“Is it that easy?” I ask, and Laura snickers.
“Yup. Nick loves being spontaneous like this.” Standing up,she checks her phone. “I know we just got here, but if we’re heading to Nick’s in an hour, we should get ready.”
“Makes sense. This is casual, right? We aren’t heading out anywhere?” I’ll need to change if we’re going somewhere other than Nick’s house.
Laura smiles. “Oh yeah. The Barrel isn’t open yet, but we should all go once it is.”
The Barrel? I make a mental note to ask Ian what that is and why it’s important.
“Anyway, see you at Nick’s,” Laura says.
With that, we part ways, and I head back to Ian’s place. He’s freshly showered when I arrive, and he thrusts a seltzer into my hand as soon as I step through the door.
“You saw the texts, right? We can head out in a bit,” he says.
“I did.” While taking my shoes off, I survey his outfit and note that he’s changed into jeans and a dark sweater, which are what I’m already wearing.
“Are you copying me or something?” I joke.
Ian takes one glance at me and snickers. “Yup. I’m stealing your vibe.” He presses his lips together, thinking. “Tell you what, though. You should change into that blue flannel. You always look so good in that.”
I manage not to outwardly flinch at his compliment, even though it still makes my heart skip. “Okay.”
I head into the living room and shut the door behind me, slipping out of my sweater and fishing the flannel out of the laundry pile. My fingers skim the fabric as I shake the wrinkles out—this is my nicer button-up, not that it’s new or anything, but I agree with Ian. I think I do look good in this shirt.
“Is this okay?” I ask, going back into the dining room. I probably didn’t even need to ask, given that I didn’t change anything but the shirt, and it’s the one he told me to wear in the first place.
Ian narrows his eyes at me, scanning me from top to bottom in a way that I’d interpret as judgmental if it wasn’t him doing that.
“Almost.” He doesn’t elaborate and runs into the bathroominstead, returning with a blue tub. “I offered before, and you didn’t take me up, so I’ll have to do this myself. Do you mind if I do your hair?”
“Yeah, sure.”
His face melts into a charming smile, making my ears warm up, and I sit down at the dining table to give him easy access. He walks over, rubbing a small amount of paste in his hands, and he plunges his fingers into my hair, raking them through the strands with quick, practiced movements. Ian is so close, enough for me to feel his body heat on my face, and I hold my breath to prevent his signature scent from frazzling my poor, overloaded brain.
I don’t even think it’s cologne at this point—it’s so subtle, it has to just be him.
Pure, debilitating perfection.
Every single brush of his fingertips along the sides of my head sends an amazing, sensual burst of tingles down my spine, no matter how fleeting the contact is. He’s being careful, biting his tongue in concentration, which firms up his attractive face.
Finally, he takes a step back, surveying his work.
“Fucking perfect,” he says, smirking at me.
I head to the hallway mirror, and while I don’t concur with his assessment of perfection, how nice my hair is absolutely isn’t lost on me. Ian mussed up the top, grouping locks together and dragging them to the front in a way that looks deliberate.
“Any thoughts?” he asks.
I turn to face him “Yeah, I like the style. It’s decent.”
He raises his eyebrows, scoffing. “Decent? Give yourself some credit, man. Hell, if I didn’t know you so well, you’d be my first straight crush in five years.”
I—oh. Crap. He definitely wouldn’t be making those jokes if he knew.
I really have to tell him.
As usual, Ian plies me with alcohol. The two of us shared a six pack of some kind of beer while the group shot the shit, and eventually, the other four decided to start some game called King’s Cup.
