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Brett drops his bag on the ground, working his hands through his hair. “Fantastic.”
“What?”
“Of course, there’s only one bed.”
Stiles is about ready to throw himself out of the window, but they’re on the second floor. It’s probably not worth it at all. Still, the last thing he needs is sharing a fucking bed with Brett fucking Talbot, the hottest guy in Beacon Hills, and a werewolf, because there seems to be not a single goddamn human soul left in this hellhole. He can’t wait to get out of this town in a few months. He’s so close. So close . And so ready that he even agreed to attend a lacrosse tournament with his team he had zero interest in. The second Coach said it was outside Beacon County, Stiles signed up. Three days out of town? Yes, please. He did not expect to have to play, tho, but since Scott didn’t attend the tournament so he could spend the day with Allison, Stiles was suddenly high up on Coach’s list of players, informing him that he could see through Stiles’ bullshit. He had more fun than he thought he would, and they actually managed to win a few games. They didn’t win, not by a long shot, but they didn’t come in dead last — something that put Coach in a surprisingly good mood. One that lasted until they crossed the borders to Beacon County and not only their but also Devenford Prep’s bus broke down for some obscure reason.
The weekend was fun, so, of course, something had to ruin it. Having to share a bed with his unattainable werewolf crush on Valentine’s Day seems like a worse fate than his original plan; partying with Lydia and watching her get hit on by a bunch of attractive guys while he’s posing as her boyfriend whenever someone got too pushy.
“I’ll talk to the receptionist,” Brett mutters, turning on his heels, and walks past Stiles without even waiting for a reaction. Great. Like he hasn’t expected Brett doesn’t want to have anything to do with him. Now, he knows . That’s something he really could’ve passed up. But nope .
Stiles kicks the door shut behind him and collapses onto the bed, groaning into the blanket. How? Why ? What is wrong with him? He either latches on to people who are unattainable for various reasons, or he just admits defeat and goes through pretending for months until Malia has crossed too many lines, ignoring his boundaries over and over again. Well, maybe that’s the very reason his heart latches onto people he knows he’s not having a shot with — because he has absolutely no idea how to break down the walls he’s built around him. Especially not after reinforcing them around Malia.
The door opens with a quiet quick. “They’re fully booked,” Brett informs him with a huff.
To be honest, Stiles wishes the news is in any way surprising for him. They’re not. After all, they are back in Beacon County. His luck has run out. He merely grunts as a response, not knowing what else to say.
“I didn’t even get a fucking second blanket,” Brett adds, sounding way too casual about this.
Stiles shoots up and scrambles around to look at the werewolf. “ What ?”
“If you hog the blanket, I will kick you out of the bed.” And with that, Brett yanks his shirt over his head before kicking off his shoes and getting out of his pants. Without any hesitation. Like he doesn’t care if Stiles sees him in just his boxer briefs. He probably doesn’t. He’s used to being naked around guys. He’s also hot as hell. And has more confidence in one finger than Stiles has in general. It is quite infuriating. “Also,” Brett adds when he finds Stiles hasn’t moved an inch, “I’m not sleeping next to you in your street clothes.”
“I—“ Stiles swallows, forcing himself to look anywhere but Brett’s dick because, fuck , those boxer briefs don’t leave anything to the imagination. “Right, yes. Sorry.” He clears his throat and gets to his feet, walking over to his own backpack to get his sweatpants and shirt. There’s no way in hell he’s going to sleep half-naked next to him. He’s never going to make it through the night anyway, and the number of close calls he had with Brett at the hostel they were staying in had been more than enough. He didn’t purposefully go shower every time Brett went. Actually, most of the time Brett suddenly appeared in the showers when he’s almost been done. It wasn’t any better. Lots of naked skin, lot and lots of tantalizing naked skin Stiles desperately tried to avoid.
Groaning, Stiles runs his hands over his face and shoves his street clothes into his backpack.
Brett huffs. “You sound like you got somewhere else to be.”
“I had plans.”
“With that coyote?”
Stiles turns around, furrowing his brows — and loses all train of thought as he spots Brett lying on the bed, no blanket, and propped up on his elbows. That should not be as hot as it is, but Stiles is so fucking gone on this guy even though they barely exchanged any words. They met like four times. He shouldn’t have this bad of a crush.
And yet.
Licking his lips, Brett quirks a brow. “Like what you see?”
Stiles blinks. “I broke up with Malia.” Shit. Shit shit shit .
“That,” Brett says, a smirk curling around his lips, “doesn’t answer my question.” He’s eying him as if he won a game Stiles hadn’t even known they were playing.
Arrogance, however, has never failed to snap Stiles out of his lovesick dazes. He curls his lips and scoffs. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”
“You coul—“ Brett stops and shakes his head, clearly amused about whatever he thought about saying. “Will you come to bed? I’m not gonna bite you.”
Stiles knows very well he can only waste so much time over here until it becomes embarrassing. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Stiles pushes away from the table and crosses the room with his head held high. Well, mostly. In truth, he’s looking anywhere but Brett lying on the bed like a Greek fucking god. Staring a the ceiling as if he’s spotted something mildly inconvenient. A stupid idea, really. Something Stiles realizes the moment his left foot catches on something. He makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, losing balance faster than a fawn walking for the first time. Flailing doesn’t do anything for him either.
The arm around his waist, however, does.
Before he knows it, Stiles is pressed against a hard chest. Oh, shit. “You know,” Brett whispers, running his lips of the shell of his ear, “I wish you weren’t as stubborn as you are clumsy.” Rude. Very rude, actually. “But at least you aren’t very subtle. Neither am I though.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles asks, even though he very much knows what this means. Brett knows. He knows exactly how Stiles is feeling about him. This is horrible. This is, in fact, the worst thing that could’ve happened tonight. It would be quite wonderful if the ground just opened up beneath him, so he’d vanish into thin air. Not that he would fall very far considering the tight hold Brett had on him. His feet might dangle above the abyss for a second, but—
Wait.
Stiles cranes his neck to stare at Brett. “The buses.”
“The fact that it took you this long is astonishing,” Brett smirks, tapping a finger against his side. “I always kind of thought you’re some sort of genius.”
“Well, I’m sorry.” Stiles elbows the werewolf in the rips, scowling a little. “This is Beacon Hills. I expected everything, but not you doing… something.” In fact, this is absolute insanity, and the more he thinks about it, the more bat-shit crazy it becomes. “Did you— what did you do to the buses? Why—“
“Because I could’ve stepped under the same shower as you, and you still wouldn’t have noticed—“
Stiles folds his arms over his chest. “Use your words, Talbot.” He’s one to talk. It’s not like Stiles tried to converse his feelings in any way. Then again, it’s Brett, and Brett is not only completely out of his league, but he also doesn’t date. At least if Liam and Mason are to be trusted. Stiles probably shouldn’t trust them. Mason used to have the worst crush on Brett, and Liam just straight up hates him. That’s a lot of mixed messages.
Brett opens his mouth then scowls. “I can talk my way into your pants. I don’t know how to do the… other things.”
Stiles blinks. “You mean dating?”
“The hand-holding, showing you off, and convincing you to meet my family type of shit.” Grinning all but innocently, Brett rubs the back of his neck. The guy is really out of his comfort zone because he wants to date him. He wants to date him.
Oh god.
“Wait—“ Stiles works his hand through his hair. “Wait, are you trying to ask me out?”
Brett makes a face. “I cut the fuel lines of our buses and got us a room with only one bed. What do you think?”
“You act like you haven’t been living in Beacon Hills for the past eighteen years.”
“Or maybe you’re just a little paranoid.”
Stiles quirks a brow. “You know, you should be a little nicer to the people you wanna date.”
Quirking a brow, Brett studies him for a few quiet seconds. Seconds that feel long and longer. The smile vanishes before returning in the form of a devilish smirk. Within seconds, Brett was back in control and Stiles finds himself trapped between the wall and Brett, smiling at him. “I can be very nice.” He places his hand on Stiles’ arm, trailing his pinkie down to his writs, the back of his hand until he intertwines their fingers as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. It certainly felt like it. “The nicest person you’ll ever meet.” Brett grins, pinning Stiles’ hand to the wall. “Want me to show you?”
Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat, nodding slowly. “I’d love that.”
“Good,” Brett breathes, brushing their lips together. A simple touch that set Stiles’ whole body on fire. “Very good.”
Stiles cannot disagree with that.