Page 34 of The Substitute

“Does that mean I get to cuddle you?”

Slowly, he meets my eyes again. “Is this a tit for tat?”

“Why not? Then you get to smell like me, and your whole bed will smell like me. I think it’s fair.”

He shifts on his feet wringing his hands. “I don’t date hockey players.”

That annoys me since my brother’s a fucking hockey player, and clearly, he’s dating him. “It’s not dating if we just cuddle. You’re not dating my brother yet?”

“I don’t know. Not like anything serious. He’s just helping me be comfortable.” Tobi drags his teeth over his lip.

“I can help, too.” I take a chance and reach out to thumb over his lip. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

“But does it mean something to you?” he asks tentatively.

“I want to get to know you, and I want you to give me a chance. That’s it.”

“Okay.”

“Really?” I can’t help but smile.

“I’m tired of being alone.” He climbs into bed and scoots towards the wall.

I get in behind him and wrap an arm around him. He leans back into me, blond messy hair half in my face. He smells like the strawberry shampoo he uses, and it’s cute as fuck.

His body relaxes, making me harder.

Fuck.

I don’t want to push it, but his ass is nestled against my lower abs, and it would be so easy to grind against his perfect cheeks. But I don’t. I want him comfortable and happy. He deserves that, not to be jumped the second he touches me. But it’s fucking hard not to.

He holds onto my arm and sighs, half asleep already.

THIRTEEN

TOBI

Afew weeks later, my books and notes are spread out over my bed when Ambrose shuffles in. Things have been easier, and I’ve been getting to know them both, but I feel guilty about it so I’ve kept it to only cuddling which is easy since they both seem to be cuddle whores.

A quick glance tells me Ambrose is freshly showered from practice, and he’s exhausted. His coach must have run them hard. Skated them hard? Whatever.

Ambrose drops his bag next to his desk and leans heavily on the wall, watching me.

“What?” I ask, probably more aggressive than I need to be.

“Can you just—” he cuts himself off and rubs a hand down his face.

“Just what?” What the hell am I doing that’s bothering him? My shit is on my side of the room, and it doesn’t smell, unlike his hockey shit.

“I just want to sleep.”

“So sleep?” I ask, holding back a laugh.

Things had been better with us since the night we cuddled, but still not great. I can tell he’s still jealous of how much I talk to Savage, but he doesn’t say it. I almost wish he would be morevulnerable. It would make me stop feeling so fucking stupid all the time.

“It sucks to sleep alone,” he huffs.

“Tell me about it,” I mutter.