Milo’s eyes widen as a wild smile spreads across his face. I’m not fast enough to slap a hand over his mouth. “Coach, did you know he proposed to Iris with a protein shake? He—”
I drag my brother outside, shaking my head the entire way as Iris follows on our heels. The low chuckle that meets my ears tells me Coach isn’t mad. I have a newfound respect for him but I’m also slightly terrified about what happens if something does go wrong. Line drills? 1-on-1 fight with the coach? Academic probation?
I choose not to think about that, redirecting my attention to my phone as I shoot off a text to Iris from two feet away.
Me:Your father just called us his future sons-in-law.
Her phone buzzes in her coat pocket. She pulls it out, reads the screen, and looks at me. "He was joking."
"He wasn't."
Milo steps between us, one arm hooking around my good shoulder, the other reaching for Iris. His grin is wide enough to split his face, his scent going so sweet that a girl walking pastus on the sidewalk actually turns her head. "We're in. We're actually in."
“God, Milo, don’t cheapen the moment.”
milo
Thatevening,afterpractice,our regular routine starts up again. Iris’ apartment, takeout, and everything feeling like home. Iris ordered Thai from the place on West Street that Quentin likes, the containers spread across the coffee table between half-empty glasses of wine and a roll of paper towels from the sriracha I knocked over ten minutes ago.
I sink into the couch cushions with my legs tucked beneath me and my wine glass balanced on my knee, relaxing for the first time in the last two days. God, it feels good not to have to sneak around anymore.
Iris is sitting on the floor between Quentin's legs, her back against his chest, the conversation drifting between the game and Coach's office and my scent blocker situation, the tension of the past few days unwinding in real time.
"I'm sorry about the game," I say, staring at the sriracha stain on the paper towel for longer than is reasonable. "For being soobvious. My scent, the way I froze when you went to check on Q. I'm the reason the whole sideline found out."
Iris turns to look at me. "Stop."
"I should have had better control. If I'd been wearing the blockers—"
"Milo." She sets her wine glass down. "I'm glad it happened."
"You're glad we got outed in front of the entire team and three scouts?"
"I'm glad the hiding stopped." She lets out a small sigh, sagging back my brother. "The secrecy was killing me. Every time I had to look away from you at practice, every time I couldn't touch Quentin in public, every time my father asked me why I was happy and I lied to his face. That was worse than anything Chad could have done. And I didn't realize it until yesterday, when it was gone."
Quentin's hand moves to rest on her hip. "The hiding was the worst part," he agrees, his voice low enough that I almost miss it. She twists just enough to press a kiss to his jaw, Quentin offering a hum of approval.
God, they look so gorgeous like this. Picture perfect.
"So what happens now?" I ask, before my mind starts spiraling into changing majors to photography.
"What do you mean? We’re together, which means I get to hold my boyfriends’ hands in public and kiss you when I think no one’s watching.” My face burns a little at the image of Iris cornering me in the hallway.Yes, please.Iris laughs. “Well, at least we know the scent blockers are working. Come on. I’d like to get a little more comfortable and as much as I love the couch…”
I pop up off the cushions and rush down the hallway, abandoning all pretense and throw myself into Iris’ nest face-first, my body hitting the blankets hard enough to send two pillows bouncing off the mattress. I roll onto my back, pull thenearest blanket up to my chin, and let out another sigh that vibrates through my entire body. "This. This is what I needed. This exact thing."
Quentin steps over my legs to settle against the headboard. "I've never seen you this excited about a nest. You have your own."
"So? This one’s different."
Iris climbs in beside me, next to my brother, tucking her legs beneath her. "You don't use yours? I thought I saw one when I was at your dorm."
I shrug, pulling the blanket tighter. "I built it but I never really use it. It always felt like something was missing and I could never figure out what." I gesture around us, at the fairy lights and the canopy and the two people settling in on either side of me. "Turns out it was this. The whole time. Just this." I press my face into the pillow and breathe in the tangle of our three scents soaked into the fabric. "Besides, yours is way more comfortable. The thread count alone—"
"You don't know the thread count," Quentin says.
"I canfeelthe thread count, Q. My skin has opinions."
Iris laughs, settling deeper against the pillows, her wine glass balanced on her knee. The sound fades into something quieter as her expression shifts, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass.
