Simon looked around the office at the mess left by his colleagues. The clock in the corner of the office said that it had just passed 2 a.m. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes gently, feeling the exhaustion of a long day in the heat and all of the excitement of seeing Mr. Baleka’s speech. He felt tension in the pit of his stomach; he felt like a failure despite all of the hard work that he had put into the day.
He began to slowly walk around the dimly lit room to pick up some of the paper cups and leftover food and put them in garbage bags. They had luckily not spilled anything because the party had migrated early enough to a local pub. He gave out a loud, animalistic yawn and thought that his bed would be divine, but he knew that he would still have to come into the office the next day to write his article for the paper, and he hated walking into a messy office on the weekend.
Simon began wiping down some of the desks and cleaning away crumbs with a cloth, and noticed on his own desk that his laptop was closed. His brow furrowed; he distinctly remembered leaving it open, as he had begun working on his article just before the party started. He walked over to it and opened it to switch it on. It was opened to a folder that contained all of his latest research for articles he was working on. He felt slightly concerned, but thought that someone might have just mistaken it for their own laptop. Or perhaps he was just overtired from the many days of preparing for the rally on campus. Either way, he resolved to be a bit more careful - it never hurts to be 100% sure!
Simon filled a garbage bag with dirty paper plates and cups and carried it to the dumpster outside. The night was still quite warm, and he realized that he probably needed a shower after all of the excitement of the day. He had the desire to be reckless and take his shirt off in the heat of the night, cleaning the office bare-chested; he often had silly fantasies when he was on his own and he could let his guard down a bit. But he couldn’t be that silly, even when no one was around. As he opened the dumpster lid and put the bag inside, Simon remembered how drunk Ian had gotten and how aggressively Margeaux had flirted with him. He was surprised that Ian would be so casual around his coworkers, but Ian had a way of letting alcohol get the better of him, and just like most of the students at Ridgemont, he indulged a bit too much at parties. Simon shuddered at the memory of Ian hugging the porcelain throne at last year’s Margaret Hille ball, his stomach heaving. Simon, as always, had noticed Ian was missing, and he was sad to find that his first suspicion was correct: Ian was violently ridding himself of the night’s debauchery.
There was, however, something exciting about seeing Ian be so free at the party. It seemed like Ian was never afraid to be himself or have fun. Perhaps it would be better though, Simon thought, if he didn’t do it in professional settings.
Simon walked back inside and felt the fatigue hit him like a heavy blanket on his shoulders. He was happy that he only lived a few blocks away, in a central apartment complex right on campus. Working towards his degree in journalism and spending so much time at the paper was taxing enough; he reasoned that he didn’t need the extra burden of worrying about travel. Besides, it allowed him to stay in the office until 2 a.m.
When he walked back inside and approached the office door, he heard shuffling. His heart started to race. Who could have sneaked into the office in the five minutes that he was outside?
He braced himself as he slowly crept towards the door - the lights had been dimmed and there was a figure moving around slowly. Simon peeked inside and saw a man in a disheveled shirt shuffling through papers at the editor’s section. Without a hint of sound, Simon’s hand deftly reached inside his pocked. Liv often teased him for having Campus Security on speed dial, but now his caution was paying off. Just as he was about to hit the dial button, the clumsy figure awkwardly stumbled around, facing him, and Ian’s happy, drunken, and brilliantly blue eyes fell on him. Simon breathed a sigh of relief.
“Ian! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” What he wanted to say instead was, you almost gave me a heart attack!
Ian seemed vague and was clearly quite drunk. He gave a squinty smile at Simon and sat down against the desk, “Hey Northbrook. Glad to see my trusty soldier still here. I hope you enjoyed the party?”
“I had a great time, boss.”
Ian had spilled red wine over the front of his shirt, and he looked like a complete disaster, but despite the fact that the gaze he held was a bit unfocused, Ian’s signature twinkle in his eye more than made up for it.
Simon walked over to his own desk and found an old plastic grocery bag in his bottom drawer, where he stashed such items for emergencies like these. Inside, he produced an old flannel shirt. “I keep some supplies here, just in case. Why don’t you take this shirt so that you’re not walking around campus with a red stain?”
He walked over to Ian and offered the shirt with both hands. Ian smiled again, this time with a bit more enthusiasm than before. He clumsily lifted himself to his feet and took the shirt from Simon: “You always have my back, Simon.” Ian rarely called him by his first name. Simon felt a rush of pleasure run down his spine, and despite his self-effacing personality, he beamed from ear to ear at the affirmation and familiarity of Ian’s tone.
Simon gasped as Ian began unbuttoning his stained shirt. Self-consciously, and to his embarrassment, Simon lowered his gaze as Ian removed his shirt exposing his smooth, muscular, broad chest, framed by wide, angular shoulders. His hair, usually so well-kept, was messy, and it made him look rugged and earthy. When Ian had removed his shirt completely, Simon watched his firm, strong body, struggling to keep his lower jaw in place. He lingered on the thought of Ian wearing his shirt.
Ian’s arm awkwardly aimed for the inside of the sleeve and, unfocused and unsteady, he nearly punched Simon in the face in an attempt to get dressed. Simon ducked his head just in time, and in a fit of apologies and giggles, Ian rested his head on Simon’s shoulder, smiling with an adorably naughty glint in his eyes. Simon summoned up the effort of a martial artist skilled in breaking stony surfaces with their bare hands in order not to delicately plant a sweet kiss on Ian’s rosy, lightly stubbled cheeks. Simon shyly returned Ian’s smile.
Ian is such a nice guy, Simon thought. Sure, the drunken antics are a bit of a turn off, but who can resist that chiseled jawline – as if sculpted by Michelangelo himself? Simon finally regained his composure, and he helped to steady Ian and pulled the sleeves over his shoulder. He felt his stomach turn. Simon nervously wondered if Ian could hear his heartbeat, because he could hear it thumping away at a mile a minute. Simon felt lightheaded as Ian’s masculine scent filled his nostrils. He moved away, and felt a sudden impulse to go over and fasten the buttons for Ian, reveling in the opportunity to look after him, but decided that he might be crossing a line. He let Ian finish putting on the shirt, and dragging his feet a little bit dejectedly, he went to the kettle in the corner.
Simon said to Ian, his back turned as he faced the coffee station: “Let me fix you up some coffee in my thermos just for you so that you can be awake when you head home. It’s not safe walking around when you don’t have your head on you. Or maybe you should get a cab.”
Ian laughed louder than was appropriate. Simon found himself frowning slightly in disapproval at another display of inebriation. Nevertheless, he prepared the coffee and went back to his bag to get some aspirin. He handed these to Ian and folded his arms as he waited for Ian to take the tablets.
“I saw you leave without saying goodbye,” Simon let out. He immediately regretted making himself seem vulnerable. Who wants a needy loser like that? He chastised himself for being so blunt. He didn’t know how to follow up the comment, so he just let it hang between them for the few seconds it took Ian to respond.
“Margeaux wanted me to join at Percy’s Pub. I went ahead. I wanted to stick around a bit more, but you seemed like you were having a good conversation with Olivia.”
“Yeah, she follows me around to these parties sometimes. I hope you don’t mind that she attended? I was told plus on
es were okay.”
Ian sounded outraged at the comment: “No, of course I don’t mind! You’re one of our star players and everyone else brings someone to these parties. Why would I mind if you bring a girl?”
Simon was confused by Ian’s reaction, but he didn’t want to make the situation more awkward than it already was. “Besides,” Ian added, “someone as charming as you must have girls falling all over themselves to be with you.”
Simon was taken aback. Was this really happening? Almost right on cue, Ian smiled that lazy, effortlessly charming smile, and drunkenly stared at Simon, his hand rising up to meet Simon’s flushed cheeks. Ian lightly brushed the back of his hand on Simon’s cheek, and Simon thought his heart would explode in his chest. Then, Ian immediately turned around, furrowing his brow slightly, and approached his desk.
Ian spoke as he put more files into a folder: “I’ll be heading home soon. The pub wasn’t much fun tonight. I guess my head’s not really in it. But don’t bother cleaning any more. I’ll be in early tomorrow to try and get some of this sorted out.”
Simon swallowed, a dry, heavy lump in his throat. He was flustered by Ian’s sudden openness but was worried that he might be getting the wrong impression. Simon tried to turn the conversation towards work to avoid any further confusion: “Thanks for giving me that break today. I felt stupid for not going for it afterwards. You must’ve been so disappointed that I chickened out like that.”
Ian looked up at Simon, seeming even more sober now. His eyes narrowed, and he looked at Simon intently, his head cocked slightly to the side, as if he were deep in thought: “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re one of our best writers and I threw you a curveball. Don’t worry about it. I’m just concerned that…”
Simon held his breath as Ian paused. Was he about to hear that he wasn’t good enough to be editor of the Ridgemont Weekly?
“I’m worried that your articles are a little bit detached. Like you don’t put enough of yourself in them. You seem too guarded when you write. I wanted to give you the chance to do something spontaneous. I really respect the fact that you are so organized and that you do such a great job of getting things done, but I want you to find your own voice, and to write something that shows me who Simon Northbrook really is. I’d like to see you write something personal, and to put yourself into the articles you write for the paper more.”
Simon was flabbergasted. It sounded unprofessional to make his work personal. What was Ian asking for?
Ian stumbled over his feet and fell towards Simon. Simon caught him, barely managing to support Ian’s large, muscular frame.
“Woah, sorry about that, Simon. I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. Maybe I should just get off my feet for a few minutes and I’ll feel a bit better.” With that, Ian walked towards his desk where he lay down on the floor, as both of his hands cupped his sleepy eyes. Simon frowned and asked: “Should I call you a taxi? Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” He walked over and stood over Ian.
“Nah,” Ian said, smiling coyly. “Just a bit of company would be good. Why don’t you come down here and sit next to me?”
Simon was overwhelmed. He didn’t know if it would be appropriate at all to sit down on the floor next to his drunken boss. Especially not with the way he was feeling! Simon was acutely aware of his body’s desire to be close to Ian, to lie down next to him, and to feel Ian’s closeness warm his heart, his soft embrace enveloping him, the intimacy satisfying a deep need within him. Simon couldn’t help but notice how his shirt burst at the seams as it struggled to contain Ian’s well-developed muscles, and he noticed how the buttons were tautly stretched under the pressure. A small tuft of hair from Ian’s exposed belly was showing as he squirmed on the floor and took his hand away from his face, his eyes dreamy and wistful. Simon’s impulse was to run. All of these temptations proved too much for Simon, and before he changed his mind, he found himself seated next to Ian, looking at him expectantly.
“There you go, Simon,” Ian whispered, smiling more broadly than before. His features were even more striking up close, although his eyes were hardly open from his drunkenness. “It’s nice to have someone so close when I’m feeling like this. Aren’t you a bit drunk too? Don’t you maybe need to lie down as well? There’s space next to me…” Ian put his hand behind the small of Simon’s back and held it there, and Simon’s skin, rippling with goosebumps, felt like it was on fire.
Simon couldn’t believe what was happening. He felt his chest tighten, his breathing becoming sharper, faster. His mind raced and he knew that he would very likely regret staying longer. Simon jumped to his feet, pulling himself away from Ian’s hand. “I have to go, Ian. Sorry. I think I’m feeling… too tired now or something… Sorry.” His speech frantic, Simon averted his gaze, trying hard to avoid the hurt and surprise in Ian’s eyes.
Ian got to his feet, the smile gone from his lips, and told Simon that he would get a taxi. He walked out of the office without his files. Simon was left there reeling. What had he done? Why had he been so frightened of being close to Ian?
Simon sat down at his desk, his shoulders sagging, and he slumped over his desk, resting his head on his arms. He didn’t quite know how to explain what he was feeling. Clearly, the expert services of one Ms. Olivia Smythe were needed. Only his best friend could wade though his muddled thoughts and his silly behavior. Simon turned the lights off as he exited into the hallway, and with Ian’s scent lingering in the air, he left the building.
Chapter 4
Hot Off the Press (Ridgemont University Book 1) Page 3
