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I feel my cheeks go pink.
It doesn’t take too long to get to the dorms. Mason follows me on the now familiar route up the stairs and through the halls.
“Just give me a minute,” I call, moving off to my corner to grab the books I’ll need. I decide I also want to change into a more comfortable outfit. The comfier I am, the better my brain functions. Science!
“What’s with the curtains?” I hear Mason ask from where he’s waiting by the door.
“Oh right, we didn’t have this setup last time you stopped by.” My little cot area looks pretty tidy, so I pull back the curtains so he can see. “Me sleeping on the couch was getting to be disruptive, so we turned this into my ‘room,’ so to speak.” I gesture at the small cot, the neat piles of books and art supplies, and the small chest of drawers wedged in against the wall.
I’m proud of my little space. It’s become a safe haven for me, a non-nest spot that’s only mine and offers me a sense of protection. Though watching Mason’s face as he takes it in, I doubt he views it the same way I do.
“You-you’re sleeping here?” he clarifies, looking disturbed as he moves a little closer.
“Yes,” I reply simply.
“Don’t you need your own room?” he asks again, his eyes moving over every inch of my little home. “I know omegas like to nest in enclosed spaces, but this seems barely workable.”
“And where exactly would I get my own room?” I push back, trying to keep from getting defensive. I can tell he’s not trying to make me feel bad; it’s just his alpha protectiveness kicking in.
It was hard to convince Tanner not to give up his room for me, and it took a few conversations with Lincoln to get him to back off.
I watch as Mason’s eyes move around the rest of the dorm room, seemingly coming to realize there are only two rooms. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m on a roll today—two-for-one on the insults,” he chuckles. “Can I risk going for number three and ask to see your art?”
“Oh man, sounds dangerous,” I tease. My tone is light, but in all honesty, the request does make me nervous. Micah has seen quite a bit given that most of my recent stuff is for his comics, but some of the sketchbooks I have here have other, more personal drawings in them.
I spend a moment rooting around, deciding that showing him my alien zoo creatures can’t be too dangerous.
Mason moves to sit next to me then hesitates. “Sorry, ummm, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” I cut him off, scooting over on my cot to make room. “This isn’t, like, my nest or anything,” I explain, looking away. No reason to bring up my aversion to nests with this sweet alpha.
The whole cot creaks underneath his weight as he settles next to me, and we both laugh.
“Okay, maybe we take this to the couch,” I concede. “You get five minutes of perusal, and then we hit the library.”
Secretly, I’m disappointed at having to move. It probably makes me a creep, but I won’t deny I was very much hoping his woodsy scent would rub off on my bed. I managed to get one of Lincoln’s shirts to replace the hoodie I originally had, but the idea of multiple alpha scents surrounding me while I sleep has a purr threatening to escape.
He flips through the pages slowly, his seemingly sincere compliments leaving me warm and happy. I only have a few animals drawn out, though, and before long he’s moved past them and found the sketches I’ve been making of my new friends and E—Leo’s pack. Definitely forgot those were in there, but it’s too late now.
“Is this Micah?” he asks, tilting the notebook toward me so I can clearly see the sketch of his brother I was fiddling with last week.
Busted.
“Yeah,” I admit, blushing a bit. “Sometimes I just draw things subconsciously, like my brain won’t settle unless I have a pencil in my hand. I wasn’t able to do any drawing, you know, before coming here ... I guess there’s a lot built up that’s bursting out now.”
Mason must sense my unease with the direction the conversation is headed because he shuts the notebook gently and stands up. “You’re massively talented, Espy. Could I maybe commission something from you? My mom’s birthday is coming up soon and she is absolutely obsessed with our family’s dog. I bet she’d love to have a sketch of him that she could frame and put up on the wall.” He reaches out a hand to help pull me to my feet, and I’m so dumbfounded by his question I don’t even notice I’m touching him.
“You-you want me to make something for your mom?”
“It would be perfect, actually,” he muses, still holding my hand in his. “I heard Micah singing your praises left and right the other day when he called home. Please let me have dibs on your hands. It’s impossible to come up with gift ideas my mom actually wants. I can’t have Micah stealing my thunder on this.”
My face must be purple by now. I know it was just a turn of phrase, but the thought of Mason calling dibs on my hands has my imagination running a mile a minute. I pull my hand out of his abruptly, convinced he’ll be able to read my thoughts through skin-to-skin contact alone. Better not risk it.
“I ... umm ... yeah, I can do that for you. When do you need it by?”
“How long do you need? Her birthday is in about a week and a half—would that be enough time?”
“Sure, just send me the picture you want me to recreate. And I’ll need the size, material, and style you have in mind ...” I muse, trying to think through all the information I might need. I’ve never had anyone ask me to draw something on commission before. It’s ... exciting.
