Page 36 of Save the Game

“Jesus, even your feet are sexy,” I tell him. He looks at me and then down at his own toes.

“You are the horniest motherfucker I’ve ever met,” he says, and I shove him onto the trampoline. He hops away, laughing, before turning around to face me and giving a few experimental jumps. “You coming?”

I knew when I planned on coming here for our date, I was taking a risk. It would either end up being a blast, or a complete and utter failure; it winds up being the former, thank god. Max and I spend hours—far longer than I’d planned—jumping around, doing backflips, and laughing so hard our ribs feel like they might crack. My cheeks and stomach hurt from the general outpouring of joy, and I am pretty sure this is the most fun I’ve ever had.

I try to grab his hand again as we walk to the car, but he slides his arm around my waist instead, causing my heart to skip a couple romantic beats. He’s holding me tighter to him than is strictly necessary, and I am so fucking here for it; I return the gesture, and take it one step further by leaning in and kissing his cheek. He blushes, which is so cute I think I might die.

“Where to now?” I ask, as we slide into the car and I start the laborious process of getting the engine to start.

“It’s pretty late, do you want to just…eat at home?” He stumbles over the request, as though I’m going to say no to literally any suggestion he might have.

“Your home or mine?”

“Driver’s choice.”

“Mine, then. I’ll make you a sandwich that will make you fall in love with me, and then I’ll kiss your fucking brains out,” I tell him, as I successfully get the engine to start and put the car in drive.

“Careful what you wish for, Luke Kelly,” he warns, holding his hand out to me palm up across the center console. “You’d be an easy person to fall in love with.”

I smile, trying not to feel too pleased with this. Glancing over at him, I take in his copper-brown hair and light eyes; his tall, muscular frame and lean hips. He’s gorgeous, and has the personality to match. You’d be easy to fall in love with too, Maxy.

True to my word, when we get to my place, I put a pair of sandwiches together in the kitchen while Max sits at the island watching, chin resting in his palm and a small smile on his face as he listens to me talk about baseball. Only one of my roommates is home, from what I can tell, moving around upstairs but not interrupting. Good, I want Max all to myself.

Grabbing the two plates, I skirt around the counter and perform a motion that is something between a curtsy and a bow. “Dinner shall be served below, my liege.”

“After you, peasant,” Max replies loftily, and waves me in front of him. Cackling, we traipse downstairs to my bedroom, where I open the door with my hip and hold it wide for him. He brushes his hand across my hip as he passes, and he might as well have done it with his teeth with the way my skin zings with pleasure.

There aren’t many places to sit other than the bed, so we settle there: Max with his back to the headboard and legs stretched out, and me cross-legged in front of him, not wanting to sit directly next to him and not be able to see his face. I hand him his plate.

“So, this is it, huh? The sandwich to beat all other sandwiches. The main ingredient to Luke Kelly’s love potion,” he muses, eyeballing the perfectly normal peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“That’s it. Not to brag or anything, but I’m something of a PB&J connoisseur. It’s my specialty.” I shrug, in a nonchalant way. Max’s lips twitch.

“Mm,” he hums, squinting as he takes a bite and chews slowly. “Congratulations, it tastes exactly the same as every other PB&J that has ever been made before.”

I groan, dramatically loud, with my head thrown back and mouth open. “Tough critic.”

“It’s okay,” he says, reaching forward and patting my knee, “I’ll soothe your bruised ego later.”

My dick practically stands to attention at these words, and I have to shift my plate to hide the semi I have tenting my pants; my thirstiness for this man knows no bounds. Max, who is contentedly munching away on his sandwich, doesn’t appear to have noticed. I watch him for a few seconds, pleasure inflating my chest like a balloon as he eats. When we first met, I could barely get him to choke down a forkful of pie—now, he’s sitting on my bed and eating a peanut butter sandwich so fast I wonder if he’s even chewing.

“So, hey, are you my boyfriend?” I ask, and he chokes a little bit because of my unfortunate timing.

“What?” He asks, after successfully clearing his throat of peanut butter.

“What’s our thing? Boyfriends, lovers, partners? Sex cowboys?”

“Sex cowboys?”

“I don’t know,” I laugh, “I just couldn’t think of any other relationship terms, so figured I’d make up some of my own. Sex cowboys sounds like it might be a good time.”

“Sure, if either one of us was a fucking cowboy,” he says, hand shaking so hard with laughter he has to set his plate on the nightstand. His empty plate, I’m pleased to note.

“Do you want another sandwich?” I ask, temporarily diverted by the fact that I just watched him inhale his food. “I’ll make you something else, what do you want?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? If you’re hungry?—."

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