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Authors: Jay Northcote

Cold Feet (11 page)

BOOK: Cold Feet
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“Is it that obvious?”

“You spent Christmas alone with him, and now you look like a kicked puppy. I might not have gone to university like you, clever clogs, but it doesn’t take a genius to work it out.” She released him, sitting back on the arm of the chair and smoothing his hair with a gentle hand.

“I think he just wants to be friends.” Ryan’s voice caught.

“And you want more?”

He nodded, unhappily.

“I’m sorry, Ry.” Her expression mirrored his. “Times like this, I could do with a magic wand or a time machine. Because it might not seem like it now, but if it’s not meant to be with you and Sam… well, you’ll get over it in time.”

“I know.”

Ryan believed her. But he didn’t want to be over Sam. He wanted to be with him.

“Maybe you should talk to him? Just be sure? Unless he knows how you feel, then you can’t be sure he doesn’t like you back.”

“Maybe.” Ryan was unconvinced. He wasn’t sure he could bear another rejection. “Okay, Mum. I’m going to bed now. I was out late last night.” He got up.

She stood, too, and hugged him again.

“Goodnight, love. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Ryan’s body felt like lead as he dragged himself upstairs. Even though he was knackered, he lay awake for ages before finally dropping off. His head ached and his heart hurt. Ryan wished he had a magic wand, too.

 
 
 
 
 
Chapter Twelve
 

Sam’s mum and dad got back on the thirtieth. His gran was home and coping, with help from a neighbour.

They had a mini Christmas that evening, with roast chicken instead of turkey, but they bought half-price crackers and party poppers and played some old family-favourite board games. Later they had an epic Wii dance battle that ended with Amy winning, as always, and Adam throwing the controller across the room in a mock tantrum. When he was younger, they used to be real tantrums, but he was a better sport than he used to be.

On the morning of New Year’s Eve, Sam woke with a nervous fluttery feeling in his belly. He’d kept himself busy with studying and looking after his siblings since he’d got home, but Ryan had never been very far from his thoughts. Now, knowing he was going back to living in a house with Ryan and seeing him every day, Sam felt as nervous as if he were about to sit for his finals. They hadn’t communicated at all since they’d said goodbye to one another on Boxing Day, and that was unusual for them. He’d never felt so out of step with Ryan before. He had no idea what was going through Ryan’s head or how things were going to be when they saw each other again.

They’d make it work. They had to. Sam wasn’t prepared to fuck up their friendship over some
ill-advised
snogging and orgasms.

His mum dropped him off at the station after he’d said his farewells to the rest of the family. She got out of the car to hug him goodbye.

“Take care of yourself. And don’t spend all your money on beer, you need to eat more.” She frowned as she let him go. “I’m sure you’re thinner than you were before Christmas. How is that even possible?”

Sam shrugged. “You know me, nothing sticks.” He hadn’t had much of an appetite for the last few days, and his skinny jeans were loose on his hips.

“Well, have fun tonight, and keep in touch.”

“I will. I’d better run or I’ll miss my train. Bye, mum.”

“Goodbye, darling.”

He hefted his rucksack onto his shoulder and put his earbuds in as he walked towards the station entrance, then turned and gave his mum a last wave before passing through the doors in the tide of travellers.

 
 

When Sam let himself into the house he shared with Ryan, Jon, and their other housemate Anthony, there was music coming from the kitchen and the sound of voices arguing. Sam listened, and his belly lurched with nerves as he heard Ryan’s voice rise above the others. It sounded as though they were arguing about the washing up—just for a change.

Palms sweating, he told himself he was being ridiculous, but it didn’t help. The nerves persisted. Taking a deep breath, he decided he might as well get it over with. He dumped his rucksack in the hallway and marched in to greet his housemates, head held high.

“None of this is my bloody mess apart from one pan,” Ryan was saying, gesturing at the pile of dirty dishes by the sink. “I only got back yesterday, and I’m buggered if I’m going to wash up all your shit just because you’ve decided it’s my turn.”

He had his back to Sam, so he didn’t notice him come in. But Jon, who was the one being yelled at, caught Sam’s gaze over Ryan’s shoulder, and his face lit up.

“Alright, Sammy. How’s it going, mate?”

He pushed past Ryan and pulled Sam into a rough hug, ruffling his hair in his usual annoying fashion.

“Yeah, not bad, cheers. Get off, you fucker.” Sam ducked away, pushing the strands out of his eyes.

Ryan had turned now, and Sam sought out his gaze, half-hopeful and half-afraid of what he might find there.

“Hey,” Sam said.

Ryan appeared struck dumb now that he’d stopped yelling.

“Hey.” Ryan’s cheeks flushed but he held Sam’s gaze, his brown eyes intense and unreadable.

Sam’s stomach flipped. Yeah. He was so fucked. There was no way he was going to be able to be normal around Ryan. But he needed to try, because Ryan was looking at him like he’d grown an extra head and Jon was going to notice something weird was going on if he didn’t chill out.

He moved forward, half expecting Ryan to flinch away as Sam went in for a hug to greet him. But Ryan hugged Sam back, and for a moment Sam could smell the warm, musky scent of his hair and skin. His body responded instantly, his cock thickening as the scent invoked memories of their recent, more intimate encounters.

Sam pulled away quickly, fighting down his unwanted arousal. Ryan’s cheeks were even redder now, and he avoided Sam’s eyes, turning away and starting to run water into the washing-up bowl. He’d obviously decided that even doing the hated dishes was preferable to interacting with Sam.

“Is Anthony back yet?” Sam asked, trying to cover the awkward silence.

“Nah, he texted to say he’ll be here in a couple of hours,” Jon replied, seemingly oblivious to the tension between his housemates. “And I told people to come over anytime from eight.”

“Okay, cool,”
Sam
said. “I need to go and buy some beer.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jon poured himself a glass of orange juice from the fridge. “And we need to get some snacks in as well. I did tell people to bring food as well as booze, but who knows what we’ll end up with. My car’s fixed, so we can do a supermarket run later.”

 
 

It was amazing how easy it was to avoid another person in a four-bedroom house if you tried hard enough.

Sam guessed Ryan was staying out of his way too, because they hardly saw each other for the rest of the afternoon. Jon took charge, as he often did, and got them organised with a list of jobs that needed doing to get the house ready for a party.

Sam went with Jon to the supermarket in Jon’s banged-up old car. It might be working again now, but it sounded as though it could conk out again any minute. They left Ryan setting up speakers in the living room while Anthony rigged up a disco ball and spotlight they’d borrowed from one of Trina’s housemates.

By the time Sam and Jon got back, it was only an hour till people were supposed to arrive. They’d bought pizzas for dinner before the party started, so they put those in the oven while they unpacked the beer and snacks. Anthony came to help, snagging one of the beers and helping himself.

“First drink of the night, cheers, boys.”

Jon and Sam took one too and cracked them open.

“Where’s Ryan?” Sam couldn’t help asking.

“Shower,” Anthony replied. “Or he was. Doing his hair now, I expect. Always takes him ages.”

Sam was still working on cramming as many four-packs of lager in the fridge as he could when Jon whistled.

“Looking mighty fine there, Ryan. Which lucky lady are you trying to impress tonight?”

Sam’s head snapped round so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, and he stared as Ryan came into the kitchen. He was dressed to kill.
Literally
, Sam thought as his heart rate surged in a way that couldn’t possibly be healthy. Ryan’s indigo jeans clung to him like a second skin, showing every line and curve of his strong, muscular thighs and the generous bulge at his crotch. His T-shirt was a plain white V-neck. It hugged his body perfectly and was scooped low enough to display a good portion of his chest and collarbones. His face was impassive, but his cheeks were flushed—at the attention or from the heat of the shower, who knew? His hair was styled into spiky bed-head perfection. Sam’s lips twitched despite himself, because after this week he knew Ryan’s actual bed head looked nothing like that. It was flatter on one side and a bird’s nest at the back. Objectively this was definitely a better look, but Sam had enjoyed running his fingers through the real thing.

Ryan didn’t answer Jon’s rhetorical question. His gaze flickered over Sam but didn’t stop on him. “Do I smell pizza?” he asked. “I’m starving.”

“Yeah, it’ll be ready soon,”
Jon
said. “Beer? We started without you.”

“Yeah.” Ryan came to stand close behind Sam. Sam felt the heat of his body and caught the citrus tang of his shampoo as he reached past him and took a can out of the door compartment. “Cheers.”

They sat around the kitchen table while they waited for the oven timer to go off. Sam kept his gaze on the can in front of him, tracing patterns in the condensation on the cold metal. Jon and Anthony kept the conversation going. Sam chipped in occasionally but struggled to find things to contribute. Ryan was silent, a quiet, tense presence at Sam’s side.

Once they were eating, the conversation turned to Christmas. Jon was telling Anthony about his and Trina’s aborted trip to Wales.

“What, so you didn’t get there at all in the end?” Anthony said.

“No. By the time the car was fixed, it had snowed, so we’d never have got through.”

“And did you guys make it back home okay?” Anthony addressed Sam and Ryan.

“Eventually,” Sam replied. “But not till Boxing Day.”

“That’s mental. So you were stuck together for what… four nights in the middle of nowhere?”

Sam felt Ryan tense beside him. “Pretty much.”

Sam congratulated himself on keeping his voice light and unconcerned. Maybe he should consider an acting career after he graduated. Ryan’s silence was doing Sam’s head in, so he tried to involve him in the conversation. “We got Christmas dinner after all, though, didn’t we, Ryan?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Ryan took the bait and stumbled through an explanation about how they’d met Mari and ended up spending Christmas Day with her. Of course, he didn’t mention what they’d been doing when they found Nerys in the holly bush.

 
 

After they’d eaten, the other three took turns to have a quick shower. Sam was last and ended up with virtually no hot water. As he was making a goose-pimpled, tight-nippled dash back to his room with a towel around his waist and his teeth chattering, he almost bumped into Ryan coming in the other direction.

“Oops, sorry.” Sam’s voice ground out from between clenched teeth and a shudder racked his body. But the way Ryan’s gaze dragged down over his chest and belly felt like warm water pouring over him. He stepped sideways, trying to pass in the narrow space, but Ryan moved the same way.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

They engaged in an awkward corridor dance for a moment, before Sam attempted to squeeze past. But Ryan’s hand on his arm stopped him, hot on Sam’s cold skin.

“We need to talk.”

Maybe Ryan was having second thoughts?
Sam’s heart flipped with nerves and tentative hope. “Um, okay?”

They could hear Jon and Anthony talking in the living room, but Ryan kept his voice low. “Things are weird between us, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Sam’s heart sank again, like a cold heavy stone. He cursed himself internally for getting his hopes up yet again, and irritation flared. “I’ve been trying to act normally,” he said. “You’re the one who can’t string a sentence together, and now you’re grabbing me in the corridor while I’m half-naked. As far as I’m concerned, this isn’t my problem. People already know
I’m
gay.”

Ryan dropped Sam’s arm as though he’d been stung.

“I’m trying.” His voice was hoarse. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

“I thought you were used to playing it straight.” Sam tried to keep his voice low, and it came out as a bitter hiss. “You’ve been doing it long enough.”

Ryan’s cheeks flamed as though Sam had slapped him.

Sam shouldered past to get to his room. Tears stung his eyes that he didn’t want Ryan to see. He slammed the door behind him so hard that everything on his desk rattled.

Trying to force himself to breathe slowly, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and fought down the urge to cry.

The house was going to be flooded with partygoers for the evening—this wasn’t the time to be having a meltdown. He’d save it for tomorrow.

BOOK: Cold Feet
5.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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