20
Nick surprised himself by getting ahead in two out of his four classes. It felt like one moment he was sore and hunched over on Izzy’s floor, typing random nonsense just to try to grab hold of any idea, and the next he had finished drafts of two final papers on his laptop in need of revision. He supposed this was where his increasing insomnia came in handy. His brain worked overtime to make up for all the things edging into his consciousness, attempting to distract him with fear and panic.
At least he had something to show for it.
Izzy texted him silly, inconsequential things that made him smile. She was checking in with him post–freak out. He hadn’t particularly wanted to go to their study group, but it would have felt like poor repayment for her kindness to skip it.
And it was probably good to see Dex again. Dex had been north and Nick a compass needle. When Dex had moved or spoken, Nick felt the pull of him. The hardest thing he’d ever had to do was fight the urge to watch him. Nick watched people. He often zoned out on it, not even thinking about whoever he was staring at as a live human but more as a painting to be studied, a book to be read.
But Dex was fully alive to him. Human, real, intricately beautiful. It was the little things, and the way they came together to form the full picture. His large hands, veins prominent under his dark skin as he typed, or pushing his dreads off of his forehead as he read. His lower lip jutting out in concentration. He’d looked like that when he stood over Nick’s stove and filled Nick’s kitchen with the aroma of tomatoes, basil, and parm. Secure and powerful, like a manifestation of steadiness. Dex was everything Nick wasn’t, and everything he longed for.
He thought about telling Izzy, then changed his mind. If there was anybody closer to Dex himself, he couldn’t think of who. But he’d opened up Pandora’s Box, and it took an unbearable effort to seal it shut again.
It was a wonder he had gotten any work done. He’d had a slice of pizza and legged it out of there.
Tomorrow night, he was going right back into that lion’s den. Why had he ever agreed to that? He couldn’t remember the first thing Dex had done in his kitchen, but Nick wanted to do something in return, even if it wound up being a humiliating, tortuous mess.
So he found himself in Sainsbury’s on a late Sunday afternoon. It was a strange realization that he was both familiar with the store’s layout and completely baffled by it. He hadn’t ever really searched for the things the recipe told him to search for, and now he wandered up and down each aisle, dodging little kids and their harried parents, tuning his radar to canned tomatoes and ground beef.
His eyes nearly crossed at the total, but he told himself it was worth it. He just couldn’t believe how much Dex had spent to make him a single dinner. Nick had managed to go through the entire semester on two meals a day, stretching teabags of Earl Grey to three separate cups and having a single spoonful of Nutella for dessert as a form of luxury. The most he ever spent at once was in pubs and on occasional takeouts. As he stared down a total that represented what he would probably pay for a week’s worth of food, he wondered if he was man enough to attempt to get a job that could pay him under the table next semester.
Probably not.
At least he would get more loan money beginning of next term.
With plastic handles digging into his cold fingers and his heart beating hard inside his chest, Nick rang the doorbell and waited.
Dex opened the door wearing a Christmas-themed apron. Nick was so shocked, it took him a minute to get that Dex was beckoning him in.
“Thanks for grabbing the shopping,” Dex said as he took the bags off Nick into the kitchen. Nick followed him. He wondered if anyone else was home, but apart from the soft music streaming from the kitchen it was quiet.
Dex was barefoot, wearing only jeans and a soft-looking gray T-shirt with a stretched-out collar. Nick’s body thrummed with the idea of catching the edge of it and pulling down to reveal more smooth, dark skin. What a crazy fucking thought.
“So! How would you feel about giving it a go straight off? Or do you want me to start?”
Dex was heading toward the counter, where he had clearly already prepped. A cutting board, two different knives, three colorful bowls, and a bottle of Pinot with two glasses sat on top of the white surface. Two pots graced the stovetop.
“Wow,” Nick said. “You’re all prepared.” His palms were sweaty. He was eyeing the bottle of wine.
Dex must have caught him at it, because he laughed and moved to open it.
“Liquid courage?” Dex said as he offered Nick the filled glass. Their eyes met, and Nick felt a molten heat go through him. Thank God he was flying back home next week. He needed the distance so badly. “You’ll be fine,” Dex added.
“Thanks.” He looked over at the prepped counter. “I think I can figure it out.”
Nick unloaded all the ingredients. He felt like he was attempting to pass some sort of test. This was a terrible idea.
He had remembered that Dex mentioned bacon last time, so he slid the knife through the taut plastic of the package and asked, “How should I cut this?”
Dex poured himself wine, his every movement sending an electric awareness down Nick’s side. “Just, like, small chunks. Cut into strips, then crosswise, if that makes sense.”
Nick nodded. The bacon was slippery and kept catching on the knife. He wanted Dex to stop watching him, or at least back up enough that the body heat between them wasn’t as excruciating.
Nick wondered what it would be like to have Dex like him as much as he liked Dex.
What would Nick even do with such information? What could he do? Lena had told him many times that he was pretty, but all he saw when looking in the mirror was his father’s face. Talk about a face only his mother could love. If given free rein, Nick was no longer sure he wouldn’t give in, even with the sensation of his family hovering just over his shoulder, reminding him of everything he couldn’t be.
He kept butchering the bacon until it was in bits, then realized he didn’t have the first clue what to do with it.
Dex was pouring olive oil into a pot. Nick realized they hadn’t said a word to each other.
“Oh, yeah … thanks.”
“No problem, man. Do you remember the next step?”
Nick reached for the onion. “You probably want to back up for this,” he said, joking.
The sting of it was unbearable. Once again, he was wearing contacts, and once again, he thought he would have to rip his eyeballs out, except this time he couldn’t just run clear across the room. He had to stop crying and finish slicing the demon onion through foggy, pricking eyes. He tried to hold his breath, but it did nothing to help the stinging. He could barely see through the tears. Christ, this was going just magnificently. He dropped the knife and covered his eyes with one arm, the moisture seeping into the sleeve of his sweater. He heard himself gasping.
“Fuck.” He tried to breathe without breathing in, which obviously never worked. Half blinded, he groped for the knife again and attempted to slice through the onion without looking. He felt the pain in his finger a moment before he flung the knife away. He hissed.
“Did you just cut yourself?” Dex was on him the next moment, grabbing Nick’s hand. Nick’s breath caught again. “S’not too bad.” He relinquished Nick’s hand. “Wash it under the tap while I grab a plaster.”
Funny, Nick thought as he turned the water on and stuck his stinging finger underneath it. Maybe that’s where the Russian ‘plastyr’ came from.
Instead of giving him the Band-Aid and retreating, Dex took gentle hold of his hand as he studied it. “Just nicked it, but it’s better to cover it all the same. Hygienic and all that.” Nick watched, rendered entirely silent save for the incessant beating of his heart, as Dex wrapped the Band-Aid securely around the cut. “There.”
Nick looked up. They were impossibly close. Dex was still holding his hand. He was looking into Nick’s eyes. He was looking at him. Their hands felt damp together, and something like a distant alarm blared at Nick the next moment, forcing him to extract his hand from Dex’s. He managed to smile, hoping it was a smile that communicated friendship instead of the crazy, overwhelming need swamping his whole being.
“Thanks!” He sounded like an idiot. “Guess I’m not ready for the advanced onion-cutting lessons.” His voice sounded like he couldn’t get enough of a breath in.
He thought he heard Dex breathe out, but he looked normal. He didn’t look the way Nick felt. “Onions are a massive pain in the arse to chop, so you’re just earning your stripes,” he told Nick.
“How many stripes to finish it off?”
He turned back to the onion with a new determination to conquer it. He put knife to onion again and almost sliced through its pearlescent surface when Dex stepped up to him and laid a hand over his, stilling it.
The only sound he could hear over his heartbeat was the tinny music coming from Dex’s phone. It was a familiar song, but Nick couldn’t place it.
When he could no longer bear it, he looked up at Dex in his personal space.
“Nick,” Dex said. Nick realized how rarely he had heard his name in Dex’s voice. If Dex called him anything, it was mate or man, something he used with everyone. Nick’s name felt remarkable. It was a pull on his bones, an invitation that he could not have refused if his life depended on it.
The air around them shifted. His reality changed. He knew this heady feeling before something happened. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Still, he could not stop himself from turning to face Dex and getting so close there was barely air between them. He swallowed. Dex pulled gently, fingers slipping among Nick’s and coming to rest between them.
“Am I wrong to think—” Dex broke off, and Nick wanted to help, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stand rooted to the spot, caught up in the tension, incapable of believing his own eyes and ears, his muscles and bones.
He looked into Dex’s eyes, willing him to understand.
Dex made a frustrated noise and dropped Nick’s hand. Cupped both hands around Nick’s jaw.
He met Nick’s eyes, asking for permission, and then he leaned in, and then he kissed him.
The moment stretched. Nick did not breathe. Dex’s lips were full and gentle. This is happening was replaced with need Nick tried and failed to contain. He moaned. He opened his mouth and touched Dex’s tongue. His knees threatened to give. The taste of a true, hard, overwhelming kiss was going to undo him.
Nick felt himself splintering in two, a painful tearing of past and future. Before he knew and after. The truth of it laid him bare and nestled inside him. He knew, now. He knew.
Dex took a step forward and pinned Nick against the counter. His tongue was velvet against Nick’s, and his body. God. Hard, warm, so present and alive. Nick shook, grateful that he had nowhere to go, since Dex had him trapped. Things slotted into place, and they unspooled him from the inside out.
He felt something nudge his hip and with a jolt realized it was Dex’s erection. The shocking intimacy of it was too much. It shredded him.
Nick tore his mouth away, ready to end it here and now, when Dex leaned in and kissed the joining of his neck and shoulder while his hands grabbed hold of Nick’s waist. Nick clutched the counter in desperation. All the hair on his arms and legs stood up. He barely believed the noise that tore from his throat.
“God, Nick.” Nick was pretty sure he would walk through fire just to hear his name spoken like that for the rest of his life, but the smell of hot oil and burning bacon slammed him back into reality.
He couldn’t.
He could not.
Knowing and acting were two different beasts.
He had control over one of them.
With shaky, numb hands he pushed at Dex’s chest until he had room to breathe, and, not daring to spare him even the smallest of glances or apologies, grabbed his bag and jacket and ran out into the hallway, pretended not to hear Dex calling him back, and tore through the door before Dex could catch up.
The house was three blocks behind him before he realized that he’d been running and his chest hurt and his eyes stung, and he doubled over and dry heaved for long enough to draw concerned looks from passersby.
His heart slammed.
Oh, Jesus fuck.
It really had only been a matter of time before he ruined everything.
He didn’t remember the rest of the walk back to his dorm.