“Oh, now who’s the impatient one?” he teases, standing up. “Look away. I’m gonna get changed.”
He drops his pants and underwear before I have a chance to avert my gaze like he asked. I catch a flirty wink as he turns around, and my eyes lock onto his bare ass while he rummages around his closet.
“You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?” I ask needlessly when he bends down, still rummaging.
He simply shakes his body at me, which has the effect of riling me up even more. I’m a simple guy, and I'm not above letting myself get a little primitive.
Okay, maybe more than alittleprimitive.
“Huh, I can't find my pants,” he says, holding a pair of flannel PJ pants in his right hand. “Maybe I should just…not wear any?”
“I’d likethat.”
He puts the pants on, depriving my greedy eyes, before throwing a ball of fabric at me. “Now you get changed. You aren't sitting on my bed with those dirty clothes that have been who knows where.”
I unfurl the thing he gave me, and I bark out a laugh once I do. It's a fucking headband.
“Yeah, that's right,” he says when I roll my eyes at him. “Strip down and get changed.”
“How am I supposed to wear this?”
His hands grab the fabric back and slip it onto my forehead. “Like this. Now strip.”
“I'm not your private stripper, and maybe I don't want to have sex right now.”
“Rude,” Nick mutters, turning back to the closet and tossing some shorts over his shoulder.
I live up to his descriptor by changing out of my jeans before he finds a shirt for me, and the sassy expression he scrunches his face into when he turns around makes my heart grow ten sizes.
I manage to change shirts with only a few sneaky grabs from Nick while my arms are defenseless in the armholes, and once I'm done, I shove the handsy douchebag onto his bed and plop down next to him, slinging an arm around his waist and scruffing his hair.
I mean, the more jokingly mean we are to each other, the easier it is for me to solidify how we're just supposed to be friends. I think.
Yeah. Even in the face of Nick's cute face and the messy hair and the?—
“Fuckboy pants. You're wearing fuckboy pants,” I say, chuckling when I realize.
“I'm wearingwhatnow?”
I point to his red checkered PJ bottoms. “Those are the fuckboy uniform.”
“Of course you’d know this.” He gives me a gentle shake. “I’lljust have to make sure I don’t bring these when I stay with your parents, in case they make any assumptions about me.”
“This isn’t something they’d know about. You’re fine.”
“And do they know I’m coming?” His tone is light, even through the slight strain I detect—I really did put the conversation off for too long.
“Yeah. I told my dad earlier. All good.”
“Did he have anything to say about me?”
“No. He only said you’re welcome to stay, and that he’d set up the air mattress.”
Nick’s face falls. No, itshatters. “I’m not gonna be sleeping with you?”
He’s certainly got a good kicked-puppy impression. I’ll give him that.
“Don’t worry. We’re sharing a bed,” I explain quickly. “We’re gonna getrealcozy because it’s only a double.”
