Page 89 of Hits Different

It was one of our places. Just ours. I never told anyone. And I don’t need to ask him to know that he never did either.“You’re embarrassing yourself, Carter”, I grin, after he uses his last guess to suggest I’m taking him ‘Glass Blowing’, whatever the hell that is.

The car pulls to a halt by a gas station. “I’ll just be a minute, fellas”. The front door opens and then slams shut, leaving Brandon and I alone.

Brandon’s face is suddenly very close to mine. “I guess you win”, he murmurs. “What’s your prize?”

“Close your eyes”. His lips taste just as soft as they look, but it’s his mega-watt smile when we pull up outside the arcade that sends tingles shooting through my nervous system like goddamn fireworks.

* * * *

The fact that he’s beating me in every game is such a fucking turn on.

It’s also driving me crazy.

I’m finding any excuse to touch him. Hug. High five. Fist bump. Anything to give me the jolt of adrenaline I get when he puts his hands on me.

“I’m sure you used to be better at this”, Brandon leans over the pool table, lining up his shot. I manoeuvre my groin behind the pocket into his eyeline. It’s a risky move. The tension between his shoulder blades seeps through his shirt.

He shakes his head at my tactics, muttering to himself. “I will not lose my concentration”.

“I don’t know what you mean”. The ball rebounds off the side. “Tough luck, Carter”.

“Referee. Unsportsman-like conduct”.

I pot the next two. His eyes burn holes in my chest as I stalk across the table. He slides into my eyeline, and makes a show of stretching. His t-shirt rides up above his belt, exposing his v-line and the waistband of his underwear. I lock eyes with him, and in one deft move, pot the black too.

“Good game”.He playfully shoves me. We’re like teenagers. If other people weren’t around, I’d grab him and kiss him. “I’ll settle for the moral victory”.

“We’ve got 10 minutes before our reservations. What can we do?” My stomach flips at his suggestive grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter”.

We wander over to the next lane, and each pick up a basketball. It’s one of those race against the clock games where you have thirty seconds to hit as many free throws as possible. “Remember these? I was undefeated at high school".

"I remember the game. I do not recall your fictional undefeated record. These are basketballs, not soccer balls. Hands only. You might be in trouble".

"I thought you knew how good I was with my hands". He smashes the start button, and we start lobbing balls. There’s not a lot of skill involved, but somehow, I’m making more than I miss. I used to play pick-up games at college. A whole damn lifetime ago.

The buzzer sounds. “Congratulations”, Brandon rubs his shoulder ruefully, “You smoked me”.

“What’s wrong? Did you pull something?” I immediately lose the ball. “Come here”.

“Hands off. You’ve only ever cosplayed as a physical therapist”.

“You’re forgetting I live with two of them, neither of who can work anything more complicated than a microwave. It can’t be that hard”. I gently begin to knead his shoulder. His muscle is hard underneath his shirt, and it takes all my willpower not to start stroking his neck. “Better?” I manage.

My answer is a quick kiss on the lips, so tender my knees almost buckle. “Dinner”. I murmur faintly. “We have reservations”.

He casts a look around, before pulling me by the collar into a photobooth. “Then we’ll be late”.

* * * *

The host leads us to our table, a private-looking booth opposite a piano. The style is industrial chic, kind of like the restaurant was dropped in the middle of an old factory. I gotta say, I dig it.

Brandon looks right at home amongst the candlelight and faded brown leather décor. It’s discreet. Nothing to stop me from leaning over and doing whatever the hell I want.

Wait. A paranoid thought occurs to me. What if he thinks that I asked for somewhere private like I was scared people might see us?

I lean over my menu. “I’m gonna ask for a different table”.

“What’s wrong with this one?” He wobbles it. “Seems sturdy enough to me. Unless you had something more adventurous in mind”. He raises a suggestive eyebrow.

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