Page 77 of End Game

What Nico is suggesting is dangerous. I know it is. I should say no and leave—though technically I can’t because I’m not about to walk out of this room knowing Portia is lingering on the other side of the door.

She might, I don’t know, attack me or something.

My gaze goes to Nico, who’s waiting for me, an expectant smile on his face. His fingers are wrapped tightly around the bottle of mezcal, which is sitting in his lap. Practically nestled against his junk.

I think about that. His junk. What he might look like naked. I’ve not seen a lot of naked men in real life. In fact, I’ve only seen one, and that was my ex, because Brad is the only guy I’ve had sex with. While it was decent at first and I believed we were madly in love, eventually the excitement seemed to fade, and by the end of our relationship, we were just going through the motions. He never seemed to care if I had an orgasm or not. He rarely went down on me, so I decided to be a petty bitch and never give him a blow job.

Yeah. We were in such a healthy relationship, huh?

My gaze roams over Nico, taking every bit of him in. The faded gray T-shirt he’s wearing saysProperty of Santa Mira Dolphinson the front, the school mascot in the dead center. It’s a little tight on him,accentuating the sheer size of his chest and shoulders and upper arms, and I think of Brad. How slender he was. We probably weighed the same, or maybe he was just a little more. I don’t know. Not like we were weighing each other and sharing our numbers.

I wonder what it’s like, being with a man who’s so ...

Large.

The smile on Nico’s face slowly fades, and he sits up straighter, setting the bottle on his nightstand before his gaze returns to mine. “If you want to leave, I get it.”

Does he, though? He’s not in my head, so he has no idea what I’m thinking, but I’d guess he’s making assumptions.

“I want a drink of that if you’re willing to share it.” I incline my head toward the bottle sitting on his nightstand.

“You know I’m down. I already made the offer.” His smile is back, dazzling in its brightness, and I wonder how anyone can resist it. No wonder Portia is pounding on his door. She probably misses this: his easygoing yet somehow effortlessly sexy demeanor.

The man is magnetic and he knows it. I made a fool of myself already by kissing him in front of the entire party. I mean, he definitely kissed me back, but was that only because I attached my lips to his? Or because he was merely playing along since he already told Portia that we were together? Was he trying to make the kiss appear convincing?

Well, he definitely did that. At least to me.

Realizing that he’s waiting for me, I approach the bed, unsure how to go about this. The closer I get to him, the more I can smell him, and his scent is heavenly. Like spicy, sexy, clean man skin.

Okay, I need to get a grip. I am losing it over here while he’s just being a nice guy. Though itishis fault we have to suffer through this moment together, being locked up in his room. He’d probably rather be anywhere else but here.

I can hear the party raging on both in our house and out in the backyard. There’s lots of laughter, and loud music is playing, the bass athrobbing beat that rattles the walls. I can only imagine all the incredibly drunk people stumbling around, having the time of their lives. Couples are hooking up. Some are probably leaving to go hook up.

Hmm. There will be no hooking up between us tonight. We’re just roommates stuck together. I need to remember that. Treat him like a friend, like we promised each other only a few nights ago. This is no big deal.

Not a big deal at all.

Taking a deep breath, I sit on the edge of the bed, leaning against the stack of pillows and stretching my legs out. His hoodie covers me almost to my knees, but when I sit, the hem rides up, exposing my legs. His gaze flickers there for a moment, lingering on my thighs before he looks away to grab the bottle of alcohol.

I tug the covers up into my lap, watching as he uncaps the bottle and takes a swig from it. His lips are still wet once he swallows before offering the bottle to me, and I take it from him with a murmured “thank you,” our fingers grazing.

That little finger graze sends a cascade of tingles all over my body.

I lift the bottle to my lips and take a tentative drink, wincing once I swallow the alcohol down. “Oh my God.”

He chuckles. “You can’t drink it like that. You just have to chug it.”

“I don’t know—”

“Watch me.” He swipes the bottle from my hand and takes another big swig. “Do it like that.”

I take the bottle from him and try again, reminding myself I need to just go for it. Tipping my head back, I take a couple of long swallows, choking it down before I thrust the bottle back at him, gasping.

“That a girl,” he praises, sounding pleased.

I sit up a little straighter at his words, watching as he takes another, even longer pull from the bottle. I stare in fascination at the way the strong column of his throat moves when he swallows. How he licks his lips when he’s finished, like he wants to catch every last drop. I’m socaught up in watching him, I don’t even realize he’s offering the bottle to me until he’s saying my name.

“Everleigh. It’s your turn.”

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