He pulled his free hand from his coat and rang the bell. No answer. Second attempt. Still nothing.
He rapped his freezing knuckles against the hard wood, and a dog barked.
A gust of warm air puffed around him as the door parted. Coury glimpsed short caramel hair, high cheekbones, and a dimpled grin. Liam angled his leg, keeping the excited white-and-brown terrier inside. “Slider, sit.”
Slider obeyed, for a nanosecond. The moment Liam looked up, he pounced again, soft ears flopping. A lofty laugh bounded out of Liam; his eyes glittered. “Slider!”
“Hey, Liam.” Coury smiled and quickly stepped inside. The warmth felt good. He toed off his shoes. “How’s it going?”
“It’s . . . going.”
As kid brothers went, Liam was cool. He had a smart bookishness about him, like he was constantly thinking about Pi—the mathy one, not the one filled with apple and cinnamon—and he tended to study a lot when Coury was around. In fact, Coury couldn’t recall a time Liam hadn’t run off to his room with assignments to do.
One thing Coury knew for sure, Liam was the least pretentious straight-A guy he knew.
Just the thought of someone being a dickhead to him pissed Coury off. He didn’t even get it.
Okay, sure, Liam had a lean build, but he had a clearly masculine shape. Just an inch shorter than Coury and feet at least the same size.
“You’re frowning. Something wrong?”
Coury snapped his head up. “No, I was just staring at your feet.” That sounded sane.
“My feet.”
“They’re big.”
“Well . . . this just got awkward.”
Coury busted out a laugh, shaking his head vigorously. “Just take these.” He handed over the chocolate cupcakes. “I wasn’t sure what to bring.”
“Nothing would have been fine. Pop baked today.”
No surprise there. Pop had always been the cook, and a damn good one if he remembered right. He shrugged out of his coat. “Keep ’em for the weekend. Beckett loves sweets.”
“If Slider doesn’t smash them out of my hands first.” Liam pointed to the closet. “Hang your coat there.”
Free of the heavy parka, Coury followed Liam—and Slider—past the archway off the hall into the joint living and dining room, and toward the kitchen where a familiar, gray-bearded man removed a baking dish from the oven and set it on the granite countertop.
Pop had aged—a touch more weariness around the eyes—but not more than expected.
“Coury!” Pop opened his arms and Coury went in for the hug. “Good to see you again. You look . . . fit. How’s the oblique?”
“Better. I started rehab two days ago.”
“Don’t rush it, or you’ll miss the season.” Pop had played minor league ball and knew all about injuries from experience. “When you’re ready to throw, come around. You can pitch to Liam.”
“What?” Wide-eyed, Liam shook his head. “No way. I’m not catching for him.”
Coury smirked and didn’t comment.
Liam continued, “Do you like seeing my face get smashed?”
“I think I can hit the mitt if you don’t move it.”
“Still a no.” Liam crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
It was the first time Coury had seen this stubborn side of him; it was amusing as hell.
“Take the discussion to the living room.” Pop shushed them away, an amused twinkle in his eye. “You’re in my way.”
“Best do what he says.” Liam gave him a conspiratorial wink. “If something burns, we’re in trouble.”
“I’ve never burned anything in my life.” Pop swatted at Liam. “Just overcooked a few things.”
Liam stage-whispered to Coury, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Burned.”
Pop came at him with the dish towel, and with a bounding laugh, Liam deftly avoided another swipe. His warm hand curled around Coury’s upper arm, and Coury let himself be pushed through the doorway.
Liam and Pop were cute together.
“How’s school going this semester?” Coury asked. He’d promised Beckett not to mention what happened with the roommate. But it burned in him to know. “I haven’t seen you around much.”
Not that they hung out when he’d been on campus. But occasionally they passed each other headed to lectures, Liam juggling a million books, Coury searching his bag to find his.
Slider followed them into the living room and jumped onto the couch next to Coury.
“That’s his spot,” Liam said, slinging himself into an adjacent armchair. “If you don’t want him next to you, you’ll need to move.”
“All good.” Coury scratched the dog between the ears and looked over at Liam. “You like living off campus?”
Liam dropped his gaze, throat jutting with a swallow. “I mean, it’s a lot quieter here, so it’s easier to study.” Liam was disappointed; no matter how much he loved Pop, he was in his twenties. The time to have fun, socialize, meet people. “How about you?”
Coury’s turn to look away. “It’s . . . okay.” A hollow laugh left him. “I’m kinda scrambling to make up a class. I forgot I needed it to graduate.”