Page 29 of Save the Game

“Maxy?” Luke’s voice comes over the line, wary, as if he’s expecting somebody else to be answering my phone.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“I’m all right, how are you?”

He laughs under his breath. “Eh. Hey, listen, I’ve got the night off tonight. I don’t suppose you’d want to… I don’t know, maybe I could keep you company on your walkabout?”

“It’s going to rain,” I tell him, and he’s quiet for a time. I feel bad, all of a sudden, for this unexplained awkwardness between us. Sighing, I rest my forehead in my hand and close my eyes. “So, listen, Luke, you don’t have to pretend to be interested in me. It’s okay if the…if you’re not into this anymore.”

“What?”

I huff out an exasperated breath. Is he going to make me spell it out? “Well, I’m assuming you only asked me out because you wanted to sleep with me, and we both know how that worked out. So, if you’ve decided this is more trouble than it’s worth, no worries. You don’t have to keep up the charade.”

The silence is palpable, broken only by the soft breathing that indicates he’s still on the line. “What do you mean you assume I only want to sleep with you?”

“Isn’t that…you’re not really a relationship guy, right?”

“And that’s what you want? A relationship?” He asks, deflecting away from answering my question. Which, I suppose, does in fact answer my question.

“I guess, yeah,” I mumble, rubbing my hand over my head and squeezing my eyes closed. I don’t even know what I want. “I like you, and I like being around you, so, yeah, I would be disappointed if all you wanted from me was a fuck.”

“You’re right, I’m not a relationship guy,” he admits suddenly. Sitting up, I spin myself idly in my desk chair, trying to pretend the words don’t bother me. “But, it’s not that I don’t want to be, or could be.”

“Luke, I don’t know what that means.”

“It means… okay, I like you too, and duh I want to have sex with you. I’m not a fucking nun. But I also just like talking to you, and I like it when you visit me at work. You’re already different than the rest of them. Most of the guys I sleep with, we don’t really talk—it’s just banging.”

“Super glad I know that,” I deadpan, and he lets out a snort of laughter. I grin, happy to hear that the Luke I know hasn’t been replaced by this more serious version.

“You get what I’m saying, though?”

“Spell it out for me.”

“Maxy, I’m here, wearing an omelet yellow shirt and an apron, asking you to go steady with me.”

It’s my turn to laugh, and I hear Luke chime in from the other side. “Yeah, I’ll go steady with you, you fucking weirdo. But no more ghosting me for three days; I’m too needy to handle that.”

“Mm, possessive, are we? I like it. I’m going to change my Instagram bio to read: Property of Max Kuemper,” he says, smile evident in his voice. I roll my eyes at the ceiling, shaking my head. “So, are you really not going on a midnight walkabout tonight, or were you just trying to let me down easy?”

“I’m really not. Marcos is out and I told him I’d be home. And it really is going to rain.”

“Got it,” he says, and then pauses. His voice becomes hesitant. “So, I don’t suppose you’d want company?”

My eyes immediately track to my bed, and I scuff my heels along the carpet, thinking. “Yeah, you could come over if you wanted to…I’m just doing homework.”

“Great! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Ten min—hello?” I pull my phone away from my ear and sigh. He hung up.

Standing, I walk into the bathroom to check my appearance in the mirror. Pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt, damp on the shoulders where my wet hair has dripped down.

“Very sexy, Max,” I congratulate myself, before grabbing my toothbrush and brushing my teeth. I consider changing, but, aside from the pajama bottoms, this isn’t that much different than how I usually look these days. No sense pretending to be something I’m not, anymore.

A knock sounds less than ten minutes later, and I pull the door open with a smile. Luke, unlike me, looks fantastic: black joggers and a fitted black long-sleeved shirt, neither of which leave much to the imagination. I can see every line and indent of the muscles on his arms. His dark hair is carefully messed up, as though somebody was running their fingers through it. My stomach clenches at the sight of him; heat pools low in my pelvis, and I have to remind myself what happened last time.

“Hey,” I clear my throat, stepping back to let him inside. He brushes up against me as he steps through the doorway, and I inhale his scent, involuntarily. Jesus Christ, it’s abnormal for somebody to smell this good.

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