Page 73 of Slick Trip

“What? That’s insane,” I said, angry on his behalf.

“And unfortunately common,” Ian said with a sad sigh. “But that’s not why I wanted you to meet. Oliver’s starting at Northwestern this fall.” Ian looked proud.

I beamed. “That’s where I’m going!”

Oliver nodded, looking bewildered.

“He’ll be living off-campus,” Grandpa went on. “And since he doesn’t know anyone yet . . .”

I leaned forward slightly, ready to adopt Oliver.

“Calm down,” Jon whispered in my ear.

“I am calm,” I said. “In an enthusiastic way.”

“We were wondering if you wanted to help him settle in,” Grandpa finished.

Oliver visibly shrank. “You don’t have to,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. I can just figure it out. I’m not scared.”

He looked terrified.

“Nope,” I cut in immediately. “We’re not letting you figure it out. That’s how you end up eating instant noodles and crying into your bowl at night.”

Oliver blinked at me. He looked like he’d start crying now.

I sighed. “Sorry. I’m Cooper. I get excited easily.”

“Okay.” Oliver gave me a small smile. “I’m Oliver. I’m shy.”

“I’m Jon.” My boyfriend looked like the reigning champion of calm, and I felt an overwhelming need to get into bed with him, naked. “I’m in charge of Cooper’s maintenance.”

I snorted. Jon was living his best comedian life today. I’d made him funny.

“We just thought,” Ian said carefully. “That it might help if Oliver had someone to walk him through things in a new place.”

“Definitely,” I said, nodding. “We won’t let anyone mess with him.” I winked at Oliver. “My Alpha growls at my command.”

“And you can ignore ninety percent of the things my Omega says,” Jon commented dryly.

That made Oliver giggle. He looked more at ease than he had when he’d stepped into the kitchen. I was ready to pretend it was my doing, although I suspected it had more to do with the soothing Alpha pheromones in the air.

My boyfriend was a human tranquilizer, and that was a scientific fact.

25

Home Again

JON

Cooper had slept through most of the flight home, curled against my side with his head on my shoulder. I barely moved except to pull off my hoodie and drape it over him, or to make sure he drank water whenever he woke. At the airport, he yawned his way through baggage claim, exhausted, clingy, and so beautiful I couldn’t help but stare.

Other people did too—but never for long. Not with the way I was looking back at them.

At their house, Mrs. Taylor pulled him into a hug, squishing him until he made a muffled, protesting noise into her shoulder. Then she turned to me, and before I could prepare for it, she hugged me too. We had never hugged before. My presence didn’t exactly encourage people to hug me—it encouraged them to cross the street, fast. And honestly, they’d had a point. Before I got my shit together, I threw hands to fight, not to be hugged like this. Mrs. Taylor was being all maternal and warm, and it made my chest ache.

I hadn’t had much of that shit when I was growing up. When I landed my ass in juvenile detention at the ripe age of fifteen after a street fight gone wrong, my foster mother at the time told me it was a sign from God that I was rotten to the core. She didn’t phrase it like that, but it was the gist of it. And I believed her, just like I’d believed the previous one who told me I was a burden to society.

Juvie changed the course of my life. I didn’t even mind the constant supervision. Who cared if I had to wake up every morning at six? At least no one woke me up drunk, looking for a fight. Most of the courses there were stupid and poorly executed, but then Mr. Hill came along with his old computers and logic puzzles. He clocked my interest and brought me some basic programming books, and that was it.