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I pointedly don’t look in his direction, keeping my eyes downcast as we stop outside my door. It’s not until I have the key in the lock ready to turn that it clicks just how much of a mistake this is. I’m mentally screechy through a list of pros and cons about just turning tail and running in the other direction, self-respect be damned, when Nash’s large hand covers mine and turns the key, swinging the door wide, ushering me in with his other hand placed on my lower back.
Nash slowly looks over the room, from how I forgot to make my bed this morning, to the folded-up pajamas I’ve laid out for when classes are out for the day. I can see him taking in the information and categorizing the traces left in my space of what makes me, well me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more exposed than I do in this moment having him here.
There’s nothing personal for him to see. No photos or posters. I didn’t bring any knick-knacks with me when I came here, opting to leave most of them in Clarke’s apartment until I can afford to buy one of my own. My laptop lays closed on top of the comforter, and other than the shoes and dance bag near the door, it wouldn’t be clear to see that Blakely has a roommate at all.
“Just, ah, make yourself comfortable or whatever.” I mumble to him before padding over to flick the coffee machine on, and beeline it to the bathroom to change. I don’t hear it until I’m dressed and walking back into lounge area with my hands pushing my hair into a high ponytail, and I’d do almost anything to scrub the sound from my brain.
Low grunts are coming from a guy I haven’t seen around before as he fists the blonde hair bobbing up and down in his lap. You’ve got to be fuckingkiddingme! How often does one walk in on their roommate blowing a dude? It’s only been a month, and I’m ready to just end it all rather than be her roommate. This is mortifying.
“Put your dick away Travers, classes are about to start.” Nash claps Travers on the back before plopping down on the adjacent chair, completely ignoring Blakely as she adjusts her blouse and skirt, striking up a conversation about a carburetor he’s trying to find.
Blakely pouts as I pour out the coffees for myself and Nash, and the thought of how territorial of Leo she has been, skits over my mind. She’s perfectly played the possessive girlfriend and until now, I truly believed they were together. I’ve never heard Leo rebuff the rumors, and I know he’s aware of them. But from Nash’s lack of reaction of his foster sister fooling around with someone who is decidedlynothis best friend, I figure the rumors of their relationship are just that. Rumors.
I put a dash of cream in Nash’s mug, not knowing how he takes his coffee but unwilling into interrupt the heated debate he’s having with Travers about some car thing. I barely put the cup in his hand before turning and rushing off to class.
The lesson started ten minutes ago and I’m sitting in my usual seat at the back of the computer lab when a heavy body falls into the chair beside me. I know its Nash without glancing, what I don’t know is why he’s here. Three times a week we share this class and three times a week he sits beside the red-haired girl and flirts shamelessly, touching her arms and running his fingers through the strands of her hair. It’s sickening, but not as sickening as the fact that I can’t stop my eyes from constantly wandering in their direction.
I side-eye him but don’t turn away from the computer screen. I need to finish the algorithm for this code line and it’s taking longer than expected to get the configurations correct. I should have finished this weeks ago and Clarke’s irritations with the delay are growing daily. Nash isn’t looking at me but is nosing around on the codes I have displayed everywhere. On the screen, on my tablet, scribbles in my notebook. It’s a mess. I’m a mess.
He makes a huff noise, scrunching up his nose and then points to a section on the screen. “That line would never work. The value over property doesn’t make sense.”
I scowl over at him, meeting his eyes filled with mirth before narrowing my own. “You don’t even know what I’m working on. How could you possibly know if that is wrong?”
“Move over.”
“No.”
“Darling, move. I know what I’m doing, I just told you.” He jostles my chair over with his and pulls to the top of the screen, going line by line through my work. I know I should stop him; I know that if he’s in this class he at least has a basic understanding of what I’m creating and he’ll have questions, but I don’t have another option.
“The ability to speak does not make you intelligent” I mumble to him, before slumping down with my arms folded, thankful I’d saved a back-up.
“Did you just… Qui-Gon Jinn me?”
I’m stunned as I look over at him, my mouth opening and closing a few times before words burst free. “How did you get that from one sentence? Nerd. Does the general populace know their golden boy is a Star Wars geek, or is this information I should spread around?”
His laughter rumbles around us, and my stomach squeezes in response. “What can I say? I am one with the force and the force is with me.”
“Alright, you need to stop.” I try to move back in front of the screen as he shifts the sequence and adds information to the argument. The codes are almost unrecognizable to what I had.
“Stop distracting me, I’m almost done.”
I groan but do as I’m told, instead watching in barely vailed irritation while he continues making changes and writing new lines. He doesn’t look over at me, which is probably for the best. I’m bent out of shape today even as I survey his stunning eyelashes. They don’t curl but rather slant upward from the root making them appear longer, and with the lighter color I hadn’t really paid much attention before. But the darker gold brings out the vibrant greens swirling in his irises. I never thought I’d be so envious over a man’s beauty.
I don’t realise he’s finished until he glances over and catches me ogling him, and I tell myself the flush that follows, travelling down my neck is because I’m pissy and not because I’ve been caught drooling like he’s dessert. He gives me a slow smirk, all satisfied, cocky man, as he leans back in his seat and folds his arms over his chest, highlighting the definition of his muscles.
“If you want to get down on your knees from me in thanks, all you have to do is ask, darling.” He drawls. My flush deepens and I struggle to not avert my eyes to the ground, but his self-inflated confidence brings just enough irritation to the surface for me to snap back.
“I think I’d rather deepthroat a cactus than touch your diseased cock.”
His smirk splits into an entirely too-confident flirty grin that I barely contain from swooning over. He leans forward then, dragging his gaze over me slowly, a thumb running across his bottom lip before his eyes meet mine again.
“I’m sure you would. Let me know if you want help practicing before you go hardcore.”
He moves then, going back to his own computer and I move back to mine. The next few minutes are silent as I check through the codes and scribble down notes, ideas and potential bugs that need to be considered before beta testing. I hate to admit it but whatever Nash has done is perfect. The collaboration is in sync, and I get the feeling that if I were to release it today that it would have no problems. Instead, I pull out my USB drive and download a copy.
Nash works beside me, and what started as him occasionally fidgeting has turned into agitated restlessness the longer the silence stretches. He has something to say. I shut down the program and swing my chair until I’m facing him, a friendly smile plastered on my face. He cracks only seconds later.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re creating that kind of program?”
