I stand in front of my makeshift closet, which is just my small pile of clothes hung over the back of the desk chair, and assess my options. While I didn't bring much with me, dressing to impress seems like the right thing to do, although I don't know who exactly I'm impressing with my choices: the flannel I wore yesterday, a slightly different button-up that’s indistinguishable from the first when you stand farther than ten feet away, two T-shirts that don't fit too well, and a hooded sweater.
I choose to layer the sweater over a T-shirt. Those are the only things I own that don't cling to me, and the last thing I want is to look like I'm wearing the same stuff I've owned since I was seventeen and still growing.
Hopefully Ian and Nick won't notice I'm in the same jeans as yesterday. My other ones are fraying and still have mud on them from the thirty-hour trip over here.
At the sink, I dampen my fingers and rake them through my hair, hoping to tame the strands that are already growing longer than I’m used to. Longer than a man “should” keep his hair.
I won't lie—the length doesn't exactly bother me, as long as I can make it neat. I suppose I could slick it back if I had gel or something, but I don’t, so I make a mental note to buy some whenI have the cash, and settle for looking barely groomed. Not like it matters, anyway, since it’s snowing outside.
The Kinesiology building is next door to my dorm, but the snow still manages to soak through my clothes and saturate my hair. At least it isn’t too cold—that’d suck.
As I push the heavy doors open, I check my phone and confirm the meeting location, hoping I’m the first one there so I have time to dry off and look at least half-presentable. When I round the corner, those hopes are dashed at the sight of Ian. Despite the nerves that creep up, and the preemptive thinking of an explanation for why I resemble a soaked rat, my body warms from seeing him.
That’s not good. Still, I take a breath and march forward, drawing as little attention to myself as I can.
He’s wearing a plaid shirt, the kind that you know is thick only from looking at it, and I swear the color is custom-made for him. The earthy green stands out against his light tan, which makes me wonderhowhe's tanned inJanuary.
Probably some vacation house in Florida or something.
Yeah, he looks so good, and it's not like he even has to try. Hell, his hair is a total mess, likely from wearing a beanie, but it’s almost as if it’s curated. His whole vibe is so casual and effortless, and I couldn't even hope to pull something like that off.
Ian’s frowning at his phone, tapping away and not noticing me walk up. As soon as I sit down in the chair across from him, he places his phone away and tilts his head up.
“Hey, what's up, Callum?”
God, I can't remember the last time someone smiled at me the way Ian is now.
“Uh, I'm good,” I reply, before wondering if that made any sense.What’s up? I'm good…
He doesn't seem to care. “Man, it's fucking snowing like shit out there.”
“Yeah, it's, uh, yeah.”
Why am I so bad at this? I mean, all that cussing threw meoff, but still. Kicking myself, I brace for Ian to laugh at me for being an idiot.
He doesn't laugh at me. He frowns instead, running a hand through his tousled hair as he stares at my?—
He’s scrutinizing my clothes.
Ugh.
I can practically see the judgment clouding his light eyes as he tilts his head, parting his lips—I shouldn't stare at hislips,for crying out loud?—
“Are you warm enough in that?” he asks, pointing at my hoodie. “Or are you guys just built different out in the Midwest?”
I don't know why, but I bark out a quiet chuckle, the sound almost foreign to me, given how long it's been since I had a reason to do that. Maybe it's because I'm surprised at his lack of judgment, or maybe I actually find Ian funny. Either way, my reaction seems to have rubbed off on him because he's clearly amused, too.
“I'm used to it,” I finally reply, and his grin grows wider. I thought people in New England were supposed to be reserved. Seems like it's the other way around for us two.
“Lucky you, I’m a total baby when it’s cold,” Ian says, sticking a thumb at the thick parka that’s hanging over the seat next to him. “Low-key jealous of people like you.”
That’s gotta be a joke. There’s no way someone like him could be jealous of me.
“Where the fuck is Nick?” he mutters under his breath, to nobody in particular, at least until he swivels his head up to face me. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s great, but he can’t get anywhere on time to save his life.”
“Have you tried messaging him?” I supply, and Ian rolls his eyes.
“His phone’s probably dead again. How he manages to keep himself alive is beyond me, but Nick is Nick. You can’t help but love the guy.”
