anything, but to see it in front of his own eyes, and with a woman no less… To be offered no explanations or apologies, to be denied, and right after letting Marsh see him so broken down and vulnerable, after asking him to stay…
Not that he’d expected Marsh to jump up and kiss him in the middle of the student union, but the casual distance had been something else entirely. It’d made him feel cold in a way he hadn’t in a long while. It’d reminded him why he never did this sort of thing.
He tightened his grip on the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder. Ronnie was still talking as he fit his key to the lock and pushed the door open. Greg held his breath as the hallway came into view.
And there, standing right in the middle of it, was Marsh.
Greg drew himself up a little taller even as his insides ran amok, sweat prickling on his skin, and it was too warm. His gaze locked with Marsh’s, and for a second, it was just the static in the air and the rushing of blood in his ears as he stared.
Hell, but he really didn’t want to fuck this up.
“Greg? You listening, man?” Ronnie turned to him expectantly, and the world snapped back into focus.
Greg forced himself to look away from Marsh. Ronnie was standing there, one side of his mouth tipped up, and damn. Greg had never expected to keep this a secret forever, but they’d managed a couple of weeks of sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms without anyone the wiser. Now, twice in one day, they’d been put in front of witnesses, and suddenly, under that scrutiny, what they were doing felt like something too thin and too flimsy, so much plastic left out in the sun.
Ronnie looked between the two of them, eyes darting from one to the other, and then he chuckled. “Guess I’ll talk to you about those sulfur inclusions tomorrow, then.”
Greg shook his head, because he had to think. “No. I’ll…I’ll find you.” He gestured toward Marsh and his throat went even drier. “I just have to talk to Marsh for a minute about…”
“Statistics,” Marsh volunteered, and Greg’s head jerked up. The whole tutoring thing had been Greg’s excuse originally, but the lie came so easily to Marsh’s tongue now. Greg bit down on the inside of his lip.
“Right.”
“Sure.” Ronnie gave Greg a quick clap on the shoulder before heading to the stairs, mumbling as he went, “Probability of one ain’t that hard to calculate.”
Oh, hell. Greg flipped Ronnie off, then looked to Marsh, who was still standing there. He’d changed into a tight T-shirt and track pants, and the lines of his shoulders and his arms made Greg’s head swim. The sound of footsteps on the stairs receded, and then there was the closing of a door. Marsh’s eyes darkened, and after a long moment, he turned on his heels, disappearing around the corner and into his room.
Greg stood there, frozen and wanting and feeling like a cad for all of this. He wasn’t a casual-sex kind of guy, and now his best friend knew what he was doing. Everyone in the house probably knew. This was a distraction from the work he had to do and the lessons he had to plan and the presentation he had to finish. And he didn’t care.
His feet took him the dozen or so steps to Marsh’s room, and then he was sliding inside and closing the door, flipping the lock and turning, letting his bag slide off his arm.
Marsh was only a scant few feet away, and he was beautiful, but there was tension in every line of him. He rubbed the back of his neck, biceps flexing as he did, and did he have no idea what he looked like when he did that? “So you’re, um, feeling better?”
So obsessed with following the lines of those muscles, Greg almost missed the thread. He caught it and burned, remembering. Marsh had seen Greg at his weakest last night. He’d touched him and tended him and kept him from having to lie there, alone and in pain.
He’d gotten Greg to ask him to stay.
And just like that, Greg felt like he was
Not that he’d expected Marsh to jump up and kiss him in the middle of the student union, but the casual distance had been something else entirely. It’d made him feel cold in a way he hadn’t in a long while. It’d reminded him why he never did this sort of thing.
He tightened his grip on the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder. Ronnie was still talking as he fit his key to the lock and pushed the door open. Greg held his breath as the hallway came into view.
And there, standing right in the middle of it, was Marsh.
Greg drew himself up a little taller even as his insides ran amok, sweat prickling on his skin, and it was too warm. His gaze locked with Marsh’s, and for a second, it was just the static in the air and the rushing of blood in his ears as he stared.
Hell, but he really didn’t want to fuck this up.
“Greg? You listening, man?” Ronnie turned to him expectantly, and the world snapped back into focus.
Greg forced himself to look away from Marsh. Ronnie was standing there, one side of his mouth tipped up, and damn. Greg had never expected to keep this a secret forever, but they’d managed a couple of weeks of sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms without anyone the wiser. Now, twice in one day, they’d been put in front of witnesses, and suddenly, under that scrutiny, what they were doing felt like something too thin and too flimsy, so much plastic left out in the sun.
Ronnie looked between the two of them, eyes darting from one to the other, and then he chuckled. “Guess I’ll talk to you about those sulfur inclusions tomorrow, then.”
Greg shook his head, because he had to think. “No. I’ll…I’ll find you.” He gestured toward Marsh and his throat went even drier. “I just have to talk to Marsh for a minute about…”
“Statistics,” Marsh volunteered, and Greg’s head jerked up. The whole tutoring thing had been Greg’s excuse originally, but the lie came so easily to Marsh’s tongue now. Greg bit down on the inside of his lip.
“Right.”
“Sure.” Ronnie gave Greg a quick clap on the shoulder before heading to the stairs, mumbling as he went, “Probability of one ain’t that hard to calculate.”
Oh, hell. Greg flipped Ronnie off, then looked to Marsh, who was still standing there. He’d changed into a tight T-shirt and track pants, and the lines of his shoulders and his arms made Greg’s head swim. The sound of footsteps on the stairs receded, and then there was the closing of a door. Marsh’s eyes darkened, and after a long moment, he turned on his heels, disappearing around the corner and into his room.
Greg stood there, frozen and wanting and feeling like a cad for all of this. He wasn’t a casual-sex kind of guy, and now his best friend knew what he was doing. Everyone in the house probably knew. This was a distraction from the work he had to do and the lessons he had to plan and the presentation he had to finish. And he didn’t care.
His feet took him the dozen or so steps to Marsh’s room, and then he was sliding inside and closing the door, flipping the lock and turning, letting his bag slide off his arm.
Marsh was only a scant few feet away, and he was beautiful, but there was tension in every line of him. He rubbed the back of his neck, biceps flexing as he did, and did he have no idea what he looked like when he did that? “So you’re, um, feeling better?”
So obsessed with following the lines of those muscles, Greg almost missed the thread. He caught it and burned, remembering. Marsh had seen Greg at his weakest last night. He’d touched him and tended him and kept him from having to lie there, alone and in pain.
He’d gotten Greg to ask him to stay.
And just like that, Greg felt like he was
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