“Fair enough. But a girl can fantasize.” she says, putting the picture back on the wrong shelf.
“Who are you fantasizing about these days, Ian?”
Wow. That came out of left field. Except this is Mel, and left field is pretty much where she lives.
“No one,” I say, suddenly very interested in my popcorn.
“Ummm... Someone is putting a blush on your cheeks right now,” Phoebe notices.
“Yeah, the wine. And my stupid Celtic ancestors,” I say, picking up the remote. Maybe if I start the movie, the girls will get distracted.
Mel slaps the coffee table much harder than she intended. “OMG. Tell me it's not Christian.”
“It's not,” I assure her. I haven’t thought of my ex in months.
“But it is someone,” Mel says, her voice conveying the fact that she thinks she tricked me.
“Yeah. It’s someone,” I admit. “Chris Evans. Now can we please watch the movie?”
“Ooh, I could totally crush on Chris Evans,” Mel agrees.
“Nothing wrong with a fantasy,” I say before hittingPlay.
Booker
I have a rare night off from hockey. We split games last weekend at UMass. It was like we were two totally different teams. We killed it on Saturday but couldn’t score to save our lives on Sunday. Coach gave us the night off to get our heads out of our asses, but I have no doubt tomorrow’s practice will be brutal.
So, instead of skating or working out, I’m chilling with my boys and kicking butt at NHL Ice. Well, I was kicking ass. Then I got an alert on my phone that my Psych of Sex class has a new update. It’s probably the short paper Ian was talking about earlier today. It must be scrambling my brain because Whit’s wiping the floor with me. He made enough food to feed an army. They’re all drinking beer, but I’m refueling on Gatorade. Because I’m a good boy like that.
We finish up the game, and when we hear Rose fussing through the monitor, Knox heads up to check on her. I wander into the kitchen for a snack. Everything Whit’s made smells great, but I need to be in top shape, and seven different varieties of cream cheese dip aren’t going to help.
“Celery sticks are in the crisper, and there’s homemade hummus in there too.” Whit tells me as I stare at the fridge, willing it to make me something delicious.
“What are we all gonna do when you’re not here to feed us?” I ask.
“Seriously, Whit,” Ty chimes in, “you’re gonna have to open a restaurant unless you want all of us to show up on your doorstep periodically.”
Whit opens his mouth to say something, but his phone dings, distracting him. “Sweet Mother of Mercy,” he mutters.
“What?” I ask, looking at his phone screen.
“Did you ever see an ass you just needed to stick your dick in?” My best friend asks me, and I nearly choke on my Gatorade.
“Uh…”
“Because Lucy’s ass is a thing of beauty. I’d marry it tomorrow if she let me. But it’s more than that, you know? I love her. I love Lucy Alvarez, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
I swipe Whit’s beer off the table and take a drink. “I am way too sober for this conversation.”
“I’m serious. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do with or for Lucy. And damn, that ass.” Whit goes back to warming up food and I head up to my room, figuring now is a good time to catch up on sleep. Ollie’s my road trip roommate and he can’t fall asleep unless the T.V. is on and stays on, so I could use some extra shuteye.
But after a quick shower, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind won’t stop racing. Even when I close my eyes, there’s an onslaught of images—Ian’s hand, his smile. I’m replaying snippets of class in my head, but the focus is always on him.
It’s not fair. I shouldn’t fixate on him. I’m his student…kind of. And he hasn’t asked for my attention. We’re friends, and so my fantasies feel like a betrayal. And yet, I can’t deny the connection between us. We just seem to be in sync, when I’m not in panic mode.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand, so I grab it, effectively dousing the thoughts running rampant through my mind.
Fallon: He’s making me crazy.
