I sure hope I can help it, especially with how Nick looks. Itmakes sense that the two most attractive guys I’ve seen on campus so far are best friends.
Ian fishes out a plastic container from his backpack. “Anyway, you want a cookie while we wait? I made ‘em myself this morning.”
He—what? Where did that come from?
“Do you…carry cookies around everywhere you go?” I ask, like an idiot.
“I sure do!” He beams at me while shaking the container. “Want one?”
“No thanks,” I say out of instinct.
Ian doesn’t reply immediately, instead choosing to send me a smirk that sends an inconvenient blush up my neck. “Come on, Cal.”
Did he give me a nickname? I realize I’m smiling, so I try to play it off as nervous laughter.
“Not to hype myself up too much, but they’re so fucking good.” He waves the now-open container at me again, and I oblige, picking out a small cookie. He watches me with palpable expectation, so I take a small bite.
As soon as I do, I wish I grabbed a bigger one. He’s right—they’re so freaking good.
“This is ninety percent chocolate,” I say, and then I stiffen. “That’s a good thing. I didn’t mean it as a criticism or anything.” I restrain myself from squashing the remainder of the cookie in my fingers out of stress, waiting for Ian’s response.
“Dude, it’s fine. I can tell you like them; it’s written allll over your face,” he drawls. “It’s fuckin’ cute as hell.”
Relief washes over me at the same time my blush moves up into my cheeks.
Did Ian call mecute? He has to be joking. First the comment about my arms, and now this. The most likely explanation is that he says this kind of stuff to everyone.
I stuff the rest of the cookie into my mouth to silence myself.
He snickers again, but almost as quickly as his mood shifts, itswings back. He sits up straight, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. I wonder when Nick is gonna get here?—”
Nick chooses that moment to appear, smacking the back of Ian’s head and ruffling his hair. Ian responds by punching Nick’s shoulder.
Is violence affection? If that’s what friendship entails, I sure hope that isn’t the case.
“Sup, fucknugget,” Nick coos at Ian, who sticks his middle finger out as a voiceless reply. “And hey, Callum. What’s good?”
“These. These are good,” Ian replies for me when I make an uncomfortable pause, shaking the container of cookies at Nick. “You don’t get any because you’re late.”
“Yeah, yeah, what did you expect from me?” Nick quips, flopping into the seat beside Ian. “Anyway, we’re here to talk about the massively unfair project plan that Scotty here stacked against himself.”
It takes a second for me to connect the nickname with Ian’s last name, Scott, and when I do, he’s blushing. Not that his cheeks need any more color to look good, but the pink tint makes him glow.
Shoot. Not again. He’s a guy who’s being nice to me—I can’t be rudeandget all hot for him.
“I can do part of the report,” I offer, hoping it serves as a distraction from my own imminent blush.
“Can you still do the voiceover?” Ian asks.
“Why the voiceover?”
“Uh, it’s because…uh, you have a great, neutral-accented speaking voice!”
“I believe your exact words after class were ‘ideal timbre,’” Nick supplies. He nudges Ian, smirking widely and ruffling his hair.
“Dude, shut the fuck up!” Ian smacks Nick’s hand away.
“I’m telling the truth, ass-muncher.”
