“That’s good,” I manage.
He snorts. “Yeah. Although my parents might throw a fit if they knew how much studying Ireallydid at my ex’s house. We had everyone fooled.” Chuckling, he leans back and breaks into a wider grin. “Because the gayer two guys act with each other in public, the straighter they seem. It’s foolproof.”
“Right.” I don’t offer any more; Dean being into men makes things complicated. In theory, there’s nothing stopping me from asking him out, and from the way he’s been checking me out ever since he got here, I’m sure he’d say yes. But him checking me out ispreciselywhat screws things up for me.
The odds are we’d go out, end up at one of our places, and he’d want to hook up. There’s no holding out until the third date between guys, at least not from what I’ve experienced, and when a guy is in my bed, looking at me with the kind of unbridled excitement I can only ever hope to feel again, I don’t have it in me to disappoint.
“So, uh, do you have a boyfriend you’re bringing back home?” I ask, trying not to soundtoohopeful.
He snickers, and I hold my breath, hoping his eyes are gonna go all soft as he waxes about his amazing boyfriend who he’s been with for ages, who makes him very, very taken and unavailable?—
“Nah.” He drags the word out, all casual and relaxed. “I’m not dating until I’m settled. I learned that lesson in high school.”
“So you’ve been breaking hearts across two continents for what, five years?”
He smacks my chest. “Come on. I dated a guy in senior year, and we broke up before college. And since I’ve been here, I’ve been?—”
“A total fuckboy?”
My quip earns me a funny noise of protest. “Come on. I’ve been arespectful, not-quite-prolific enjoyer of other men on a mutually casual basis.” He rolls his eyes at me, grinning, and turns toward the coffee table. “Enough with the ribbing. Let’s get you educated.”
Maybe I’m not his type. He’s already tall, but he could liketallermen, or have a preference for smaller, skinnier guys to have some kind of contrast—I’m only a little shorter than he is.
For both our sakes, I can only hope Dean isn’t into me. My heart rate picks up as my mind flies through the prospect, and I take the blanket off of my lap to avoid overheating.
“Are those new jeans?” Dean asks me, and I nod. “I like them. You look good.”
The compliment doesn’t help my racing thoughts, so I try to deflect. “Dude, are you flirting with me?”
He snorts and trails a finger up my forearm. “Only if you want me to be.”
Excitement rises from my chest, spreading to my face and revealing itself in a nervous smile before I can conceal it. Maybe he isn’t.Hopefully, he isn’t. I don’twantto like him. Dean is nice. Sweet. But if he’s flirting…he’d be like everyone else who has in the past.
I roll my eyes and bat his hand away. “Aw, do you wanna play gay chicken?” I hold my breath, but as expected, Dean backhands my shoulder and snickers.
“You’ll have to try a lot harder to get out of this tutoring session. Come on, let’s focus.”
I exhale.Phew.He’s just being a bro, like I thought. As he said—the gayer two guys act with each other in public, the straighter they seem. Even though I’m not straight, the joking works for my purposes.
Dean clears his throat. “So, do you want to take a crack at this practice exercise? I think it’s basically a review of your last module with a few added bits.”
“Sounds good.” I snag a pen from the side table and take my textbook back, flattening the page on my lap and squinting at the page and making my way down the lines of characters.
Meanwhile, in the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Dean leaning back and stretching up, pulling his phone out, and getting comfortable. His tall body slides down the worn couch fabric,closing the distance between us, and—oh, god. His knee brushes mine. Sparks fly up my leg and into my stomach, making my heart flip and my eyes water. I bring a hand to my face and rub my forehead, hard, and Dean huffing makes me turn to meet his amused gaze.
“Yo, are you fucking flexing?” he asks, chuckling. “I get it. You’re a varsity athlete and you’re hot.”
Fuck.
Fuck!
Heisflirting with me—he isn’t being nearly crude enough for this to still be for laughs, and when I focus on his soft stare, the heat behind it is unmistakable.
Dean definitely wants something from me. While that realization isn’t making my stomach sink with pure dread like the last few times I got it, I’m still not feeling anything close to what I know I’m supposed to.
I force myself to imagine it, him pushing me against the wall and making out with me. Removing my clothes, pushing my shoulders down to put me in prime dick-sucking position, fucking my mouth, twisting those long fingers through my hair as he?—
Nope. It all sounds amazing in theory, but I don’t get so much as a tingle in my nuts at what’s objectively a dream come true for a gay guy.
