Page 63 of Matched

“Yeah.” Something that looked a bit like sadness flickered in Charlie’s gaze, but it was gone before I could make sense of it. His hand landed on my chest, pushing me backwards, and before I knew it, we were on my bed, kissing, and kissing, and kissing.

We took our time peeling off our clothes, moving against each other with slow, lazy rolls of our hips, our mouths never separating for long. Our bodies slid together, our cocks thrusting against each other until Charlie came, and I followed him over the edge soon after.

Later, when we’d cleaned up, I sprawled out on the bed, propped up against the pillows, just enjoying the sight of Charlie in my room.

It was one of the best sights I’d ever seen.

My window was propped open, letting the night air in, and he was seated on the windowsill with one leg drawn up and the other stretched out along the painted wood, wearing one of my hoodies with his shorts. His hair was even messier than usual, and his face was still flushed, despite the cooler breeze.

As he dropped the hoodie strings he’d been playing with, he turned to smile at me. His brows lifted in response to whatever expression my face was making.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just like seeing you in my room.” I crawled across the bed to the window, rising to my knees so I could kiss him.

“I like being in your room.” He twisted around, lowering his legs so I could move in between them, and I pulled him down onto my thighs. His arms wound around my neck, and then we were kissing again.

When we eventually managed to tear ourselves apart, we lay on my bed, talking in soft whispers until our voices grew hoarse.

Charlie stayed with me until the darkness was beginning to give way to the dawn.

Then he left, as quietly as he’d come.

26

“So you’re the infamous Charlie.”

I straightened up from my position crouched on the floor, stacking pint glasses beneath the bar counter, to find a guy with blue hair grinning at me.

“Jonas?” I guessed, and he nodded. “Nice to finally meet you. I owe you a thanks for getting me this job.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that. I was hoping we’d meet before this, but our shifts never seemed to line up.” He paused, gesturing around us, where staff members were decorating the student union for the beach-themed party night. “Not until today. I think they called everyone in. It’s going to be a busy one.”

“Yeah. Hey, are you any good at blowing up inflatables? They want us to put some behind the bar.”

Jonas sighed. “Of course they do. Go on, then. Let’s make this look as tacky as possible.”

I laughed, handing him some of the items that had been piled up on the bar counter, and together, we got to work. When we were finished, the shelves and optics behind the bar were draped with tropical-print flags and several fake palm branches, and an inflatable flamingo and an inflatable pineapple bracketed either end.

“Jerry.” Jonas pointed at the flamingo before turning to jab his finger at the pineapple. “And Bob.”

“Bob the pineapple?”

“Yep.”

“I think he needs sunglasses,” I decided, grabbing one of the pairs of giant sunglasses with garish fluorescent frames that we were apparently supposed to be wearing. We managed to prop the sunglasses on the pineapple and then made the executive decision to “lose” the other pairs so we wouldn’t be forced to wear them.

As the doors opened and students began piling inside, Jonas leaned over to me. “Have you heard fromNate?”

I shook my head. “No, but I’ve been getting regular updates. They’re into extra time now. It’s one-all, so they have to play another thirty minutes because it’s a cup semi-final.”

Jonas winced. “It’s lucky they booked a hotel close to the football ground. They’re gonna be so tired when they’re finished.”

“I know.” Slipping my phone out of my pocket for what was probably the fiftieth time since I’d arrived at work, I scrolled through my message thread with Elliot, who had been texting me regular updates. He’d sent me photos, too, including a zoomed-in action shot of Nate kicking the ball.

“Is that Nate?” Jonas peered over my shoulder.

“Yeah.” Pocketing my phone again, I turned to the front of the bar, taking my first order of the evening. I worked on autopilot, my thoughts a hundred and fifty miles away, with my uni team fighting for their place in the cup final on the pitch, and one particular defender who lived in my head rent-free.

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