Page 138 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 3

As I shut the door, I wiped my hands on my sweatpants. I’d picked casual clothes deliberately so he wouldn’t think I was getting ready for this. Even so, my stomach felt like I’d swallowed a flutter generator. “This your bed?” Damon asked.

It wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. If he expected us to just jump into the bed and get to it, he had another thing coming. Still, I nodded.

Damon dropped his backpack gently on the bed and sat down, stretched his arms above his head, then planted his hands on the mattress a little behind. He kicked his shoes off, revealing black socks, and pulled himself a little back on the bed so he could lean against the wall comfortably.

“Would you like to drink something, Damon?” he asked in a terrible impression of my voice. “Why, yes, kind man. Good of you to ask.”

“Would you?” I asked, hiding my amusement well enough.

He unzipped the bag and produced a bottle of red wine. “I came prepared, if you have glasses.”

His easy smile relaxed something inside of me. “Let me check.”

He nodded and waited while I went into the kitchen for our floor and looked through the cabinets. I returned with two mugs when I couldn’t find any clean glasses. We lived like animals here, and I was okay with it.

Damon laughed out loud when he saw the mugs. “I love it. I fucking love it.”

“If you want it classy, it’ll cost you,” I said, shrugging.

He winked. “I want it cheap and dirty.”

I thrust the mug at him a little too hard. Honestly, it was only my jealousy that he could still be so relaxed despite everything. I wished I could do the same.

“Nervous?” he asked as he took a bottle opener from his backpack and screwed it into the cork. He pulled the cork easily and tossed it on the nightstand, then poured us a splash of wine each.

“No,” I said.

He measured me suspiciously. “It’s not your first time, is it?” A note of concern painted his voice.

“No,” I said. “What? Of course not.”

He shrugged. “Just asking. Wouldn’t do well if I were your first.”

“Well, you’re not,” I said. Not that the others were memorable. Damon had outshone them by little more than making out in the grass.

He didn’t ask me about the past again. He touched my mug with his, and we drank. The wine was fruity and light, refreshing in a new way and not at all depressingly dry.

I drank a bit more and exhaled with pleasure. This had seemed easier two nights ago, when we’d sat safely on the roof of the science building and the idea of really sleeping together was in the future.

“Got playing cards or something?” he asked.

“Um…why?” I asked.

Damon had that mischievous look on his face that disarmed me. “Oh, so I can beat you in a few games and lower your self-esteem,” he said.

I punched his shoulder. “I’ve got a deck of cards.”

“Good. Let’s play a game,” he said.

I thrust my mug to him to hold and got up, wiping my hands on my sweatpants again. I opened the drawer of my desk and found the miscellaneous things I’d tossed in there, from rubber strings I wasn’t yet ready to throw away—you never know when you’ll need them—to the stubs of pencils that still had a sharpening or two left in them. The deck of cards was worn and faded from many summers of playing games as kids. Those were blurry summers in my mind. Nick had been there, as had Damon, so it must have been before high school.

I tossed them onto the bed and returned to sit near Damon.

“Are these the same old cards?” Damon asked, eyes full of wonder. “No fucking way.”

“I don’t throw things away if they’re still good,” I said.

“Yeah, I just saw your rubber bands,” he said. “But that you’ve never lost a card or two, that’s impressive.”