14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

It was drizzling and cold, a typical November day in Portland, which was why it was bizarre that Brody was sweating, practically right through his T-shirt. He’d already shed his sweatshirt, and when he had, Ramsey had shot him a weird look.

“What is your deal?” Ramsey asked when they took their seats.

Brody told himself, firmly, to stop squirming. He shoved his fists into the balled-up sweatshirt on his lap.

“Good seats, huh?” Brody said. He gazed out onto Harrington Field. It was his third year here, yet he’d never gone to a football game. But then he’d never had a reason to, before.

Ramsey still looked concerned. “Yeah, though I don’t know why we couldn’t have just sat in the student section.”

“You know how hard those tickets are to come by? Besides, this way we didn’t have to fight for a spot, or deal with all that rowdy shit,” Brody said.

Ramsey’s dubiousness deepened. “Yeah, ’cause it’s not gonna get rowdy around here.” He glanced around them. And yep, the whole section was full of bros and their wives in their mid-twenties to early thirties, most of them flushed like they’d spent the last four hours “tailgating.” Brody had learned that was mostly a polite euphemism for drinking a lot, because you couldn’t buy booze at the stadium itself.

“It’s okay to be enthusiastic about your alma mater,” Brody said, not even sure why he was defending these guys who were clearly only here to try to recapture even an afternoon of what their youth had felt like.

“You’re gonna end up like one of these guys,” Ramsey said.

It was harsh. But then Ramsey rarely varnished his truths.

Brody rolled his eyes. “You think I’m gonna regret not playing if I decide not to.”

“Look at these guys. They’re all trying to remember what it feels like, even for a minute. It’s pathetic.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it or anything,” Brody tried joking. But he was afraid of that. Would he wake up at twenty-seven or thirty-one and wish he’d made different choices?

“Okay, this isn’t me sugarcoating it,” Ramsey said. “You spent God knows how much money on these fucking seats so you can get a better view of your boyfriend’s ass in those tight white pants, so enjoy it.”

“He’s not my boyfriend—”

Ramsey raised an eyebrow and Brody stopped.

“He’s not,” Brody restarted. He didn’t know if he wanted a boyfriend. Of course, if he did, then there was only one person he’d be interested in occupying that position, and he was on the field below them, wearing those aforementioned tight white pants.

Brody had seen him totally naked, not a stitch of clothing in sight, and yet those white pants still made his heart beat a little faster.

“If he’s not your boyfriend, then you’re stupider than I thought you were.”

“What if we just want to hook up? Don’t you do that?” Brody retorted. “Why can’t I want that?”

Ramsey shot him another one of those looks that said, explicitly, you’re a fucking moron. “Because you’re Brody Faulkner,” he said with exaggerated patience. “You want the picket fence and the white house and the two-point-five children.”

“I never said I wanted any of those things. Picket fences are stupid—pointless, really. They can’t even keep a dog in. And two-point-five children are gonna be harder for me, if . . .” Brody trailed off. He wasn’t thinking that way, he wasn’t . And yet he’d still almost thought, if Dean and I could go the distance.

They couldn’t fucking go the distance. Their paths might be aligned right now, but in a year or two, they’d diverge radically.

They both knew that, which was one—but not the only— reason they were keeping this thing between them casual.

“If what?” Ramsey demanded.

Brody glared at him.

“If you and Dean end up together? Wildly in love? If you follow him to whatever city he’s drafted to? Is that what you’re gonna do, Brody? Follow him like a good little WAG? Do exactly what Marcus is gonna do with Wes?”

“WAG’s an offensive term,” Brody said stiffly.

“And so is puck bunny, and lots of idiots still use it.” Ramsey took a deep breath. “I don’t want to fight with you again, but here’s the thing, you idiot, the longer you pretend this isn’t serious, that you don’t have big fat feelings for each other, the tougher it’s gonna be to figure out what to do about it.”

“Trust me,” Brody muttered, “we’re doing plenty about it.”

“And believe me , I’m fucking thrilled you’ve finally discovered sex. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, look, the game’s starting,” Brody said, attempting to change the subject.

Ramsey elbowed him. “You know what I just said about regret? About you waking up in ten years and wondering what you did with your fucking life, when you could’ve been playing in the NHL? Well, same thing with Dean. You wanna wake up in a year or two or five and wonder what happened to him? Wonder why you never felt this way again?”

Brody opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again.

He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s complicated,” was what he finally settled for.

But Ramsey only rolled his eyes. “It’s always complicated.”

“If I knew you were gonna ride my ass the whole game, I’d have invited someone else.” Brody sniffed.

“No, you invited me, ’cause you wanted to prove something. Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Ramsey teased.

“I was actually surprised you agreed,” Brody said. It had been a little bit of a test, asking Ramsey to come with him to the football game. Ramsey was notorious for disliking football. And yet he’d agreed, and he was here.

“Me too,” Ramsey said. “Maybe I wanted a front row seat to you mooning over your boyfriend.”

“He’s not—”

Ramsey held up a hand. “Don’t even argue. We both know you want him to be. And if you’d just find some balls and talk to him , I’d bet you’d discover he’d be very fucking good with that idea. Your mom told me you two were very coupley at dinner.”

“Ugh, you talked to my mom about Dean?”

“ She brought him up. Wanted to know what was going on with you two. Said you kept playing footsy under the table during dinner.”

“We were not!” Brody exclaimed. He couldn’t believe his mom would ask Ramsey about Dean and not him. He said so, emphatically, and Ramsey patted him on the shoulder reassuringly.

“If you want my honest opinion, she’s going to. But she was doing some advanced reconnaissance first.”

“I guess it would come as kind of a surprise to them, me with a guy.” Brody could admit that, at least. Maybe he’d have told her—told both his parents, actually—if things with Dean were more serious.

“You with anyone , and to be honest, not really, actually.”

“Oh.”

Ramsey patted him on the knee again. “Exactly. Tell her. But before you do that, talk to Dean, okay?”

“We do talk,” Brody grumbled.

“Listen, if I had that in my bed, I wouldn’t be doing much talking either, so I get it,” Ramsey said, gesturing to where Dean stood on the sidelines, separate from everyone.

“We do talk,” Brody said. He didn’t add that sometimes it was in bed. After they’d worn each other out, and it felt like they were more honest with each other in those moments than they’d ever been with anyone else.

“You tell him you were coming to the game?”

“Actually, no. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Ramsey groaned. “Oh God. You are such a boyfriend, Faulkner.”

Brody wanted to deny it again, but it was becoming hard to. “Watch the game, Ramsey. Do you need me to explain the rules to you?”

Ramsey cocked his head. “I think I’ll be able to figure it out.”

“Alright.” Brody focused back on Dean, who was about to jog onto the field. During one of those late nights, Brody’s head on Dean’s chest, he’d confided his nerves about this game.

They’ve got a good line. And they’ll double team me. Maybe triple team me. If I can’t prove I can still stop the play then . . . He’d hesitated, then. Brody had heard the unmistakable worry in his voice and what he hadn’t said. I might not make it after all , was his unspoken fear.

He’d almost said, then maybe we can be together. Like for real.

But as much as Brody was afraid he wanted that, he didn’t want it at the cost of Dean’s dreams.

If he didn’t end up in the NHL, then it was because he’d found something else he wanted more. But Dean didn’t have a backup plan. Dean’s plan was to make it, and he’d devoted himself with an intense single-minded focus to that one goal.

But Dean shouldn’t have worried, Brody realized, as the first play unfolded on the field.

Dean gained the edge with a neat little side-step, then stiff-armed the second lineman, and was around behind the quarterback, not even letting him get rid of the ball before he tackled him to the ground.

The stadium erupted as Dean popped back up, kicking his leg out, his muscular arms straining as he yelled in triumph.

“Shit, I can totally see the attraction,” Ramsey said, nudging Brody, who could barely tear his gaze off the guy on the field.

The only guy on the field who mattered.

“Are you checking out my boyfriend?” Brody teased.

“Fucking finally,” Ramsey teased right back, grinning.

“He’s not yet, we still need to talk, but . . .” Brody gazed down at him. “Yeah, I’d like that, I think. If we could figure out how to make it work.”

“You’re fucking brilliant and he’s no slouch himself, despite his major. You’ll get there.”

“Did you just say something supportive?”

“I say plenty of supportive shit,” Ramsey retorted, but he was still smiling.

“Next, you’re gonna be taking credit for all this,” Brody said.

Ramsey raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” Brody said, smacking him in the chest.

“I don’t know. I kinda think I’m sort of responsible for you two. If I hadn’t bowed out, you’d be miserable, going through this bullshit alone.”

“I wouldn’t have been alone,” Brody argued, but he knew what Ramsey was saying. Dean did make him feel less alone. He didn’t want to go through this crisis at all, but the only thing that made it even remotely bearable was Dean.

Dean’s support.

Dean’s smile, gentle and bright.

Dean’s touch, his expression full of awe.

Dean when he called him pretty boy. He wasn’t just saying he was pretty, he was saying a million other things, too, and Brody could feel each and every one.

“Yeah, you’re so fucking gone,” Ramsey retorted fondly.

“Shut up and watch the football game,” Brody said.

“You mean, shut up and watch your boyfriend play some fucking killer football.”

Brody wanted to tell him he was full of shit, but well , that was the truth, wasn’t it?

“Great game,” Wes said, clapping Dean on the back. “I’d say you killed it, but you kinda do that every week.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “You too.”

“Eh, I barely need to go out there and throw the ball around when the defense is playing like it is.”

“We can’t win if you don’t score,” Dean argued.

“Yeah, but you make it a hell of a lot easier.” Wes paused. “Take some fucking credit, you’ve earned it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said noncommittally. He’d been worried about this game. He hadn’t told Wes, though maybe in an alternate universe he might’ve. Instead, he’d told Brody. And now, with the game over, he just wanted to get back to the apartment and tell him all about it.

How he’d faced down those double and triple teams and still owned their asses.

How he’d beaten the senior offensive tackle who was poised to be drafted in the first round, who was considered one of the best tackles in the whole country.

He’d done it, and the whole time, in the back of his mind, had been Brody.

Brody smiling. Brody laughing. Brody gasping as Dean wrung every last ounce of pleasure from his gorgeous body.

Dean grabbed his phone from his locker and scrolled through the messages of congratulations. Most of them were from people he didn’t really know. Admirers. Agents who weren’t Ian who wanted a chance at signing him as a client when he finally declared for the draft.

But there was a message from Ian. Killer game, he’d written, if you want to grab something to eat, let’s do that. Also I found a friend of yours, he’s gonna come with us.

Dean didn’t know who the friend could possibly be, or how Ian would’ve known about him or her.

He was dreading it, as he walked out of the locker room, but to his shock, there was Ian, his auburn hair bright in the dark corridor, and standing next to him was Brody, his smile possibly eclipsing Ian’s hair.

“There’s the MVP,” Ian said, teasing him and patting him on the back as he turned to Brody.

“You came to a game?” he asked stupidly.

He’d come. Dean had assumed Brody’s presence had been in his own head, but he’d actually been there, in the stands, wasting one of his rare Saturday afternoons off, to go to a game for a sport he didn’t even particularly care about.

“It was so great. You were so great,” Brody said and tugged him into a hug.

It was mostly platonic.

But the way Dean didn’t want to let go of him, wanting to hold him close forever, definitely edged it nearer to non-platonic territory. Unfortunately kissing Brody was way off-limits, but Dean wanted it anyway. Wanted to press his lips to Brody’s and prove once and for all who he was, and that this wasn’t a casual thing. Not anymore. Not at all.

Ian must’ve known too, because he was smirking when they finally broke apart.

“I ran into Brody waiting for you, too,” Ian explained. “And I recognized him.”

“You looked him up,” Dean said.

Brody was smirking, now, too. God, he was going to get a big head, from everything he was probably imagining that Dean had said about him to his prospective agent—and his friend.

Well, Dean was ready and willing to take him down a peg. Or two. Or ten.

In fact, he was looking forward to it. Had been, from the last orgasm they’d shared.

“Yeah,” Ian admitted. “I did. There aren’t many Brodys on the hockey team who also have a bio major.”

“Guilty as charged,” Brody said, not sounding upset at all that Dean had been telling Ian about him. “Come on, let’s get some food and talk about how fucking awesome you were today.”

“I’m still stuck on the fact that you came ,” Dean murmured as they headed out of the athletic complex.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Brody said, smugly.

And well, it wasn’t unearned because he sure was fucking surprised.

“Yeah, it was a good one,” Dean said. Wanted to say more, but they were still surrounded by fans and players, streaming out of the area around the football stadium, and then there was Ian.

He had a feeling Ian already suspected what was going on, but he wasn’t going to say a word about it unless one of them did first.

Brody suggested Jimmy’s, and they all nodded, switching directions.

“I’ll tell you this,” Ian said, glancing between them as they walked over to the diner, “you keep playing like this and I’m gonna get a fucking unreal number of calls wondering if you’re gonna declare for the draft this year.”

“He can do that?” Brody asked, and Dean could tell he was trying to ask casually, but he knew Brody, and the way his gaze sharpened wasn’t casual at all.

“Oh, he can, if he wanted to,” Ian said.

“But I don’t want to. I want to get my degree.”

“He wants it all ,” Ian said, smacking Dean fondly on the back. “I admire that about him.”

“I do too,” Brody said, with an approving nod.

Dean felt himself flushing, warm blood rushing to his cheeks. “I just . . .it feels wrong to come to college, the first one in my family to make it here, and not graduate.”

“Well, the good news is if you continue to play like a demon, it won’t matter if you declare for the draft this year or next year,” Ian said.

“Guess I’ve been smiling on the sideline enough,” Dean said wryly.

“What?” Brody sounded confused.

Ian shrugged, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “It was kind of stupid advice, but what other kind of advice do you give a guy that’s got the whole package? There was a concern Dean was too focused, his whole self tied up in football, with nothing else to support him if anything went wrong. A first-round pick is a lot to spend on a guy.” Ian hesitated. “But I can see he’s doing better. Maybe your doing?”

Brody beamed. “Totally my doing.” He glanced over at Dean, like he wasn’t sure how much he was supposed to say. “We’ve been sorta helpin’ each other out.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Dean teased.

Brody’s smile widening even further proved that his hunch had been correct. Brody felt okay revealing to Ian what was going on.

Of course, that would mean Dean would have to know what was going on. Lately, the last week or so, it felt like this thing going on between them had shifted, and Dean didn’t understand what new ground they’d landed on.

He only knew he was fucking thrilled—and a little terrified—about it.

They walked into Jimmy’s, grabbed the last booth in the back, and ordered.

“So, Brody, you play hockey.”

Brody nodded, taking a sip of his Coke. “This is still on the DL, but not sure for how much longer. I’d like to finish out my college career, but I’m considering going to med school instead of trying to make it in the NHL.”

“Smart, too.” Ian shot Dean an approving glance.

It didn’t matter if his future agent—and friend—approved of Brody. It wouldn’t change a fucking thing when it came to how Dean felt. But it felt good, anyway.

“He’s brilliant,” Dean said gruffly. “Got a lot of options.”

Brody smiled and glanced over at Dean, sitting next to him, his gaze as intimate as a touch. “I’m a lucky man.”

Well. There was no way they were keeping this under wraps, now. At least in front of Ian.

Dean cleared his throat—because suddenly it was clogged with emotion.

Nobody had ever really been proud of him like this before. They’d thought he was amazing on the football field, of course. They wanted him for what he could do. But they’d never just wanted him for him .

But there was no question in Dean’s mind that Brody did.

The only question he still had was if Brody’s feelings had blossomed from friendship and sex to something else, the way Dean’s had.

Let’s fucking face it. You’re head over heels, crazy ass in love with this guy.

Dean choked on his Dr. Pepper. He wanted to tell that insane squirrel part of his brain that had just had the nerve to suggest it that it was wrong.

But he didn’t think it was.

After all, he’d never felt like this before. And he’d never been in love before.

So . . .logically . . .

“Are you okay?” Brody was briskly whacking him on his back. “You just went white and then red. Ian here thought he was going to have to break out his high school CPR skills.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Mostly. My whole world just shifted.

He didn’t know if Brody felt the same. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t .

And that didn’t even touch on what the fuck they were going to do about it besides enjoying the year and a half they both had before they inevitably went their separate ways. Brody to whatever amazing thing he decided to tackle next, and Dean to the NFL.

“Okay good.” The concern melted off Brody’s face and it softened. Dean felt his fingers brush against his knee, then move away, like he needed to reassure both of them that he was actually fine.

“Seriously, though, I’ve been getting a lot of interest,” Ian said. He paused, grinning. “So you can’t inhale Dr. Pepper and die now.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Good interest?”

“I’d say just about every team,” Ian said.

“That’s fantastic, Dean,” Brody said enthusiastically, like he didn’t mind at all if Dean took off and chased his NFL dreams.

It didn’t necessarily mean that, but that enthusiasm dimmed his own perspective, and a little bit of the hope he’d been holding on to.

“Yeah, it’s great news,” he said slowly. He wanted to hang on to the way it had felt when he’d realized Brody had come to his game.

Then do it , that stupid squirrel voice insisted. Nothing has to change, even though you’ve caught feelings. It’s been good between you. Keep it good.

Even though it was the stupid squirrel part of his brain and Dean would’ve assumed totally clueless, that was actually pretty decent advice. He could do that.

Truthfully, it was way fucking easy to keep it good with Brody. Because it was so goddamn good.

“I think the only thing I’ve got to say is keep annihilating those offenses, and keep doing whatever else you’re doing,” Ian said, the sly glance he gave Brody giving away exactly what he meant.

“I can do that,” Dean said.

The waitress came with their orders and they shifted into small talk as they ate, Ian telling a story about some of his boyfriend Carter’s shenanigans at their local bar.

“Wait,” Brody said, chewing some of his Reuben and swallowing, “the bar you go to is called the Pirate’s Booty ?”

Ian grinned. “Yep. Funny isn’t it?”

“It’s hilarious. What team does Carter play for again? I can’t remember. It’s the Piranhas, right?”

Ian chuckled and Dean didn’t hold back his eye roll. “It’s the Condors, and you’d better not say that around them. They take that kind of stuff personally.”

“The Condors and the Piranhas are division rivals,” Dean explained and Brody’s eyes lit up.

“Oh! Like the Rangers and the Canes?”

“You hockey guys are so weird,” Dean teased.

“Oh yeah, like we’re any weirder than you football guys,” Brody dished right back, grinning at him.

For a second, it felt like the whole world fell away. There was just that bright smile on Brody’s face and the affection in his honey brown eyes, and more , Dean hoped. He was going to enjoy what he could, while he could, but there was no way not to hope that maybe someday, Brody might feel the same.

Ian cleared his throat and the moment broke. Brody looked away, back down to his sandwich, and Dean fished around on his plate for a few leftover fries.

“Well, I think as a third-party arbiter, I’m gonna say you’re both weird, but I’m gonna give the edge to football,” Ian said.

“That’s only ’cause you’re dating a football player,” Dean objected.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Yep, I get a front row seat to all that weirdness. And then Carter’s got his own idiosyncrasies.”

“Making him one of the best receivers in the NFL,” Dean pointed out wryly.

“But probably not any easier to live with,” Brody said.

Ian nodded, but this sweet, gooey look crossed over his face. Love, that was what it was, Dean realized. Ian was wildly in love with Carter, the same way he—

No . He wouldn’t let himself finish that thought.

He wasn’t going to let himself get too carried away.

“Not easy, but worth every minute,” Ian said. He looked over at Dean. “Carter’s actually looking forward to meeting up, on the field.”

“I wouldn’t be playing against him.” That would be the corner’s job, for whatever team he ended up on. A thankless job, because Carter was damn good.

“Oh, he knows. But that’s the thing about Carter. He always wants to be the best, and that means going up against the best.”

“Well tell him to give Flynn two years and I’ll be tackling his ass to the ground.” Dean referred to the Condors’ quarterback, Riley Flynn.

“Oh, he knows,” Ian said with amusement. “I think the whole NFL’s holding their breath, waiting for you to come in and be the wrecking ball we all know you can be.”

“Damn straight,” Dean said, nodding. He glanced over at Brody, and the pride shining in his eyes there meant the world—but it also meant that Brody was perfectly okay with sending him off to wherever.

Damn it.

They finished up their meal, Brody shooting Dean a quick glance before he paid the check for the whole table. “I know,” he mentioned under his breath to Dean after they’d said their goodbyes to Ian, “that you’ve got to be super careful about money and him.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “Can’t even take a bottle of water from the guy.”

“It’s stupid,” Brody said.

“Yeah, a little.” They lingered outside Jimmy’s. Dean wanted to suggest going back to the apartment, but he didn’t want to be the first one to suggest it, either. Still, he had homework to do. Even on a Saturday night. Even on a Saturday night after winning a football game.

But first, Dean wanted to tell Brody—even if it was only in words—how much it had meant to him that he’d showed up today.

“I’m real glad you came,” Dean confessed. “Didn’t even know I wanted you in the stands until there you were, waiting for me to get out of the locker room.”

Brody smiled. “I hoped you’d feel that way. I even got Ramsey to go with me.”

“You brought Ramsey?”

“Yeah, he ducked out right after, to go to some party, but he’s real proud of you too,” Brody said.

“Even if I play football?”

“I think it’s actually growing on him a bit, but I didn’t tell you that,” Brody said with a low chuckle that lit up all of Dean’s nerves. God, he wanted to feel that sound against his bare skin. He was so gone for this man. And it wasn’t even surprising that it was a man; it was only surprising that he’d fallen for anyone .

“’Course not,” Dean said.

“Actually, I’ve got to go to the library. Meet Gina, my lab partner, and work on one of our reports.” Brody shoved his hands into his jean pockets and Dean had an inkling that maybe this was as awkward for Brody as it was for him. The difference was that Brody made everything look so coolly effortless because he looked like that .

Brody hadn’t invited him, but he said anyway, “You mind if I join you? I’ll just stick my headphones in. I’ve got a lot of reading to do, and a paper to write.”

Dean had half-expected Brody to say no, but to his surprise he nodded, looking unexpectedly pleased that he’d invited himself. “Oh yeah, sure. I’m sure . . .uh . . .Gina would love to finally meet you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You told your lab partner about me?”

Now, Brody looked really flustered. “Well, you told your prospective agent about me.”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted.

“Just, you’ve been stealing me away for homework time. Usually that’s what Gina does. I had to tell her who it was.”

“Right.” Dean bumped Brody’s shoulder. “That’s all it was.”

“It was,” Brody retorted, but the pleased look in his eyes told the real story.

They detoured to the apartment, grabbing their bags and then heading out into the darkening drizzle towards Hazel Hall, the library.

They’d both pulled their hoodies up, sheltering them from the rain.

For a split second, Dean had wondered if Brody would suggest a quickie when they returned to the apartment, but he just picked up his backpack and said he was ready to go.

You could always suggest it , Dean reminded himself as they approached the library. Nothing saying you can’t proposition him.

They neared the stairs leading up to the main doorway, but before Dean could take the first step, Brody’s hand closed around his arm, and he tugged him away, leading him around the corner, between Hazel and Clark Hall, one of the dorms. Just after dinner on a Saturday night with the rain coming down, nobody was around, and Brody tucked him under a little awning, pressed Dean’s body to the wall, and kissed him.

Dean fell into it immediately, cupping Brody’s cold cheek, rough with stubble, against his palm, and said everything he hadn’t been able to earlier. Thank you for coming. Thank you for being proud of me. Thank you for being a friend. And more. But mostly, thank you for being you.

There wasn’t a way for a kiss between the two of them to not be passionate, and it was, but it was sweet, too, Brody ducking his head as he pulled back.

“I just had to do that, before we went inside.”

“You could’ve done it when we were at the apartment,” Dean pointed out wryly.

“Yeah, and then it wouldn’t have stopped at a kiss,” Brody retorted.

Dean had to give him that. “True.”

He knew friends who were enjoying benefits didn’t want to kiss each other like this. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Brody if that had changed, if his feelings had changed, like Dean’s had, but what stopped him was the worry that Brody would just shake his head and smile lightly, like that was still all he wanted.

Like it didn’t really matter that Dean craved Brody’s whole self with his whole body.

And he’d had enough experience with rejection in his life that he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it. Not now. Not from this person. Dean could take a lot and had taken a lot. But he wasn’t sure he could take that.

So he didn’t ask.

“Maybe keep that in your back pocket as a promise for later.” As he said it, Brody tucked a hand into Dean’s back pocket, his hand warm against the chilled fabric of his jeans. Cupping him and squeezing. “I know I’ll be thinking about that.”

“You keep that up,” Dean said roughly, “and that’s all I’ll be thinking about.”

Brody grinned. “Good.”

Then he turned and walked off.

Dean chased after him, following him up the stairs, willing his erection to die as they approached the big open room with its rows of study tables.

There was a girl with dark brown hair, a bright pinkish-purple streak weaving from the crown of her head, sitting at a table near the back, and that was the direction Brody took them in.

She glanced up. “There you are!” she said. She tilted her head, glancing around Brody and looking straight at him. “And you must be Dean, the roommate. Brody said you were big but I think he—”

“Yep,” Brody interrupted her.

Dean was a little disappointed. He wanted to know what else Brody had told Gina, but Brody’s glare made it clear she wasn’t supposed to say anything else and predictably she clammed up.

“Well, it’s real good to meet you,” she said.

Dean inclined his head.

“Even,” she added, the corner of her mouth lifting into a smirk, “if you’ve been monopolizing Brody’s study time.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know he’d been bailing on you. We could’ve invited you.”

Brody flushed. Like he’d just been caught out.

“Uh, yeah, we should’ve,” Brody said. He nudged Dean under the table, and Dean wasn’t sure he understood.

Didn’t understand until he’d slipped his headphones on and was a few paragraphs into his reading. His phone dinged, and he glanced down at it.

It was a message from Brody, just across the table, supposedly deep into a discussion with Gina about their lab report. But he’d sent him this anyway.

Maybe I didn’t want to share you , Brody had texted him.

Brody glanced up at him, and Dean could still see the remnants of that red flush on his cheeks. They didn’t say anything, but Dean hoped his look spoke volumes.

Me too. I want to hoard you right back.