By Chance (Courtland Chronicles) (6 page)

“I, I don’t think this is such a good idea,” he murmured.

Holy shit.
Nick jerked away. What the fuck had he just done?

What you’ve been wanting to do ever since that day you invited him to breakfast. Stop denying it.

Shut up. Just. Shut. Up.

He squeezed his eyes shut, humiliation washing through him as he rolled to his feet and reached for his blanket. “You should be warm enough now.”

“Nick, c’mon…” Eric put a hand on his arm and tried to pull him back. “It’s okay.”

No, it wasn’t. Not after he’d practically thrown himself at a guy who’d just suffered an awful trauma. Thrown himself at a
friend.
What was wrong with him?

Cheeks burning with shame, he yanked himself from Eric’s grasp—or tried to. Damn, but Eric was stronger than he looked. “Let
go
of me.”

“I’m not mad, Nick. You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do.” Another yank, and this time Nick pulled free and retreated to the couch. Shivering, he wrapped up in his blanket, the room falling silent except for the rustle of covers from the other side.

Don’t come over here, Eric. Please, just…don’t.

He lay there in the dark listening, waiting for Eric’s restless huff of breath to slow into the rhythm of sleep, a hollow ache swelling in his own chest.

To Eric’s relief, Nick was already up and gone by the time he awoke the next morning. At least now he had a few hours to figure out how to deal with what’d happened last night. The memory of his roommate’s kiss had left Eric so rattled, he barely paid attention to his classes.

Finally he decided to declare the day a wash. He cut his last class and went over to the campus bookstore to replace his economics textbook, only to discover they were sold out. Luckily, the library had one lone copy left.

His stomach rumbling, he headed for the dining hall, until he remembered he didn’t have a meal card, or any cash on him either. And if Nick hadn’t returned to the room yet, he had no way to get in. Teeth clenched in frustration, he trudged to Mickey’s office for a replacement key, then headed up to his room.

He froze the moment his door swung open, poleaxed by the sight of Nick yanking clothes out of the closet and stuffing them into his suitcase.

All he could do for a long moment was stand there, relief and disappointment warring for dominance. Having Nick out of the picture would solve his immediate problem, but with a sharp pang, he realized he didn’t want Nick to leave. Remembering last night still hurt, but the thought of spending the next few months alone hurt more.

He shut the door quietly. “Nick, you don’t have to do this.”

Nick spared him a brief glance while he zipped up his case. “I’ve imposed on you long enough. Ally’s offered me a sleeping bag on her floor. It’ll do till something better turns up.”

“There isn’t a single unoccupied bed anywhere on campus. As for off-campus… Well, if you start scouring the obits now, you might find something by June. Although you’ll probably have to rob a bank to pay for it.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.”

“Look, I don’t want you to go. Believe it or not, I’ve grown used to having you here.”

Nick grabbed something from the coffee table, thrusting it under Eric’s nose. It was the current week’s issue of the
Spectator
, sporting the headline
Ruggles Hall to Remain Closed for Rest of Semester.

Eric gave the accompanying article a quick skim before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You can still stay.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

Mocked by his own words from the night before. Well, that stung. “Nick, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here last night,” Eric said softly. “I was in bad shape, and you looked after me. I didn’t even want you to, but you did it anyway. Nobody else would have.”

“Of course they would.” Nick looked away, fumbling with an invisible stray thread on his sweatshirt, those adorable pink spots dancing high on his cheeks again. “All you have to do is ask.”

“That’s not something that comes easily for me, but if you insist…” He inhaled sharply. “Nick Thompson, I’d consider it a favor if you’d remain my roommate for the rest of the semester. Will you please stay?”

Nick’s blush deepened. “But what about—”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s forgotten. All right?” He grinned at Nick’s relieved nod, his own heart suddenly feeling fifty pounds lighter. “Okay, then. Grab your meal card. I haven’t had the chance to get mine replaced, and I’m famished.”

“Oh, that reminds me—a guy from the Grand Central security office called. They found your backpack in one of the trash cans this morning.” Nick nodded toward Eric’s desk. “I wrote down all the info.”

Eric stared at the scrap of paper Nick had scribbled the note on, quickly calculating the amount of time required to get across town and back on a weekday morning. “I’d better pick it up tonight. My first class is at nine tomorrow, and I’m busy pretty much all day after that.”

“If you don’t mind me tagging along, I know a pretty good pizza joint on the way back.”

Right on cue, Eric’s empty belly snarled like a jungle beast. “Sounds great.” Then he remembered something that made his stomach lurch. “Um, would you mind springing for a cab? I’m not up to facing the subway at rush hour. I’d be happy to pay you back, of course. Or buy your dinner. Or both.”

Nick checked his wallet, then nodded. “Okay, I think I’ve got enough cash.”

They had to trudge five blocks south before they flagged down a cab, then sat in traffic so long they decided to get out on Sixth Avenue and walk the rest of the way. Nick waited outside the security office while Eric went in for his bag. He was relieved to discover his economics textbook still inside, along with his keys and wallet, intact except for the cash. Luckily, his assailant had left behind his ATM and meal cards, driver’s license and student ID.

Nick was milling around a bank of pay phones when Eric finally emerged. “Ready for dinner?”

“Starving,” Eric replied. “Let’s go.”

After a brief detour for Eric to use the ATM, they caught another cab back across town and got out at Amsterdam, then walked up to a tiny hole-in-the-wall place with a flashing red, white and green neon sign over the door proclaiming it as
Alfredo’s
.

It was warm and noisy inside, abuzz with voices and the TV blaring a newscast over the bar. There were a few packed cocktail tables in front, leather-upholstered booths covered in traditional red-and-white checkered tablecloths lining the rear wall. Drippy red candles stuck in old wine bottles sat on every table.

“Over here!” piped a familiar voice. It was Ally, smiling as she waved them over. “I snagged us a table.”

“So I see,” Eric observed, shooting Nick a mock-accusatory look. “I didn’t realize we were making this a party.”

“I called Ally from the station,” Nick admitted, tossing his bag into the booth before sliding in. “After yesterday, we figured you could use some cheering up.”

Eric’s gaze flicked from Nick to Ally and back again. Oh, great. Just what he needed, Nick going around telling everybody he’d been mugged.

“It’s not Nick’s fault,” Ally interjected, reaching over to squeeze Eric’s hand. To his surprise, it felt nice. Warm and reassuring. “I could tell something was bothering him, so I kept poking him till he spilled. Blame it on reporter’s instinct.” She bit her lip. “Once he told me, I felt like a real jerk. I won’t repeat the story to anyone, I promise.”

“Thanks,” Eric said quietly. “I appreciate that. To be honest, I feel more embarrassed about it than anything else.”
In more ways than one
.

“Hey, I’ve been there. I got my purse snatched my first week in the city. I was walking around downtown, then suddenly this guy pops out of nowhere and yanks my bag off my arm. It was my own fault for not paying attention.”

“Happens to the best of us,” he replied, relieved at the realization that Nick had plainly left out the more mortifying details of his assault. Flipping open a menu, he added, “So, what’s good here?”

They ordered the nightly specials: Caesar salad and double-pepperoni pizza, with a carafe of house red. Eric was amazed to see Nick pull a fake ID out of his wallet when the waiter checked them. Evidently his roommate did indeed indulge in at least one traditional college vice.

Despite the place’s hokey atmosphere, the food itself was a revelation. First came the salad, tossed to perfection and sprinkled with shaved parmesan. Next, the pizza, covered so densely with pepperoni he wasn’t sure they’d remembered the cheese. Pure heaven—hot, thick, spicy and decadently rich.

Ally peered at his plate, then Nick’s, with a bemused grin. “As usual, when the food arrives, all conversation ceases.”

“What d’you wanna talk about?” Nick asked around a mouthful of pepperoni.

“Something besides football or school. I get bored with the same old crap all the time.”

“I noticed your byline on that Ruggles Hall article in today’s
Spectator
,” Eric interjected. “How long have you been on staff?”

“Since last fall, but I’ve been interning for over a year now.”

Eric took another sip of his wine, savoring the pleasant buzz now spreading through his veins. “Do you plan to apply to journalism school, like Nick?”

“Like Nick?” she echoed, forehead crinkling as she fixed their dinner partner with a pointed glance. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” Nick replied. “I was just thinking aloud when Eric and I were having breakfast the other day.”

“Consider yourself privileged, Eric,” Ally said archly. “He obviously tells you a lot more than he does me these days.”

“Ally, c’mon…” Nick protested.

“Oh, stop! You know I’m kidding.” She signaled to their waiter for the check. “Sorry to be a party pooper, guys, but I’ve got an article I need to finish tonight.”

They paid the check and parted ways at the corner, Ally heading off to her apartment downtown, Eric and Nick in the opposite direction. Eric insisted on springing for a cab rather than brave the subway after three glasses of wine. He’d left the restaurant feeling fine, but his eyelids hung at half-mast by the time the cab pulled up in front of Watt.

They took their respective turns in the bathroom before Eric flicked off the light. Then he remembered something, and flicked it back on. “Did you want one of the beds for yourself?”

Nick blinked at him. “What?”

“The day you moved in, you said you wanted one of the twin beds.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so. But let’s not start moving stuff around right now.”

“’Kay.” Off went the light again. “Nick?”

“
What?
”

“You realize Ally still likes you, don’t you?”

“Sure she likes me. We’re friends.”

“That’s not the kind of ‘like’ I meant.”

Nick snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Why do you think she got so pissed when she found out you told me about journalism school, but not her?”

Nick fell silent for a moment. “Huh.”

“So why’d you two break up?”

“It just didn’t work out. Besides, we only dated a couple months. Guess I’ve always thought of her as more of a friend than a girlfriend.”

“Well, she definitely still thinks of you the other way around.”

Nick chuckled. “Eric, you’re drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

“Go to sleep.”

It didn’t take long before Eric started to drift. His last thought before sleep enveloped him was that he’d spent the entire evening in a busy restaurant—and for the first time in years, being around people hadn’t bothered him a bit.

They ran into Ally at the dining hall the next morning, and sat together at Eric and Nick’s usual table. Eric didn’t say much, just listened to Ally chatter on about her latest assignment at the
Spectator
while he sipped his coffee, his gaze darting between her and Nick. But if Nick remembered their drunken bedtime conversation from last night, he gave no sign of it.

“Not a big talker this early in the morning, are you, Eric?” Ally said.

He forced a thin smile. “Not till that first jolt of caffeine kicks in.”

“Well, I’m ready for my second cup. Anyone else?” She stood as both he and Nick nodded. “Be right back.”

Nick watched her walk away before turning back to his oatmeal. “You two are really getting along. That’s great.”

“You didn’t think we would?”

“Well, c’mon, Eric. You don’t like just anybody.”

“In other words, I can be kind of a jerk?” When Nick’s only response was to glance down into his bowl, Eric laughed. “She’s nice. A little overly talkative, but her sense of humor makes up for it.”

“I was hoping you’d hit it off. It would’ve sucked if my two best friends didn’t like each other.”

Did Nick just call him a
friend
? A wave of pleasant surprise rolled through him, warming him better than his breakfast—hell, even better than last night’s wine.

But the grin spreading across Eric’s lips faded as Nick stood to help Ally with the three mugs she was carrying. What was that spark in Nick’s eyes—amusement, admiration? A touch of genuine affection? Nothing like the way Nick had ever looked at him.

He thanked Ally for the fresh coffee and fell silent again, his gaze meeting Nick’s across the table. “You okay?” Nick asked.

“Fine,” he replied, spooning up another bite of half-congealed oatmeal. Nick’s concern was touching, even if it wasn’t what he wanted. But at least now he had a friend. Two friends, in fact. He wasn’t about to screw that up.

* * *

The next few weeks flew by in a blur. Eric’s life settled into a hectic routine of classes, studying, working out in the campus fitness center with Nick, meals in the dining hall with Nick—and sometimes Ally—and an actual social life.

The three of them became inseparable, making frequent excursions to the Guggenheim and Museum of Natural History, exploring hip, funky Chelsea and upscale Tribeca, poking around in old bookshops down in the Village. Every Friday night it was dinner at Alfredo’s, followed by a foreign-film double bill at one of the old revival houses downtown.