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  “Well Margeaux, with or without anybody else’s help, the office thanks you for such an amazing scoop, and we look forward to much more of your excellent reporting.”

  To Simon’s relief, Margeaux’s arrogance wasn’t being received well by the rest of the crowd, with not an eye left unrolled in the house, as they responded to Ian’s praise with faint applause.

  Simon turned to pour himself another drink, and mumbled under his breath, “Jeez, I don’t know what I expected. A bloodthirsty, predatory leopard never changes her spots.”

  “What was that, Northbrook?”

  Simon heard a voice behind him, and that husky, deep-toned, warm voice belonged to none other than Ian Peters. He felt his knees buckle ever so slightly, but quickly regained his composure, as he shook his head to make sure his hair fell into place. He felt foolish for taking such great care to maintain the good impression he knew Ian had formed of him, but couldn’t help himself. Simon whirled around and did his best to smile nonchalantly.

  “Oh, you know, grumpy old me muttering to myself. Writers write, right?”

  Simon’s cheeks flushed at the awkwardness of the unintended assonance in his speech. Why do the weirdest things come out of his mouth when he is talking to Ian?

  “That sounds about right! I love what a goofball you are, Northbrook.” Ian laughed generously at Simon’s awkwardness, but Simon felt humiliated nonetheless.

  “What are you doing here standing by yourself, whispering sweet nothings to your soft drink? You should be out there having fun, celebrating our success!” Ian slapped Simon’s back as he said this, and Simon almost tripped over his feet. His coke spilled out onto his shirt and he let out a tiny yelp, and frantically reached for a paper napkin to dry himself.

  “Aw, crap, Northbrook, I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you out.” Ian grabbed a paper towel from his side of the table next to him and doused off most of the damage from Simon’s chest. Despite himself, Simon felt himself enjoying Ian’s big, powerful, dexterous hands rubbing his body in such an intimate way.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay, Ian, please it doesn’t matter.”

  Right on cue, like a shark picking up the scent of blood in water, Margeaux swooshed by and hooked her arm into Ian’s.

  “Ian, if I am Guinevere, does that make you my Lancelot?”

  Margeaux smiled seductively, lowered her eyelids, and raised her one eyebrow. Simon instantly felt his cheeks grow red with fury. The only thing Margeaux was more ambitious about than securing the editor position at Ridgemont University Weekly News, was to be Ian’s girlfriend. That was blatantly obvious to even the most casual observer. Even so, Simon couldn’t help but notice that his two minute long interaction with Ian hadn’t yielded nearly as much fruit as a casual passing remark by Margeaux. With an apologetic shrug at Simon, Ian sauntered off with a gleeful Margeaux by his side, and it took all of Simon’s self-control not to throw the remaining coke in Margeaux’s face.

  Simon was comforted by the sound of another familiar voice from behind him: “My honey snookums, my little baby fluffy bear, my gay husband!” Simon looked over as his roommate Olivia approached him with a smile and wide, open arms. He had invited her as his plus one for the party, and she sometimes wrote an advice column for the Weekly’s online edition so he imaged that she would not be out of place. His sour mood started to lift instantly, and with a sudden rush of joy he leaned over to her and embraced her in a tight hug.

  “Oh my, somebody is certainly out to make my day! What has you in such a great mood? Hmmm, is it a certain someone someone?” Olivia said.

  “Ha, I wish! Quite the opposite. You-know-who beat me to the punch.”

  “Aww, sweetie, I’m sorry to hear it. I swear, that boy has the thickest skull this side of the equator. Why he doesn’t snatch you up at the slightest chance is beyond me.”

  Simon smiled at her attempt to console him. He could always count on his best friend since high school to lift his spirits.

  As Simon broke the hug, he had a good opportunity to give her a once over. She was wearing a flowing, floral print, spaghetti strap dress the color of sunshine, her chestnut hair flowing over her shoulders, with light makeup tastefully applied to accentuate her gorgeous, almond shaped eyes, and generous full lips. While sometimes annoying, Simon never found it surprising that people asked him why he never hooked up with his best friend.

  “Sailor, I’ve got just the thing to lift your spirits. Justin and I are planning a boat trip on his parents’ yacht tomorrow afternoon. We’d love it if you could join us.”

  Simon considered this, and wondered whether a nice day of relaxing in the sun would outweigh the awkwardness of being a third wheel to Olivia and Justin. Simon’s brow furrowed as he thought of spending his Saturday holed up in the apartment, with his books and assignment notes staring accusingly at him from his desk.

  “Liv, you know I’d love to. That is if Justin doesn’t mind?”

  “Get out of here! You know Justin loves you. Besides, if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be saying yes to a certain question he’s about to pop in the near future, now would I?” Olivia giggled.

  Simon thought of how perfect Olivia and Justin’s relationship was. They had been dating for two years, and he thought of how hard it was for him to come out to Olivia and to dash her hopes of ever being with him. But were it not for carrying out that difficult decision, Olivia would never have met such a fabulous guy as Justin. And me? sighed Simon inwardly. Where’s my Justin?

  Simon’s eyes drifted over to Margeaux, who was happily swaying to and fro in tune to the music; her body grinded up against Ian, who didn’t seem to be resisting. Simon gasped as, during one particularly ambitious move, Margeaux’s six-inch heels were unable to support her and she fell backwards like a giraffe on roller skates. But Simon’s scowl returned as Ian caught her before she hit the ground like a ton of bricks, and Ian equally shared in her hoots of laughter and general drunken buffoonery. Margeaux looked up at Ian with an adoring face as she leaned in and whispered in his ear. Simon just about couldn’t believe his eyes when she pinched his butt! “The sheer audacity!” he seethed. “Ugh, what a schemer.”

  “Oh Simon, what’s with the frowny face, sweets?” Olivia asked as she returned from getting herself a drink.

  “Same old, same old. Margeaux is pulling out all the stops.” They watched Ian and Margeaux finally regain their footing on the dancefloor.

  “That’s it, Simon Northbrook! Time we reprogram those two left feet and let your inner Michael Flatley shine! And this time, I’m not taking no for an answer!”

  Olivia dragged a very reluctant Simon by the arm, his every attempt at resisting futile. As disappointed as he was in Margeaux and Ian’s growing intimacy, he couldn’t help but laugh at Olivia: she was slamming her feet down onto the floor, pulling a monkey face, and at the same time doing some very inappropriate gestures. It was a hilarious combination of what not to do on the dance floor. Simon felt grateful for the bond the two of them shared: the many nights staying up over WhatsApp, having pajama parties, gossiping about boys. All of that, of course, changed with the arrival of Justin. Simon was happy that Justin made his best friend so happy, and although he was loathe to admit it, he also felt a little bit jealous. He wondered what the future had in store for their relationship, and whether the idea of such a strong relationship was in the cards for him.

  Simon twirled Olivia around, caught her by the waist, and leaned down over her while supporting her back as she raised her leg, and she laughingly looked up at him. Olivia was the only one who could bring out the playful side of Simon, and made him feel slightly less self-conscious. As they got back to their feet, Simon noticed Ian across the room, clearly mouthing something in Simon’s direction. He turned around, but nobody met Ian’s line of sight. Simon frantically faced Ian again, but he was already on his way to the door. Was that just his imagination? Did Ian just try to whisper something to him in secret? Simon felt his cheeks burn hot with the confusion of
what the moment had meant. He fanned himself, telling himself he was getting his hopes up over nothing and that he was probably just mistaken.

  Simon started to contemplate leaving early before the party became too raucous, and then, right on cue, ever the opportunist, Margeaux drunkenly crawled onto a table, and clumsily managed, by some act of God, to get to her feet.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my humble shubordinates... my fellow, my uh…” Margeaux giggled and nearly lost her balance, with an amused Simon struggling to contain his grinning.

  “What, I mean, how great was that interview I conducted, huh? Oh, I mean us, I mean that we conducted, of course, my henchmen, my underlings!”

  Simon felt his blood boiling to a feverish point, and started to eye the exit. Repeating the same stupid joke? This was low, even for Margeaux. Margeaux, however, had not quite finished, and as she attempted to continue her drunken, slurring speech, her friend Tara strolled over and helped her off the table. Simon looked around to see what had happened to Ian, and was disappointed to notice that he had left. Given Simon’s meticulous, OCD nature, he already knew that he would be agonizing for the entire night over what Ian’s puzzling gesture had meant.

  Simon leaned against the nearest wall as Olivia danced next to him. He looked down at his stained shirt, and recalled how Ian gently patted and rubbed his chest in an effort to soak up the moisture. He remembered Ian’s touch: gentle, soothing, yet firm and commanding. Simon sighed. After a few more minutes Olivia called it a night and he watched as the last guests departed, and not that this came as a surprise at all, but he realized that he would be left to clean up the mess. As annoyed as he was, he held his hand to his chest, and a faint smile teased the corners of his lips. His Justin might not be about to pop the question, but there was no reason not to hold onto some hope… was there?

  Chapter 3

  Simon looked around the office at the mess left by the rest of the staff. 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, animal yawn and thought that his bed would be delicious, 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 dirty 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. He furrowed his brow; 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 stories. 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, he often said.

  He filled a garbage bag with 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, he 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. 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 were 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 editors’ section. He sighed in relief when he saw Ian’s face.

  “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 his attractive smile seemed to make up for it.

  Simon walked over to his own desk and found a bag underneath it. 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, and it sounded good.

  Ian began unbuttoning his stained shirt, exposing his shaven, muscular chest. His hair, usually so well-kept, was messy, and it made him look rugged and natural. When Ian had removed his shirt completely, Simon watched his firm, strong body. He enjoyed the thought that Ian would be wearing one of his shirts.

  Ian stumbled while trying to put his arms through the sleeves and Simon moved to grab his arm. He helped to steady Ian and pulled the sleeves over his shoulder. He felt his stomach turn. His face was completely flushed. He could smell Ian’s body as he held his arm. He moved away, but felt a sudden impulse to go over and fasten the buttons for Ian, enjoying the role of looking after him, but decided that he might be crossing a line. He let Ian finish putting on the shirt and went to the kettle in the corner.

  He said to Ian, his back turned as he faced the coffee station: “No fresh coffee in the machine, I’m afraid, but I’m just preparing some instant coffee 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 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 finish them.

  “I saw you leave without saying goodbye,” Simon let out. He chastised himself internally 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 your roommate. Olivia, right?”

  “Yeah, she follows me around to these parties sometimes. I hope you don’t mind that she attended? I was told plus ones were okay.”
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  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? Ian smiled and drunkenly stared at Simon, and lifted his hand to Simon’s cheek. He touched it for a second and something suddenly came over his face before he walked back to 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 with a heavy lump in his throat. He was flustered by Ian’s sudden openness but was worried that he might be getting the wrong impression. He tried to turn the conversation towards work to avoid any further confusion: “Thanks for giving me the chance 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 him with a serious expression: “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…”