Page 20 of Off the Pitch

I reached up to gently caress his jaw, holding him steady because I was so sure that this was just another dream. That at any moment he’d vanish into thin air and I’d be left howling at the wind.

I kissed him gently, not wanting to scare him. A soft press of my lips on his, nothing more. Time slowed to a crawl. Then Christian moved his lips, pressing harder, a gentle demand for more.

How could I resist?

Christian’s mouth parted with a soft moan that set fire to my body. My tongue darted out to taste the lingering sweetness of toffee popcorn decorating his lips. I needed his kisses more than I needed oxygen.

There was a sudden, pointed cough behind us. “Are you still watching?”

Christian lurched backwards, head spinning wildly, his cheeks already beet red.

“Kit,” I growled, eyes glaring at the innocent face of my roommate. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I came to join you for the movie,” he shrugged. “You said I could. I was just wondering if you were still watching.”

“We were a little… busy,” I said, reaching out to clasp Christian’s hand in mine. His whole body had gone stiff, and I could tell he was five seconds away from running—his default setting when it came to awkward situations.

“I know. That’s why I coughed to let you know I was here.” Kit rolled his eyes and smiled at Christian. “Honestly, he’s such an idiot, isn’t he?” All I could do was stare, fixing all my rising rage on the ginger nitwit who was currently ruining my evening. Not that he’d see it like that. Kit just didn’t get romantic situations.

A tiny smile twitched on Christian’s lips as he turned to look at Kit, his hand squeezing mine so tightly I thought I might actually lose fingers. “He’s not so bad.”

“Really? Well, I guess you don’t have to live with him,” Kit said, flopping down on the sofa next to me. “And I’ll have you know I’d be an excellent boyfriend if we were dating. I mean I know how to make carbonara. That’s gotta count for something, right?” He smiled at me, wrinkling up his nose and the collection of freckles that lived there. “Is something burning?”

The garlic bread had been salvageable, and I’d given the most burnt bits to Kit as a petty form of revenge for ruining our moment. Not that the bastard had complained. He’d just smiled in his easygoing manner and started eating. It really was like looking after some sort of overgrown pet.

Christian seemed to have settled down again, although he kept shooting Kit little glances, as if wondering whether or not Kit would mind about him being gay. Or if he’d tell anyone.

I knew the answer was no to both of those things, given that Kit was blind as a bat when it came to anything vaguely relationship-based. Although that analogy wasn’t really fair to bats to be honest, but still.

After dinner, I pulled him close to me, and after a moment of hesitation, he snuggled up willingly, letting me stroke his hair as he rested his head on my shoulder. Over the course of one evening, we’d gone from awkwardly sidestepping the subject of dating to cuddling. Not that I was going to complain. I just knew we needed to actually talk about it before he left so we both understood what page we were on. I wasn’t going to fuck this up by not communicating. Fuck that shit. I was going to be an adult and use my words.

By the time the film ended, he was comfortably cuddled up next to me with his head on my chest while I debated how best to get rid of our uninvited guest. Simplicity seemed to be the best option.

“Kit, go away,” I said, flicking off the TV.

“Why?” he asked, seeming genuinely stumped by my request. Jesus Christ, a dachshund would be easier to deal with right now.

“Because,” I hissed, trying to stay calm and not look like an idiot in front of my potential boyfriend. “I would like to talk to Christian. Alone.”

Kit rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Fine, but I’m taking the other bag of popcorn.”

“Whatever. Just get out.” I grabbed the unopened bag off the table and thrust it into his greedy paws, watching his smug face disappear back up the stairs. Git. A low chuckle sounded from my ribs, and I looked down to find the bright blue of Christian’s eyes gazing up at me through his long, perfect lashes.

“I like him,” Christian said.

“That makes one of us,” I said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his blond head.

“I’m glad you’re not together, though, because you really would be in prison.” He sighed and settled back into place, wrapping an arm around my waist and squeezing. “Then I wouldn’t get to have this.”

I swallowed. This was the perfect moment to suck up my insecurities and actually ask him what we were doing. But I all could manage was, “This?”

“You,” Christian said, speaking to my stomach. “That is, if you want me?”

“That’s a stupid question,” I said, trying to cover the shaking in my voice with some false bravado. “Of course I want you.”

“Oh,” was the only response I got. Christian still had his face buried in my stomach, and as sweet as that was, I knew we needed to get this out in the open before he went home.

For one of England’s top strikers, Christian was currently doing a rather good impression of a hedgehog, which was never going to be conducive to conversation.

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