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“Hey.”

Nolan wore last night’s clothes—because of course he did. What else was he going to wear? Eli removed his shoes and outerwear, and on his way to the kitchen, he noticed his comforter was gone from the couch—back upstairs where it belonged, no doubt—and the throw had been folded on the back of the couch.

The tidiness was such a Nolan move that he grinned.

“You went for a run?”

“Yeah.” Eli winced. “I should’ve left you a note.”

“It’s okay. I figured you wouldn’t be long.” Nolan’s gaze ran up Eli’s legs to his torso, then back down again.

“So,” Eli said casually, enjoying how Nolan’s eyes heated.

“So,” Nolan rebutted as Eli leaned against the counter across from him. “No practice today.”

“We had practice after Hughes Thanksgiving last year and it was . . .”

Nolan’s lips quirked. “A shitshow?”

“CC threw up halfway through. I think the coaches took pity on us this year.”

“And no game tonight either.” Nolan set his mug aside and stalked toward him.

“Nope.” Eli’s breathing stuttered. “No game either. It’s a rare Friday off.”

“So aside from working on your sociology project.” Nolan slowly unzipped Eli’s hoodie. “You have nothing to do.”

Swallowing thickly, Eli nodded.

“What a coincidence.” Palming the backs of Eli’s thighs, Nolan hoisted him up onto the island. “I don’t have anything to do either. Except you.”

“Lucky me,” Eli muttered a second before Nolan’s lips landed on his.

Nolan tasted like coffee and he kind of smelled like stale sweat and booze from last night, but Eli probably wasn’t much better—minus the coffee thing—so he held on as Nolan devoured his mouth, his hands finding the skin of Nolan’s bare back beneath his T-shirt, and forgot all about exclusivity talks and relationship talks.

Until Nolan said. “And by the way,” into Eli’s neck.

“Hm?”

Nolan nipped his shoulder, then pulled back and looked him in the eye. “We are exclusive.”

Instead of loosing the victory cry that crawled up the back of his throat, Eli brushed his nails off on his shoulder. “Of course we are. Have you met me? You can’t help but be obsessed, right?”

Groaning a laugh, Nolan stepped back. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I’m funny.” Eli hopped off the counter. “Know what else I know? That you’re going to follow me upstairs—” He walked toward the stairs. “—because you want some of this.” And pointed over his shoulder at his own ass.

Nolan laughed and called him a know-it-all.

And chased him upstairs.

They spent the morning in bed, talking and napping and fucking. They spent the afternoon working from opposite ends of the couch, Eli encased in a pillow cocoon, laptop on his thighs, library research books spread out messily around him, and Nolan with the tablet he’d driven home to pick up and his notebook at his elbow. They made lunch together and shared an afternoon snack. Nolan had returned wearing an outfit of joggers, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, and with Eli matching him in attire, it felt very lazy-afternoon-at-home.

It was all so wonderfully domestic that Eli was tempted more than once to bring up the relationship talk. But he also didn’t want to disturb this perfect peace.

It got disturbed anyway when his phone rang as they were trying to decide on dinner. Eli handed Nolan the menu for American Flatbread that had appeared in his mailbox last week and scrambled out of his pillow cocoon to check the caller ID.

Jen.