Page 49 of Phantom Faceoff
Zander is standing outside the dorm room in a hoodie and jeans, hands shoved into his pockets with his unruly hair frizzing around his face.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says with a shrug. “Got up and went for a run. Ended up here. Figure we could talk.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting back a smile at his earnestness.
“Give me five minutes to get dressed, and we’ll go grab breakfast.”
That seems to be the moment he realizes I’m practically naked in just my boxers and a tank top, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he forces himself to look away.
Who knew Wildfire could be cute?
Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking side by side, and the chill morning air is nice on my flushed skin, acutely aware of Zander’s gaze as it keeps bouncing to me.
“Got something to say?”
If me calling him out startles him, he doesn’t show it.
“I don’t think I’ve said it clearly,” he says, “But you’re hot, Malachi. This is far from the first time sleeping with you has crossed my mind.”
They’re strange words to hear—not like I haven’t before—but uncomfortable in a way I can’t quite place. At least I can blame the red in my cheeks on the wind.
“I don’t sleep around,” I say, devoid of judgment. Just a fact.
Zander laughs—a snorting, cackling noise stark against the quiet morning.
“I don’t as much as you think I do,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I hookup, but Idohave other hobbies. Hockey keeps me busy. Sometimes, after a stressful day or week, I just like the comfort of another body.”
My throat feels dry as I suck in a heavy breath. I know the feeling, even if it doesn’t quite present the same in me. It’s why some nights Julian crawls into my bed, and we just hold each other.
Sometimes you need human contact.
Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe my body has just been craving attention for so long it’s latched onto the first person outside of Julian willing to give it.
“Is sex like … special to you?” Zander asks, and my immediate response is to laugh but it comes out more like a scoff. “Hey. I’m trying to find some middle ground here.”
I shake my head. “No. Sex isn’t special. I’m not a virgin. I’m just selective.”
“So selective that you haven’t slept with anyone your entire adult life?”
When I glare, he throws his hands up. “I’m just asking. You seemed into me that night in the quad. And again yesterday.”
“It’s not a matter of being into you or not.” I briefly close my eyes and plant my feet. “I need coffee to finish this conversation.”
Zander’s hand grips mine, tugging me forward. With a sigh, I open my eyes and follow him to one of our campus’ coffee shops. It isn’t until I catch the barista giggling behind the counter that I realize we’re still holding hands.
I flex my fingers to pull away, but Zander takes that as an invitation to lace ours together. My grumbled protest is met with a chuckle, but the feel of his palm against mine is oddly comforting.
We get our coffees and breakfast sandwiches and find an unoccupied table in a corner to settle into. At the very least, I can say I learned something mildly interesting about Zander today—he drinks his coffee black.
“Who puts whipped cream on hot coffee?”
I take a slow sip and raise my brow. “I do. Problem?”
“I kinda figured you’d be like …” He waves his hand about while searching for the word. “What’s that saying? Something something as dark as your soul?”
“Ouch.”
“I don’t—I mean,”—he gestures vaguely in my direction— “Have you looked in a mirror? You give off major scene kid vibes.”
