had.
Marsh somehow managed to resist the urge to kick Yulia or to reach out toward Greg, to touch the bone of his wrist and stroke the tender spot between forefinger and thumb. To knead a little of that tension out so maybe the lines around Greg’s eyes would ease.
Greg’s gaze was really on Yulia, but he angled himself toward Marsh. “Well. I’m heading back.” His eyes shifted to the side, and he met Marsh’s gaze. “Will you be at the house tonight? Or do you have…other plans?”
“I’ll—” Marsh faltered for a second. Of course he’d be going home. He wanted to go home right now, but he had classes he had to get through. And apparently when he did get home, he was going to have a whole different kind of headache to deal with, versus the one he’d nursed Greg through the previous night. Just the thought of that made his fingers twitch and his heart clench. “Yeah. I’ll be home.”
“I’ll see you then, I suppose.”
“I suppose so.” And it hardly mattered that Greg looked like he wanted to crush the cup in his hand or that Marsh was as turned around as he could remember being, because beneath the annoyance, there was heat in Greg’s gaze.
Marsh sat up straighter as his body registered the promise behind the threat. If the way Greg’s eyes darted down, toward Marsh’s mouth, was any sign, he heard the promise just as clearly.
Greg’s hand lifted just an inch, but then he was curling it up and dropping it back to his side. He shook his head, then turned to Yulia. “Yulia,” Greg said, nodding toward her.
“Greg.”
One more nod at Marsh and a look that lingered, practically crackling with heat, and then Greg was pivoting neatly and walking away. All the air left Marsh’s chest in a rush. As soon as Greg passed through the doors, Marsh gave in to the impulse and let his head fall forward until his brow made a satisfying thunk against the tabletop.
Yulia patted his arm gently, and he groaned. “So that’s the guy who’s ruthlessly fucking you and uninterested in more?”
“The one and only.”
“You have got to be shitting me,” she said under her breath, clucking her tongue.
And he knew there was more to what she was saying, but he didn’t want to hear it right now. He couldn’t , not without snapping at her or breaking something, or…or…he didn’t even know, but it would be bad.
“Don’t,” he said, voice brooking no argument. “Just don’t.”
She gave a muffled little huff, but she held her peace, shifting to rest her hand over the back of his neck and rubbing gently with her thumb.
He arched into her touch as he fumbled out with a hand to grip her knee. He’d be so lost without her.
And thanks to her, he was even more fucked than he had been before.
Chapter Seven
“Three days! Three days, I’m trying to figure this out, and it turns out the issue wasn’t even with my machine. It was Jason’s goddamn vacuum pump.” Ronnie twisted as he climbed the stairs of the porch, looking at Greg over his shoulder. “Can you believe it?”
“Always the vacuum pumps,” Greg empathized, but he wasn’t really paying attention. Ahead of them, the door to the house loomed.
Not for the first time, Greg wished he hadn’t agreed to carpool in to school today. The whole ride home, Ronnie had been going on and on and about the problem he’d been having with his lab equipment. Normally, Greg would have been interested, would have been doing way more than the perfunctory nodding and humming he’d managed this afternoon. He flicked his gaze up at the door again as Ronnie kept on rambling.
The day after a bad migraine, Greg was never at his best, but he wasn’t usually this distracted. He didn’t usually feel like his skin was too tight or like he wanted to punch something. He didn’t simultaneously want to throw a certain sandy-haired shortstop against a wall and either throttle him or… fuck him.
He’d known he and Marsh weren’t serious or exclusive or
Marsh somehow managed to resist the urge to kick Yulia or to reach out toward Greg, to touch the bone of his wrist and stroke the tender spot between forefinger and thumb. To knead a little of that tension out so maybe the lines around Greg’s eyes would ease.
Greg’s gaze was really on Yulia, but he angled himself toward Marsh. “Well. I’m heading back.” His eyes shifted to the side, and he met Marsh’s gaze. “Will you be at the house tonight? Or do you have…other plans?”
“I’ll—” Marsh faltered for a second. Of course he’d be going home. He wanted to go home right now, but he had classes he had to get through. And apparently when he did get home, he was going to have a whole different kind of headache to deal with, versus the one he’d nursed Greg through the previous night. Just the thought of that made his fingers twitch and his heart clench. “Yeah. I’ll be home.”
“I’ll see you then, I suppose.”
“I suppose so.” And it hardly mattered that Greg looked like he wanted to crush the cup in his hand or that Marsh was as turned around as he could remember being, because beneath the annoyance, there was heat in Greg’s gaze.
Marsh sat up straighter as his body registered the promise behind the threat. If the way Greg’s eyes darted down, toward Marsh’s mouth, was any sign, he heard the promise just as clearly.
Greg’s hand lifted just an inch, but then he was curling it up and dropping it back to his side. He shook his head, then turned to Yulia. “Yulia,” Greg said, nodding toward her.
“Greg.”
One more nod at Marsh and a look that lingered, practically crackling with heat, and then Greg was pivoting neatly and walking away. All the air left Marsh’s chest in a rush. As soon as Greg passed through the doors, Marsh gave in to the impulse and let his head fall forward until his brow made a satisfying thunk against the tabletop.
Yulia patted his arm gently, and he groaned. “So that’s the guy who’s ruthlessly fucking you and uninterested in more?”
“The one and only.”
“You have got to be shitting me,” she said under her breath, clucking her tongue.
And he knew there was more to what she was saying, but he didn’t want to hear it right now. He couldn’t , not without snapping at her or breaking something, or…or…he didn’t even know, but it would be bad.
“Don’t,” he said, voice brooking no argument. “Just don’t.”
She gave a muffled little huff, but she held her peace, shifting to rest her hand over the back of his neck and rubbing gently with her thumb.
He arched into her touch as he fumbled out with a hand to grip her knee. He’d be so lost without her.
And thanks to her, he was even more fucked than he had been before.
Chapter Seven
“Three days! Three days, I’m trying to figure this out, and it turns out the issue wasn’t even with my machine. It was Jason’s goddamn vacuum pump.” Ronnie twisted as he climbed the stairs of the porch, looking at Greg over his shoulder. “Can you believe it?”
“Always the vacuum pumps,” Greg empathized, but he wasn’t really paying attention. Ahead of them, the door to the house loomed.
Not for the first time, Greg wished he hadn’t agreed to carpool in to school today. The whole ride home, Ronnie had been going on and on and about the problem he’d been having with his lab equipment. Normally, Greg would have been interested, would have been doing way more than the perfunctory nodding and humming he’d managed this afternoon. He flicked his gaze up at the door again as Ronnie kept on rambling.
The day after a bad migraine, Greg was never at his best, but he wasn’t usually this distracted. He didn’t usually feel like his skin was too tight or like he wanted to punch something. He didn’t simultaneously want to throw a certain sandy-haired shortstop against a wall and either throttle him or… fuck him.
He’d known he and Marsh weren’t serious or exclusive or
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