhands my shoulder. “You bet. Think of me like your college grandma who feeds you, whether you want me to or not. We’re eating Italian, so call me Nonna. Nobody leaves Nonna’s house with an empty stomach.”
That manages to get a quiet snicker out of me. “Okay, thanks, Nonna.”
The way his face lights up at me playing into the joke makes my chest tighten, and I shove the inconvenient feeling aside. Or at least I try.
“So what’s your story?” He asks, putting his phone down. “A cool, mysterious stranger like you showing up halfway through the year doesn’t happen a lot.”
I let out a noncommittal huff, a little taken aback at being called cool by someone who actually is. “Yeah,” I start, buyingmyself time. “I needed to get out of my small town. I transferred here for some room to breathe.”
He nods, taking another sip of his drink, and my eyes catch on his defined throat jumping as he swallows. All I can do is try to disguise my leering as polite eye contact.
“Makes sense,” Ian says. “No better time to make a change than when we’re young.”
Sighing, I raise the emptying mug of beer to my lips. “For sure. I’ll have to wait and see if that was a good choice, though.”
“Why’s that?”
