Page 133 of Lessons in Chemistry

“No. No. I said I’d come—” He makes a strangled noise and squeezes his eyes shut.

I adjust his glasses—not that they were crooked—and run my thumb over his jaw. “I tell you what. If you get all hot and bothered, I’ll come home with you and help you get some relief.”

He whimpers and bites his lip. “Don’t make promises like that.”

“Why not? I’ll follow through.”

He crosses his legs and dips his knees. “I know you will.”

“You should come home with us anyway. They’re letting people in,” Casey says.

We shuffle along.

“But your beds aren’t big enough for three,” I whine.

Casey shrugs. “We managed the other night. Besides, it’ll be you two who need company anyway.”

He’s right, but I hate the thought of leaving him out. On the other hand, he won’t want to share a bed with two horny guys.

“I should have brought a toothbrush,” I muse.

“I have a spare. You’re not borrowing my underwear, though,” Emory replies.

I clutch my stomach as I cackle, drawing the attention of the men in the queue on either side of us. “What did I do without you?”

Casey tilts his head and narrows his eyes a fraction. “What do you mean?”

I sigh. “Dad called earlier with more ultimatums. It put me in a bad mood, which is why I wanted to go out tonight. But it’s impossible to be moody around you.” I loop my arms over their shoulders. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

“Next time, tell us you need cheering up,” Emory says.

Casey nods in agreement. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“He wants me to turn my grade average into a two-one by the end of the academic year. A third isn’t good enough for my parents.”

We move along again.

Casey winces. “I’m sure everyone who has a third-class degree would disagree.”

“Right? A degree is a degree. The classification gives you nothing more than bragging rights. But then, Dad loves to brag. I think that’s what pisses him off the most—that I’m too much of a loser to brag about.”

Casey hugs me, almost squeezing the air out of my lungs. “You’re not a loser.”

“Tell him that.”

“You’re not,” Emory says. “When you’re doing something you love or you’re interested in, you’re brilliant. Cooking, all that research you did on poly relationships. I bet if you were doing a subject you enjoyed, that you’d get the grade he wants easily.”

“Maybe. But I’m not. I fucking hate pharmacology. No offence.”

“None taken. I couldn’t do sports science, but Casey enjoys it.”

“Have you told your parents you don’t enjoy your course?” Casey asks.

“Repeatedly. It’s Dad’s dream to keep the business in the family. I swear, it’s the only reason he had a kid in the first place.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “Let’s not talk about this now. I’m getting pissed off again. I want to have a fun night with you.”

“I thought it was impossible to be moody around us?”

I chuckle and hug Casey back. “It pretty much is.”