Page 41 of Follows with Intent

Jadon wore a tiny smile. “That sentence kept getting better and better.”

Because he was full of toasted ravioli, Nico permitted himself an outraged noise.

“I’d love to listen to your paper,” Jadon said. “I didn’t know people could attend.”

“Ridson’s wife sat in when he read his the other day. Not that you’re my wife. Oh my God.”

Not quite laughing now, the sandy gold of Jadon’s eyes was definitely amused. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”

“Too bad.”

“You’re uninvited. I uninvite you.”

With a nudge to the shoulder, Jadon said, “Finish your paper so we can get out of here.”

To Nico’s own surprise—and, for that matter, the universe’s as well—he had a draft that was barely, marginally acceptable completed within an hour. The background noises of Jadon cleaning up their picnic in the stacks faded to nothing, and before long, he was sending the paper to the printer out in the study space. He packed up his laptop, collected his pages from the printer, and found Jadon lounging in one of the seating areas near the stairs.

“In case you tried to sneak out,” Jadon said without absolutely zero shame.

“Charming.”

For a moment, the flash of a grin lifted the mask of weariness and—what? despair?—from Jadon’s face, and Nico tried not to think about what it meant when he caught himself smiling on the stairs a few moments later.

They walked back to Harlow Hall under the hazy glow of the security lights and the scrim of thin, gauzy clouds. Their steps sounded louder in the stillness, the crunch of a brittle leaf, the snap of a dry twig that had fallen across the path. Neither of them spoke, and Nico found himself listening to the movements of Jadon’s body. Strange, wasn’t it, that already he could recognize the cadence of Jadon’s gait, the whisper of his breath, the way he took up space in Nico’s world. The universe’s default state, he had learned as an undergrad, was a vacuum.

Harlow rose ahead of them, the limestone cloaked with shadows, the neogothic adornments lost in the darkness. A few solitary windows glowed; everything else had given in to the night and disappeared. It took Nico a moment to realize what was different: the security light at the front door had burned out.

“Wait here,” Jadon said.

“You’re not serious.”

He put a hand on Nico’s arm, the touch firm, a silent command. Nico rolled his eyes, but he let Jadon stop him. After a moment, when Jadon must have felt sure Nico wouldn’t bolt, he drew back his hand and started forward again.

“You’re being silly,” Nico called after him.

A breeze picked up, sending more leaves skittering. Branches creaked overhead. Jadon didn’t respond, didn’t even turn to answer back, and Nico shivered and chafed his arms.

It was sweet, of course. But it was silly, too. Even if Jadon were right, even if, by some bizarre chance, someone had followed Nico across campus the other night, it couldn’t have been more than bad luck. Nico didn’t go to school at Chouteau. He didn’t know anyone here. And, therefore, he couldn’t be a target. For that matter, Nico would be gone in a couple of days, which meant—

Well, what did it mean?

The future was like a movie screen, images flickering across it: Jadon laughing, Jadon with his long legs kicked out in a vee, Jadon’s mouth twitching with amusement when he was trying to be professional and Nico got that obstinate itch to break the façade. Jadon naked. The strong calves and thighs. The sculpted definition of chest that every shirt seemed determined to show off. Big arms—powerful and toned. He’d take up too much of the bed, Nico tried to tell himself, through the heat-shimmer of the fantasy. He’d elbow you in your sleep.

And then, clearer, a vision of the next few minutes: they’d walk upstairs, and they’d stop at Nico’s door, and Jadon would look at him, and Nico knew—because he could always tell—that something would happen. He didn’t know if he would move first, or if Jadon would, or if it would be both of them. He liked it best when it was both of them, when they both seemed to know. Last night, it had felt like that, but at the last minute, something had changed. Tonight, though—his lips, the taste of his mouth, and beer, and the leftover smokiness of the barbeque.

Oh my God, Nico thought with something like despair. I’m going to kiss him.

Jadon’s steps rang out against the brick pathway as he returned. “Sorry, but it seemed a little too convenient that the light burned out tonight.”

“Lights burn out, Jay.”

“Uh huh.”

“Does the eagle have permission to land?”

His hand settled comfortably on Nico’s nape, and he steered him toward the building.

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