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The scent of spilled draft beer and cheap pizza hung heavy in the warm, crowded living room of the off-campus house, where a chaotic Friday night party was in full swing. Blue and red string lights cast a hazy, neon glow over dozens of college students crammed onto worn couches, yelling over the thumping bass of the stereo.
Ryland Grace leaned against a wooden bookshelf near the hallway, nursing a cup of ginger ale. He hadn't needed much convincing to come tonight. After spending eighty hours a week staring at petri dishes in the biochemistry lab, he genuinely looked forward to these chaotic weekend outings with Tom.
Besides, Grace thought, watching the ambient red light catch the edge of Tom’s bouncy curls across the room, it’s not like I’m here for the lukewarm tap beer. Watching Tom Ryder navigate a college house party was like watching an A-list movie star effortlessly command a room, and Grace secretly loved having a front-row seat to it.
Currently, across the room, Tom was holding court by the fireplace, pretending to listen to a guy talk about vintage vinyl while keeping his eyes locked squarely on Grace. You’re an actor, Tom reminded himself, trying to look casual while his pulse raced. You cannot lose your cool just because Ryland happens to be around.
The problem was, Tom couldn't leave Grace alone for more than five consecutive minutes—who was quietly keeping track of every single absurd interruption. It was as if Tom’s primary goal for the night was to act like an overly possessive bodyguard.
At 9:00 PM, Brad from the rowing team had cornered Grace by the keg, leaning down flirtatiously to ask "scientific questions" about muscle recovery. Before he could even respond, Tom had materialized out of thin air, driving his shoulder hard into Brad's under the guise of reaching for a plastic cup, shoving him aside and steering Grace away by the elbow.
At 9:45 PM, a stunning track-and-field athlete had squeezed onto the arm of the couch Grace was sitting on, twirling her hair and whispering some proposal in his ear about helping her in chemistry with “one-on-one tutoring.” This is when Tom stepped directly between them, aggressively thrusting a paper plate of lukewarm pizza into the bio-majors hands while glaring at the girl with a terrifyingly tight smile until she awkwardly shuffled off.
By 10:30 PM, a guy from Grace's organic chemistry lecture had tried to hand him a mystery shot while sliding a lingering hand onto his lower back. Tom had practically vaulted over a coffee table, snatched the cup straight out of the guy's hand, downed it himself, and declared that Grace was "allergic to cheap alcohol" before dragging him into the hallway with an expression of pure, unadulterated fury.
At first, Grace had been mildly bewildered. But as the night wore on, watching Tom's jaw tighten, his knuckles turn white, and his bright Hollywood charm curdle into fierce, protective possessiveness was doing something terrible to him. It was downright thrilling to see a guy as handsome and self-assured as Tom Ryder completely lose his composure over him of all people. Tom Ryder is losing his mind because someone touched my back, he thought, feeling a sharp spike of excitement race down his spine. It was ridiculously attractive.
Now, at 11:15 PM, Grace was watching Tom’s absolute last nerve snap.
A tall guy with a bleached-blond fringe was leaning over him in the hallway archway, murmuring low and resting a heavy, lingering hand on his shoulder.
Tom didn't even bother making up a subtle line this time. He marched down the hallway, caught the man by the wrist, and lifted his hand right off Grace.
"I don’t think he's interested, dude," Tom said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly threat normally reserved for dramatic onscreen confrontations. He pointed over his shoulder toward the crowd. "Go find a beer pong table or something."
The guy took one look at Tom's broad frame and the sheer, lethal annoyance in his eyes, raised his hands in defeat with a small ‘my bad, man.’ Before backing away into the crowd.
Tom let out a long, dramatic breath, running a hand through his hair as he turned to face Grace. His jaw was set tight, his eyes still dark with residual jealousy.
Grace leaned back against the doorframe, taking a slow sip of his ginger ale. He couldn’t hide the amused, intensely fond grin spreading across his face, admiring the flush on Tom's neck and the sharp, gorgeous angle of his jawline.
"You know, Ryder," He started softly, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're acting like a protective guard dog tonight."
Tom blinked, his aggressive posture instantly faltering. Abort mission. Panic. Formulate excuse. “A guard dog? Please. I’m just... managing your public relations! It’s a networking strategy, Ry. I'm acting as your agent."
"My agent," Grace repeated, rolling his eyes with a quiet chuckle. "Right. Because Brad from the rowing team was pitching a high-stakes talent contract to national security?"
The guy had zero credentials! He was trying to scout you for bad press, Ry," Tom insisted, waving a hand dismissively, though a distinct, flustered flush was beginning to creep up to his ears. "And that track girl? Classic predatory talent scout behavior. I was managing your brand exposure. You've got a high-profile dissertation to write. You can't be getting signed into... sketchy house party deals."
"And the guy just now?" Grace teased, stepping closer until he was standing right in Tom's personal space, taking in how wildly attractive Tom looked when he was completely undone. "Was he trying to sign me to a bad contract too?"
Tom opened his mouth to deliver another elaborate, flimsy excuse, but the words caught in his throat. Up close, under the dim string lights of the hallway, Grace was looking up at him with absolute, unshielded affection.
"I..." Tom stammered, his polished hot-shot persona completely evaporating. He swallowed hard, looking immensely flustered as he crossed his arms, stubbornly avoiding Grace's eyes. "Look, people keep coming up to you because you're... you're you. You're smart, and you're quiet, and you wear those stupid little glasses that make you look like a cute, helpless genius, and it's annoying!"
"It's annoying?" Grace asked, his eyebrow raised with a small smirk grazing his lips.
"Yes! Because I came here to be with you," Tom mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks burning red. "I wanted to spend time with you. Not watch half the senior class try to get your number."
Grace let out a soft laugh, endeared beyond belief. For a guy who made a living commanding attention under studio spotlights, Tom Ryder was being remarkably transparent when it came to his feelings—and Grace loved every single second of it.
Across the house, the stereo shifted, the thumping bass giving way to a slower, synth-heavy track that filled the dimly lit space.
Grace let out a low, quiet chuckle, his eyes warm as he took in the flustered, gorgeous actor in front of him. Closing the remaining distance between the and stepping directly into Tom's space until the heat radiating off his neck was impossible to ignore.
"Well, Mr. Agent," Grace murmured, tilting his head with a slow, confident grin. "Since you’ve done such an exhausting job guarding my brand tonight... I think you deserve a break."
Before Tom could process the words, Grace reached out and slid his fingers firmly around Tom’s wrist, tugging him gently toward the edge of the crowded living room.
Tom froze, his breath catching as he looked down at their joined hands. He couldn’t believe his luck. “Wha- wait really? Dance? Ry, right in the middle of the hallway?"
“Particularly right here," Grace said softly, pulling Tom close enough that their chests nearly brushed. He looked up, his eyes practically dancing under the hazy neon lights.
“That way, your 'talent management' doesn't have to worry about anyone else stepping in. Also, I spent eighty hours in a lab this week. I didn't come here to watch you glare at drunk idiots from across the room. I came here to be with you too.”
A quiet ‘oh…’ was the only thing to escape Tom's lips.
The tight, defensive line of Tom’s shoulders instantly melted. A genuine, breathless smile broke through his lingering annoyance as he let Grace pull him into the slow-moving crowd, wrapping an arm around Grace's waist and finally relaxing for the first time all night.