It certainly should have been long enough to not have a wet dream about him, and to shut down the wild, dangerous fantasiesthat creep into my brain every time he does something cute. Which, given who he is, iseverythinghe does.
I swear, watching him rub his eyebrow when he’s tired shouldn’t make me lose my breath.
“Emotions are complicated, Callum. That’s one of the reasons why I’m here.” She writes a few notes into her tablet before continuing. “For now, you could try making that space, and if you continue feeling bad about having these thoughts, you can always use some of the anxiety exercises we’ve worked through.”
Oh, right. Those. I haven’t needed to break those out too often, but I suppose they could work on my ever-increasing spirals about how much I like Ian.
The rest of our session is spent reviewing the various anxiety and grounding exercises we’ve discussed before, and I leave feeling okay—better than before, but not great. Still, I need time to get over him, and it’s only been hours.
Once I’m back at Ian’s place, I shake my jacket off and grab my laptop to get some work done. The second I sink into the couch, there's jangling at the door, and my breath catches.
He’s back. The sound of keys shaking in the lock continues for a little too long, as usual, followed by the door creaking open.
It's not that heavy, and he’s an athlete. He's doing that on purpose. Again, he's tiptoeing around me, and that makes my gut plummet.
Ian comes crashing in, dropping his snow jacket to reveal his baseball uniform. Right. He started outdoor training for the season today, hence his lack of a hoodie.
Why on earth do baseball players have such tight uniforms?
He’s facing away from me to hang his jacket and gear up, and my eyes stay glued to those pants. They’re so frustratingly form-fitting, especially around his butt. That makes my mouth dry and wakes my dick up.
So much for seeing him as a friend.
I avert my gaze to the safety of my laptop mere millisecondsbefore Ian turns to me. Deciding to be friendly, I give him the kind of upward nod he always gives to me, and his face lights up.
That tiny little action sends delightful sparks into my tailbone.
“You wake up from a nap?” he asks, walking over.
“No, why?”
Ian’s eyes crinkle at the corner as he grins at me. “Your hair is kinda messy.”
Crap. I bring a hand to my head and try to smooth the unruly strands.
“Hey, I didn’t say that was a bad thing,” he says. “I kinda dig the relaxed vibe.”
“Yeah?”
“For sure!” He somehow manages to smile even wider, and my stomach manages to flip even more. “Tell you what, you should snag some of my hair paste and make your hair all scruffy.”
Make myself look disheveled on purpose? That sounds like the best way to make people stare at me even more than they do already. “You think so?”
He remains undeterred. “Totally. Cute, rugged hair on a guy like you? Chick magnet, guaran-fucking-teed…” He trails off, his face firming up. “Anyway. You got any plans tonight?”
Yeah, following Anita's advice and trying not to fall harder for you.
I shake my head instead. “What about you?”
“Me neither. I thought about having some friends over, but some one-on-one dude time with you sounds better. Other than, like, hitting the gym, we haven’t really hung out since you moved in, and I really want to do that tonight if you’re down.”
Ian wants to hang out. With me. Alone.
That should be the worst thing for me and my lack of self-regulation, but I smile and nod instead because he made my night, simply by wanting to spend time together.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IAN
