“Nice, nice,” Ian says. “Even though you'restraight, I'm glad you're cool with me and the rest of us.”
God, he even put emphasis onstraight. It's like he's taunting me without knowing, goading me to come out and correct him. Ian should be safe—he's nevernotbeen—but I can't bring myself to tell him.
I know I don't owe my identity to anyone, especially if I'm not comfortable, and right now, I'mreallynot.
So I shrug, offering a weak smile as he yawns and stretches. We're silent for a while, sitting there in the dim light of the ambient lamps, and I'm about to ask if we're getting more drinks or heading to bed when Ian slumps over and rests his head on my shoulder.
“Man, what are you—” I freeze mid-sentence once my eyes catch up.
Ian is asleep on me, nuzzling his face into my shoulder like a blond-haired fawn.
My chest tightens and blooms with heat at the same time.
He's comfortable around me. At least enough to use me as some kind of undeserving pillow.
I hold my breath, not wanting to disturb him, but the way myheart is racing might wake him up anyway. Slowly, I shuffle away and let his head fall onto the couch cushioning, cramming myself into the corner.
If I let his head rest in my lap, he'd get a rude awakening in every sense of the term.
What should I do?
My evil brain flashes a tempting, forbidden image of me and Ian curled up together on the couch, waking up together with his strong arms wrapped around me and my hands in his soft hair.
No. He doesn't deserve that. I'll let him be.
For someone his size, he sure takes up a lot of space. He's still on his back, and he's stretching out across the couch, his arms sprawled open, almost like he's inviting me into them.
But he only does that when he's awake and upright. The last thing he needs is for me to crush him with my cumbersome body.
Still, that sprawl is way too enticing, especially how it stretches the fabric of his old shirt across his chest and makes the hem ride up, giving me a teasing glimpse of his trim stomach. I shut my eyes and let out a long, painful exhale.
If he's taking my bed, I suppose I could crash in his, and try to play it off as a joke tomorrow.
No.That'd blur lines, and I don't trust myself not to have another lecherous dream under blankets that smell like the man I can't stop craving. The idea of cleaning a mess out of Ian's sheets is more than enough for me to drop the ludicrous, selfish idea.
That leaves me with my next option, which is moving him to his bedroom.
Bracing myself, I stand up and slip my left arm under that strong, wide back, and I come close to giving up when he mumbles the cutest sleepy complaint.
“Come on, work with me,” I murmur, crossing my fingers that he doesn't do something like try to snuggle me in his sleep.
I scoop my other arm under his knees, making sure not to be a creep and touch his butt, and I lift him with the gentlest, slowest force I can manage. His body slides, lifting his shirt even more andpressing the bare skin of his back into my forearm. Ian runs hot, sure, but god, this feels like he's singing my hair off.
And then his head slumps onto my chest.
My arms burn with his weight, but I can't stop myself from pausing and taking him in. His hair tickles my chin, and I tilt downward instinctively to stop the itch.
Oh, great! I'm kissing Ian's head. That's so weird, and it's also the hottest thing I've ever done with someone else.
Jesus. I'm using him again. He doesn't want this. Hecan'twant this with someone like me.
I jerk my head up and lumber around the bookshelf, nudging the door to his bedroom open. I've never seen inside it before, and I'm hoping his bed isn't too far away because my arms are on fire.
Holy hell, Ian sure packs a lot into his frame. And maybe he's packing?—
Screw off, Callum. Stop being a pervert.
I manage to avoid dropping him, and I deposit him into the crumpled sheets of the unmade bed. Seconds later, I've pulled the thin comforter over his body, deriving far too much undeserved satisfaction from the simple act of tucking him in.
