“I don’t know. I’m not sure if I’m making the most of it here,” I admit. “I don’t need to tell you how quiet I am, and honestly? You’re the only person who’s talked to me outside of class since I got here.”
“That’s gotta mean I’m smarter than everyone else,” Ian says, grinning. “But in all seriousness, that’s New England for you. Don’t take it personally.”
“I’m not.” If that was supposed to be convincing, I failed.
His face softens. “Aw, shit, you are, aren’t you? I’m sorry, man. It’s not you. It really,reallyisn’t.”
Was that a compliment? And is that why my heart is flipping out of control?
Oh, god.
He’s buzzed. Buzzed and therefore passionate about everything, including me, for some reason.
“No, it’s fine,” I reply, hoping to steer us toward a safer, less intimate conversation. “I like my space.”
Ian tilts his head, and it’s clear he isn’t completely buying it, but before he can say anything, his phone beeps.
“That’ll be the food.” He stands up and pushes his chair back hard, and he has to fumble around to catch it before it falls over and onto the floor. Ian shrugs and offers me a sheepish grin before heading out, leaving me alone in his cozy, welcoming apartment.
I lean back in the padded dining chair, allowing myself to relax.
Ian’s so sweet.
Gah, no. I can’t think that. He’s sweet, and it’s not for me. It’s for everyone, and I have to live with the fact that I will never, not in a million years, have a chance with him.
Even if he was singleandalso liked guys, there’s no way he’d go for the likes of me and my emotional baggage. Besides, he’s so much better-looking than I am.
At least that stuff doesn’t matter as much for being friends.
Shaking my head, I push my swirling thoughts away. I’ll get better. In fact, I’m already in a better place than when I got here, and even though there’s still a long way for me to go, progress is progress. If anything, Ian can be something for me to aspire to, even though his brand of charm is probably something you have to be born with.
The front door clicks, and Ian returns, snowflakes melting on top of his messy hair.
“Sheesh, it’s wild out there,” he says.
“Is it?” I ask, and he nods while putting the bag of food down. I swivel my head to peer out of the window, and sure enough, it’s snowing. Again.
Ugh.
My face must give me away because he tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “You good?”
I shrug. “Yeah. The waterproofing on my coat is wearing out. I’ll be fine, though.”
He hands me a wooden disposable fork. “You can crash here. No big deal,” he says, even though it’s a huge freaking deal. “I don’t mind.”
What?“That’s okay. I don’t want to impose.”
“That’s not imposing, Callum. I’m offering.”
“Oh, I prefer sleeping in a bed.” I hope that excuse is polite enough.
Ian waves me off. “No problem. You can take my bed if you want.”
“That’s imposing evenmore,” I protest, which gets me arelaxed chuckle in reply. “Seriously, I’m okay with heading home.” My mind lags for a second before I remember my manners. “But thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Okay,” he replies, digging into his box of pasta. “The offer still stands if you change your mind.”
We’re both drunk-ish and ravenous, so we don’t talk as we inhale our food. Ian finishes before me, grabbing me water and a napkin without me asking, and I try to finish my pasta faster so he doesn’t feel a need to do even more for me.
