Page 35 of Someone Like You

“I’ll deliver him at your doorstep first thing in the morning,” he said, then, before the conversation got any more awkward, he added: “Goodnight, Abigail.”

“Night, Ian. Thank you again for this.”

Ian felt like shit for so many reasons he doubted he’d ever find any self-respect again. Abigailthankinghim for taking care of Philwas too much. Her reaction would’ve been very different if she’d known about Ian’s feelings for her boyfriend.Fiancé.

He needed a beer. He nursed it while sitting at the window, looking out at the street. A light rain was falling, dotting the pavement with dark spots that soon took over, painting the cement black.

He let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closing as his throat bobbed. The lump was still there, thicker and sorer than before. He missed the days when he’d thought breaking up with Jamie was the worst that could happen to him. It was like life was laughing in his face right now. Like it was sneering at him:‘You thoughtTHAThurt? That’s cute. How about this, though?’

As if that had been fate’s design all along: to preserve his heart to rip it out at the right time and throw it at the feet of the most unattainable guy on Earth.

chapter 7

PHIL

The texture under his cheek was wrong.

The scent around him, too.

And the light, the noises… all wrong.

He, on the other hand… He felt oddly alright. Relaxed. Well-rested. He must’ve dreamed it — the touch he’d been desperate to lean into, but his unresponsive body hadn’t let him. And yet, whatever it had been, he could still feel it, warm and tender, a ghosting caress along his hairline.

Suddenly it all came back to him: Ian, the game, the panic attack. He tried to blink the room into focus: spying the pale sunlight spilling into the room in thin blades through the curtains, he assumed it was early in the morning. Ian’s chubby cat was sitting on the coffee table beside him, licking a paw so ostentatiously Phil couldn’t help but wonder if it had been that sound to wake him up. There was a glass of water next to her. Phil grabbed it; he could feel the imprint left by the plastic beads of his bracelet in his cheek as hegulped down the water. As he pushed himself up on an elbow, a couple of heavy blankets pooled down around his waist. They smelled like Ian. Throwing them aside, Phil pushed up to his feet, finding himself barefoot. His shoes were under the table, but he left them there. His back wasn’t particularly happy about the night spent on the couch; he stretched with a groan while massaging his right side, the one he must have slept on, feeling as stiff as a board. He couldn’t believe he felt so regenerated after sleeping in such uncomfortable conditions.

“Still in one piece?”

Phil’s eyes flitted to the door: Ian was there, in a pair of grey sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt of some obscure metal band, a tea towel and a mug in his hands.

“Could be worse, I guess.” Another groan escaped Phil as he flexed his neck experimentally from side to side.

“A hot shower might help.”

“Yeah, I think I need it.” A beat passed. “Listen, uh… I’m sorry about last night. I’m so embarrassed...”

“Be embarrassed about what you just said.”

“I’ll pay you back for the glass.”

“Don’t make me fuckin’ punch you, it’s too early in the mornin’ for this bullshit.” Phil pressed his lips together to stifle a grin. He’d never been threatened so affectionately. “What’d you want for breakfast? I don’t have much.”

Phil was starving but didn’t want Ian to feel bad: he’d already gone out of his way with his hospitality.

“Whatever you’re having will do.” Phil spotted his phone on the couch; he picked it up: no texts, no missed calls. There was no way Abby hadn’t called to check on him, unless someone had called her first. “Did you—”

“Aye,” said Ian promptly. “We agreed not to disturb you. You looked like you needed it.”

“Your couch kinda killed my back, but I had a surprisingly regenerating sleep.” Ian opened his mouth, but Phil anticipated the jibe: “Call me old and I’ll fucking neuter you.”

“That’d get you quite a few enemies in town.”

The innuendo painted a variety of extremely vivid pictures in Phil’s mind that caused him to blush up to his ears and in places where the termblushacquired a whole different meaning. The rush of blood made his jeans suddenly uncomfortable, a sensation that thrilled him as much as it astounded him. He was gettinghard. Right there, in the middle of the living room, with Ian just feet away, wearing that cheeky smirk that was nothing but fuel to Phil’sdiscomfort.

“I’m gonna go get that shower if you don’t mind,” he said with a dry mouth, hoping —prayingthat his arousal wasn’t as obvious as it felt. Fortunately, Ian didn’t seem to notice.

“Knock yourself out. There’s clean towels under the sink.”

“Thanks.”

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