Then, right as the warmth in me risks slipping down tosomewhere entirely inappropriate, he jerks back and pulls away, the absence searing my skin and tempting me to grab him back.
“Yeah, uh, anyway, thanks,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head. “I gotta head to practice, and I’ll be back late tonight.” He dumps the coffee into a travel mug and shoves a couple of protein bars into his backpack. “The season’s starting pretty soon, so you might not see too much of me. I’ll send you my schedule."
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in his apartment where I’m still out of place. It takes a few seconds for me to get my bearings, and once I do, I realize I’m wrapping an arm around my waist where Ian was hugging me only a few minutes ago.
I tense up, shaking my head, and my phone beeps with a text. As promised, it’s Ian’s schedule.
Ian Scott
Hey man, here’s my schedule, FYI
Basically I’m gonna be out of the house by 8 AM on Mon/Wed/Fri, and by noon on Tues/Thurs. I won’t be back before 7 PM on weekdays but realistically I’ll be home closer to 9
That’s a long time to spend out of the house. What’s he doing?
Fucking baseball practice lmao
Makes sense.
Weekends are a bit of a crapshoot tbh but I’m out doing stuff most days
You don’t have to send me your schedule. I’ll be gone more than you so you can have the house to yourself
My stomach sinks. Is that why Ian’s planning to be gone for so long?
Is he trying to avoid me?
I down my coffee and retreat to the couch, curling up under the thick covers, trying to talk myself out of all this negativity.
Realistically, I haven’t done anything wrong. Ian told me to move in with him. So did Laura. It’s been one night, and he hasn’t said anything.
Then again, he could have been impulsive. Maybe his morning routine includes watching TV on the couch that I’ve robbed from him. He might have had a realization overnight.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a slow exhale. There’s no use dwelling on something unconfirmed. I drag myself off of the couch and get ready for a day of studying here, and I work through a few assignments that I’ve been neglecting. Other than grabbing food and bathroom breaks, I don’t leave the dining table, and it’s almost eight when my phone lights up with another text from Ian.
Hey bro I’m heading home from practice, I'll be back in 5
I type the last few sentences of my French assignment and run it through a grammar checker, and I upload it right as I hear a key in the lock, turning slowly before the handle jiggles a few times.
Does he know how to unlock his own door? I stand up, walk over, and pull the door open.
Ian tumbles forward, falling face-first into me. He lets out a yelp of surprise, and I stick my arms out to catch him.
And my hands happen to snag on his clothes, slipping underneath them.
Oh, Jesus, I'm touching his bare skin. He's so smooth and warm, and my fingers slip into the wonderful little dips of his back muscles.
I yank him upright and withdraw my pawing hands. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks for catching me,” he says. He straightens andsmooths his sweater down. It’s a baseball team hoodie, partially unzipped and revealing a flash of his green practice uniform. “How was your day?”
“Good, I just…studied.”And tried not to overthink you.
He gives me a small nod before shedding his sweater, his arms stretching the fabric of his uniform and making my mouth go dry. I choose to straighten my sneakers on the shoe rack to stop myself from staring.
“Sorry, I stink,” he says, stepping aside. “Let me go shower.”
My eyes follow him down the hallway as he walks away, and instead of averting my gaze like a decent person when he yanks his jersey off, I linger for a few seconds. Holy crap, those are some broad shoulders. And holy crap, that back is something else?—
