Will grins at me. “Can we come in?”
A zap of embarrassment runs through me, and I quickly step out of the way. “Oh, right. Yep. Sorry. Take a seat wherever suits you.”
They file in and spread out as Will stops by my side after scanning the room, his hand running down the length of my forearm until he can take my hand in his. “How are you feeling?”
I use my braced hand to give him a so-so gesture. “Okay. I took some more painkillers about an hour ago, so they should be working their magic any minute now.”
The smile returns to his face. “So, you got my care package?”
Confused, I cock my head to the side, eyes a little narrowed. “Care package?”
But before Will can answer, Vinnie pipes up from his spot on the couch. “Nicholas, is Oakley home?”
I roll my eyes as I turn my attention to Vinnie. “I thought I asked you to call me Emery?”
Vinnie shrugs, his Italian features smoothing out with his absolute lack of shame. “People only fall into three categories for me. Family. Friends. Flirts. Family and friends get nicknames. People I want to flirt with get first names.”
I put my hand on my chest and gasp with fake indignation. “And you don’t want to flirt with me?”
He smirks at me, gaze flicking to Will and back. “Nicholas, I tell you what, when this guy fucks it up with you, I’ll swoop right in and make all your dreams come true.”
“Fuck off, Morello,” Will growls as he cups my elbow and guides me over to the couch.
I stamp down the annoyance at being guided to my own furniture and answer Vinnie’s question. “She’s in her room.”
Like he can see through the wall, he glances in that direction but opts to stay where he is, which is probably for the best. The guy is the black-haired version of a golden retriever puppy. Wants approval from everyone, so gets it by being super cute and overly flirty, which is a hilarious look on a six-foot, dark-featured, olive-skinned athlete.
“Ah, aren’t you going to introduce us?” one of the guys who is sitting at the table asks to no one in particular.
My cheeks burn, and I turn to face the three other people in the dorm. “Ah, sorry. I’m going to blame my lack of manners on the minor concussion.”
One of the guys nods, and I assume it’s the one that spoke. “Yeah, I get that. Well, I’m Brandon, anyway.”
“Vanessa,” the girl pipes up.
“Gregory, but everyone calls me Greg,” the last guy replies.
“There’s usually one more of us, but Charli had to work today,” Vanessa adds as she glances around. “If we keep this location, we’ll need to get another chair.”
“I have one in my room,” I offer before I can stop myself. Do I really want these people invading my space every Thursday?
Vanessa beams at me. “Perfect. Okay, I need someone to explain the way Professor King talked logarithmic functions last week, because that was not how I was taught.”
And that’s how we pass the next hour, everyone asking each other questions and providing support. Other than this week’s classes, I was good on the content and spent most of the time reading over what I could manage before my head felt like it was going to explode.
Once the hour is up, Brandon, Vanessa, and Greg all leave, but Vinnie and Will stay back. When Oakley finally ventures out of her room, cheeks a little rosy, the reason Vinnie was still here becomes clear.
At the click of her door opening, he immediately turns around to face her, flirt mode activating before he even manages to join her in the kitchen. I huff out a laugh and turn back to my laptop, not that I was doing much on it besides tapping the keyboard to keep the screen awake.
When fingers brush against the exposed skin of my shoulder, I stifle the urge to look at Will’s hand. He draped it over the back of the couch a while ago, when we started working on some equations together, and I didn’t protest. And, apparently, now that we are alone on the couch, we have progressed into allowed-to-touch territory.
Swallowing, I try to concentrate on the notes between us and chant my new mantra to myself.
This is fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine.
Pretty sure that’s from a meme or something, but whatever. It’s working for me. Kind of.
“Did you need to go over anything else from this week?” Will asks, voice pitched low enough that it’s only for me and him.
