Page 53 of Fair Catch

That earns me another eyeroll. “Yeah, whatever. Can you let me finish up here in peace?”

Raising my hands in surrender, I leave him for the living room couch and scroll for something to watch on my evening alone. Again.

It’s weird, considering the entire point of him going out on dates is so Icouldget some alone time at the apartment. But I dunno…it’s like the more time I actually spend trying to actively tolerate the guy—either working on homework, hitting the nickel arcade for some friendly competition, or watching whatever horror movie we decide on—the more I seem to not mind him being around.

Or maybe evenlikehaving him here. It’s fucking weird.

“Do I look okay?” Kason’s disembodied voice asks from behind me as my thumb hovers overA Nightmare on Elm Street,feeling a classic tonight if we aren’t gonna be doing our marathon.

Turning, my eyes scan up and down his body, taking in a better look than I got in the bathroom. He managed to rein in his dark auburn hair, sweeping it back off his forehead, the part sitting more to the left. He’s in a deep plum dress shirt, which I found to be an odd choice at first when I saw him in the bathroom, but now looking at him, it actually manages to bring out the green in his eyes. Not to mention, the thing looks like it might’ve been tailored just for him, clinging to the lines of his chest and arms like saran wrap.

He spins in front of me, and it seems like the dark wash jeans he’s wearingalsomight be made just for him with the way they mold around his thighs and ass.

My stomach swirls a little, and I quickly chalk it up to checking out Kason the way his date likely will. And from what I can tell—and after scoping for untucked shirt tails or hairs out of place—he’s more than first-date ready.

Clearing my throat, I offer him a little smirk. “You don’t clean up half bad. Certainly good enough forMadden.”

The emphasis on his date’s name was unnecessary, but it’s fun garnering a reaction; which I get when Kason rolls his eyes yet again.

“Thanks,” he mutters dryly.

Taking a long, deep breath, he grabs his keys from the kitchen counter. And despite his attempt to calm himself, it doesn’t take a high IQ to realize he’s an anxious mess.

“I guess I better get going,” he says after he straightens to his full height, now fiddling with the buttons on his shirt cuff.

There’s not much I can do to alleviate his worries, but I do my damndest anyway.

“Look, I don’t wanna make you nervous” —more than you already are—“but if you feel uncomfortable or like the date is going south or, God forbid, it’s another catfish, I’ve got your back. Shoot me a text, and I’ll call you with some kind of fake emergency, get you outta there. Then we can order in Thai and binge some old-school scary movies.”

Kason’s nose wrinkles up. “You know I’d rather eat a head of lettuce whole than Thai food.”

“Well, then I guess you better hope your date isn’t a total disaster.” My attention lingers on him, noting the nerves still radiating off him in palpable waves. “Okay, you have to actuallyleavethe apartment to go on this date. The anticipation is what’s making it worse.”

“You’re right.” He blows out a breath. “I’ll let you know if I need anything, but hopefully it’ll be fine.”

“Take another deep breath and knock ‘em dead. Or break a leg. Or whatever the hell the saying is for moments like this.”

Kason cocks his head at me, brows crashing together at the center with both confusion and amusement. “Pretty sure both of those are for actors when they go on stage, not for when someone goes on a date.”

“True. But I mean, that’s basically what you’re doing.” I point out. “You’re heading to this restaurant andactinglike you’re not a complete bumbling fool when it comes to dating.”

A sharp laugh comes from him, though I can tell the joke didn’t quite hit the way I’d wanted it to.

“You’re on a roll with those zingers tonight, Hazey. Truly.”

“Always here to service you, roomie.”

“You’re ridiculous. And a pervert.”

I hold up my hands, feigning innocence. “It’s not my fault Quinton liked to rub off on me.”

The smallest smirk pulls at his lips, and I know I’ve cracked through at least some of the anxiety—which was the main goal of tossing the playful euphemisms that never fail to get him blushing the most perfect shade of pink.

Just like he is right now.

But embarrassment doesn’t stop him from lifting a challenging brow. “Keep it up, and I’ll make sure to plug the blender in right next to your door on Monday morning.”

“Those are fighting words,” I remind him.

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