Page 37 of Save the Game

“Really,” he interrupts, “that was perfect, thank you. And, circling back to your question from before. You tell me what our thing is. I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me, so call us whatever you want.”

He scuffs his heel back and forth on my bedspread, golden brown eyes on mine. I wrap my fingers around his ankle to keep him still, thumb caressing the inside of his heel.

“Boyfriend, then. Whichever label means that we’re exclusive, and that nobody can touch you but me, that’s the one I want.”

“All right,” he says, smiling softly. “Boyfriends. You sure you know what that word means?”

“Property of Luke Kelly—anybody who checks out your fine ass that isn’t me, dies a slow and painful death.”

“You got it in one,” he laughs. “I take it from that statement, you might be a tad on the jealous side?”

“Hm, maybe. Less jealous, and more protective, I think. I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Not like I have a lot of relationship history to go off of. Buckle up, Maxy, you might be in for a wild ride.”

He laughs, shaking his ankle out of my grip and scooting closer to me so that he can put a palm to my cheek and kiss me. He tastes like peanut butter; I want to kiss him until the taste is gone and nothing but Max remains. Leaning over to set my plate on the floor, I palm his neck and bring him with me. He laughs against my mouth, both of us tilted to the side as I reach over the bed. I drop it the last few inches, because, fuck it, and then get back to the important business of kissing Max.

10

Max

When I’d agreed to come back to Luke’s place, I’d known this was where we would end up: in his room and on his bed. It’s where I wanted to end up, but I can already feel the first prickles of nerves along my skin, even though he’s done nothing more than kiss me back and touch my ankle. You’re fine—this is Luke you’re with and everything is fine. I try to make myself believe it, as I pull him toward me and start to lay down.

“No,” he murmurs, “let’s flip around.”

Before I can say anything, he’s stretched out on his back and gently directing me to be on top. I can’t help my sigh of relief; being on top is safer. Already my heart has slowed to a I’m-about-to-fuck-my-boyfriend level, and not a I’m-about-to-hyperventilate level. Baby steps.

I put a leg over him so I’ve got a knee on either side of his hips and bend down to kiss him. He puts his palms flat on my thighs and runs them up and down, making soft gasping noises in the back of his throat. Since he doesn’t seem in any hurry to do it himself, I release his mouth long enough to sit back and tug my shirt over my head. He brings his hand up and gently runs his knuckles down the center of my abs.

“Mm,” he says. “I wish I had my camera.”

“Honestly, so do I,” I admit, looking down at him. He’s lying there, dark hair fanned across the bedspread, lips swollen from kissing and a glassy look to his eyes. Reaching down, I put a hand on his stomach. “Can I take this off?”

Something flashes in his eyes, then, and if I had to name it, I might call it sadness. But this is Luke we’re talking about here, and it’s gone so quickly I wonder if it was even there in the first place.

“Yes,” he says softly, “you can.”

He sits up, and I run my hands up his sides, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor with mine. Instead of lying back down—and letting me suck on every inch of him—he hooks his arms around my waist, holding himself up and me firmly in his lap.

“What shall we do?” He asks, and I can’t help the startled laugh that escapes.

“Well, I don’t know…I didn’t have a plan, I just thought we’d see where things went. Do you usually start sexual encounters by compiling an itinerary?”

“Mm. First stop: Max’s impressive six pack. Second stop: his equally impressive v-line. Third?—."

“You’re such an idiot,” I tell him fondly, completely unable to disguise the fact that I’m obsessed with him. Jesus Christ, I might actually fall in love with him and then we’ll really be in trouble.

“Aren’t you the lucky one?” He kisses the tip of my nose. “But seriously, all joking aside. What’s the game plan?”

“I hadn’t thought much farther than just putting my mouth on,” I wave a hand in front of his chest and abdomen, “all of that. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, so nonchalantly it must be fake. I narrow my eyes at him.

“You’re thinking about the last time we were here and half-naked.”

“Maybe a little.”

Embarrassed, I go to swing my leg off of him—I don’t want to be sitting in his fucking lap while we talk about my psychotic break the other night. He stops me with hands cupped around my ribs, skin an inferno against my own. It’s a gentle, loving touch, and makes my face flush with pleasure. It’s ridiculous, and a little bit humiliating how starved for affection I’ve become; I can’t think beyond how badly I want him.

“Hey,” he says, bringing my eyes to his. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”

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