Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(78)

I leave out the part where Hayes definitely caught us kissing a few weeks ago, which was confirmed when he mentioned knowing about Oakley and I sleeping together. And the only reason he hadn’t said anything was because he wanted me to say something about it to him first.

But then we kept him from getting decent sleep one too many times, and he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

A sharp, disbelieving laugh comes from Oak. “Damn.”

I shove my arms in a new shirt and yank it over my head. “You don’t care if he knows?”

If I’m being honest with myself, I’m glad someone knows. Makes it a little more real. But I know how Oakley feels about this being kept private, just between us.

Which is why the shake of his head catches me by surprise.

“We were kidding ourselves by thinking absolutely no one would find out. And if you trust him to keep it to himself, then it’s fine by me.” He pauses, fucking with the snapback resting backward on his head. “It’s better than all my roommates finding out, you know?”

Yeah, I’m sure Braxton in particular would be thrilled to know his bestie is boning me seven ways to Sunday.

My fingers twitch as I fix my hair in the mirror again, a slight irritation rushing through me. Of course I’d have to change what I was wearing and ruin it when I’d just gotten it to lay just how I like it.

Come on.

“Are you nervous?” Oakley asks, pulling my focus to him instead.

He must be noting my actions as a nervous tick. And he’d be right. Because, yeah, I’m nervous. Really fucking nervous, and not just because Oakley’s dad was an all-star forward in the NHL for years. It’s because they’re his family, and I’m realizing their first impression means a lot to me. A lot more than it probably should, all things considered.

My lack of answer must give me away if the way Oakley’s gaze softens is any indication.

Rising from his place on the bed, he closes the distance between us. His hand smooths the errant strand of hair I was fucking with before moving to cup the back of my neck. “It’s just dinner, Quinn. Don’t worry.”

I swallow and plaster on a smile. “I’m not nervous.”

His brows furrow, and he releases the hold he had on the back of my neck. “Cut the shit right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This,” he says, lifting his hand and brushing his thumb over my lips. “The fake, plastic smile you use when you’re pissed or uncomfortable or lying.”

My mouth drops slightly, floored he’s picked up on something…I didn’t even realize I did.

His lips form a tight line and he pulls his phone from his back pocket. “We’re gonna cancel and order in pizza instead.”

Pizza and the night with Oakley in my room sounds fucking heavenly, actually, but cancelling last minute on people rarely leaves a good first impression. The very thing I desperately want.

“Absolutely not.” I grab his phone before he can finish whatever text he was typing, pocketing it in my jeans. “We’re going tonight, come hell or high water.”

Oakley’s lips quirk in an amused smirk. “Okay, well then you need to just relax. They’re just people; my dad included.”

“You say that, but…”

“But nothing, Quinn. They’re gonna love you.” He wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs me into him before placing a kiss on my temple. “Now, c’mon. We’re already running late.”

My jaw locks with another round of nerves.

Fantastic.



Dinner isn’t at a restaurant like I thought it would be. It’s at his parent’s house.

Oakley’s childhood home, which happens to be the exact opposite of mine. It’s a nice, large home out in the suburbs, about forty-five minutes from campus. It’s basically the American dream home, complete with a two-car garage, big backyard for barbecues, and a covered front porch with rocking chairs on it.

Fucking rocking chairs.

They’ve got the two kids, and when I pointed out the only thing they were missing was a dog, Oakley corrected me, saying they had a dog at one point, but it turned out his brother is severely allergic, so they couldn’t keep it.

“Oh no, an imperfection in your perfect little life,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. Which only made Oakley laugh more.

And to make matters more domesticated, some fancy caterer or a housekeeper didn’t make dinner for the five of us. Oakley’s mom did it herself.

“I feel like I’ve been shot into an alternate reality,” I murmur to Oakley as we sit down at the kitchen table beside one another. My gaze connects with his. “Am I in The Matrix right now or something?”

His lips twitch in a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say but I’m yours, except…I’m not actually his. Not really, anyway. Not in the way this whole coming home for dinner and meeting the parents thing makes it seem.

Or the way he places his hand on my thigh beneath the table makes it feel.

Which he promptly removes the second his parents enter the dining room.

Having never been the type of guy to go home and meet anyone’s family—save for Hayes’s, because he’s my best friend—I expect this entire thing to go poorly. Very poorly. To the point where I assume I’ll never be able to speak to Oakley again afterward.