He licks his lips, too.
Why’d he have todothat? Now I can’t get that image out of my mind. My breath catches as a depraved image of Ian on his knees for me materializes in my head, and I struggle to force it out before I can make poor imaginary Ian do anything worse.
Thankfully, he snorts and brings me back to reality, a place where he isn’t into me. “That’s how it’s done. Make itabsurd.”
I clear my throat. “Got it.”
“Anyway, you flirt, you’re taking the coat.” He thrusts said coat into my unsuspecting arms, and I unfold it, slipping the thick fabric around my shoulders.
This is the nicest thing I’ve ever worn, hands down. I was already warm from the alcohol and Ian being sweet, but this is a whole other level. The lining is soft, the shell is sturdy, and there’s a hood, too.
Ian grins at me. “Does it fit?”
It does, and I nod.
“Thought so,” he says. “It looks great on you, too. You sure you don’t want to keep it?”
“I’m sure, but thanks.” I pick up my empty takeout bowl so I can throw it out, and Ian takes it from me.
“Don’t worry about this. I got you,” he says. “Get home safe, buddy.”
Buddy. My stomach squeezes at the endearing nickname, but I can’t get all emotional in front of Ian. I settle for giving him a quick thanks and head out into the snow, pulling the fleece-linedhood over my head, and I make it back to the dorm, dry and warm.
He’s so nice, it’s almost uncanny, and I’ll be damned if I take advantage of him, even though he’s actively proving my parents wrong—other peoplecancare about me.
Tomorrow is supposed to be warmer. I’m giving the coat back as soon as I can. It’s the nice thing to do.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IAN
Deadlines suck ass, which is why their absence gives me a serious case of the fuzzies. The extra drink I had with Callum put me in a great mood last night, while not being nearly enough to make me hungover.
The fact that I finally,finallygot to hang out with him still puts a silly grin on my face. Last night was so chill, and hell, I fucking loved it.
Callum is way too hot for my own good, but the fact that he's almost certainly straight is more than enough to stop any kind of crush from snowballing. If anything, maybe last night was what I needed to get over him in that way. He’s a great guy, if a little quiet, and he sure isn’t used to accepting anything from other people.
But we’re friends, so he needs to get used to me offering random stuff. My giving streak isn’t going to change.
Which is why I haul myself out of bed, take another shower, and start making pancakes for hangover brunch with Sabrina and Laura.
Can I call it hangover brunch if I’m not hungover?
Eh, it doesn’t matter.They'reprobably hungover.
My suspicions are confirmed when they rock up fifteen minutes later with electrolyte drinks, tired expressions, and mimosa ingredients that none of us are gonna touch.
“Oh, he’s alive!” Sabrina says, wrapping me in a hug.
“Areyou?” I ask. “It looks like you guys had a fun night.”
“Nick and one of your teammates got on the stripper pole at Turbo and earned us two racks of shots,” Laura says. “So yeah, it was pretty fun.”
I choke back a chuckle. “Oh my god, you’re kidding.”
Sabrina shakes her head before wincing, and I toss her a bottle of ibuprofen for the headache I think she has. “Nope. Nick gave Steve a super sensual lap dance before getting one back.” She pauses to take a pill out of the bottle and swallow it while I scoff at the visual.
Steve is simultaneously the official team grump and the official team hype man. Which one he is depends on his alcohol intake and whether or not he’s trying to get laid.
