Page 3 of Follows with Intent

“Those jeans are riddled with holes.”

“That’s how kids wear them these days.”

Emery snorted.

The light changed, and they drove on.

“Condoms?”

Nico choked on his spit.

“Do not make me ask again,” Emery said.

“This is why I should have driven myself.”

“You can’t drive yourself because your car is in the shop because you refused to let me take it in for an oil change, and then you refused to let me put a reminder in your phone to have the oil changed, and then you refused to tell me how many miles you’d driven—”

“All right, all right. I know. It was my fault. I was irresponsible and immature, and I screwed up, and you’re being so generous, and I totally appreciate it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh my God.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“No, Em. I didn’t pack condoms. Believe it or not, I don’t go to prestigious seminars to hook up.”

Emery looked at him.

Heat rose in Nico’s face. “That was one time. And I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Then allow me to remind you,” Emery said drily, “that on the off chance opportunity strikes—”

“It won’t. This is important to me, Em. This is a big deal. And I’m not going to screw it up.”

“Perhaps your goal should be not to screw anything. Not until I’ve completed the full vetting process.”

Nico sank down in his seat. He reached over as unobtrusively as he could and tried the door handle. Still locked.

“We’re still in the maintenance phase on Prowler,” Emery said, reaching back to grab The Binder off the seat behind him. Nico could only think of it in capital letters now: The Binder, Emery’s contribution (if that was the right word—single-minded mission might have been a better description) to get Nico happily paired up. It was approximately four inches thick, stuffed with printouts—articles and research and a surprisingly large number of photos of porn stars, which Emery had once, disastrously, used to try to figure out “Nico’s type.” They’d been sorted by body type and then by dick. There had been organizer tabs. “But,” Emery continued, “it wouldn’t hurt you to start thinking about how you want to tweak your Hinge profile. You liked that marathoner. His average mile time—”

“Okay,” Nico said, yanking on the door handle again. “We’re here.”

Emery held out The Binder.

“Uh, you know, I’m going to be super busy.”

Emery pushed The Binder at him. Well, pushed sounded like something a normal person would do. Emery pressed The Binder against Nico’s body until Nico gave up and took up. “I want you to send me a list of the changes and a draft of the new profile. Maybe you should mention running; that can be your hobby.”

Fortunately, the next turn took them onto the campus proper, and the next brought them to a stop directly in front of Harlow Hall. Like the rest of campus, it was an imposing limestone building with pointed windows and architectural elements that Nico guessed were supposed to suggest flying buttresses. A couple of boys—undergrads, clearly, with their flannel and beanies and, unmistakably, clove cigarettes—stood outside, but otherwise campus was empty. Fall break meant the perfect opportunity to hold the seminar on a beautiful campus without the inconvenience and distraction of, well, students.

Emery parked, and together, they got Nico’s luggage from the back of the van. The flannel boys were laughing and talking to each other in low voices, and from the snatches Nico caught, they thought it was fucking hilarious that Emery was dropping Nico off.

With a glance at the suitcases, Emery said, “I could help you get everything upstairs.” A smile teased the corner of his mouth. “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

“I’ll be fine, Em. Thank you again for the ride.”

“Of course.”

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