Page 64 of Game Point
I could kiss her.Not moving closer to her was like fighting gravity, the strain on my body pulling all of my energy and self-control.
Kiss her, see if it feels like I’ve imagined these last few nights.I swallowed, my legs shifting under my weight, pulling me closer. Her hand slipped around my waist, the touch so warm, so soft and gentle in a way I’d never imagined Dylan could be.
Neither of us dared to talk, the silent exchange enough as I closed my eyes and dared to lean forward, using the last small tendrils of my self-control to rest my forehead on hers. I felt weak, reduced to this one need, this one thought. This one want.
My heart thumped in my chest, my fingers almostshaking. When did this happen? This feeling that felt far too big. Was it the last few days, hanging out on her sofa, laughing at each other’s jokes, staying more still than I had in years? Was it the moment she stepped out of my text messages and back in front of me? Was it that night at the party, when I watched her strike out with one of my mates? When exactly did I start wanting to touch Dylan like this?
An alarm erupted in the hallway behind us, the connection instantly shattered as we pulled away.
‘Fuck!’ I swore, jumping up, away from her. I ran through to the kitchen, the room full of smoke. I found a towel, using it to insulate my hand from the smoking pan, moving it off the hot hob, practically throwing it into the sink.
Dylan ran after me, pausing to take in the scene before coughing from the smoke. She turned, the alarm still blaring at us, and slid open the back door to let the smoke escape. I opened another window to create a breeze to push the smoke out. The blaring of the alarm stopped, and I turned around to see Dylan standing on top of a stool, pressing the button to silence it.
I headed over to her, offering her a hand as she climbed down, her descent a little wobbly. She grinned widely as her eyes caught mine, watery from the chilli and the smoke.
‘How do you feel about take-out now?’ she joked.
‘Yeah,’ I said, still trying to align the confusing feelings I had towards her, the tug to pull her close to me again, to tangle my fingers in her flowing hair, tofeel her against me.She was supposed to be a friend, my healed heart shuttered away, safe from more damage.
But if that was true, why did it hurt to look at her and pretend it could stay this way?
‘We might not be cut out for this after all.’ I forced a small temporary smile to my lips, realizing I might need to book a plane ticket back to the UK before it was too late.
22
Oliver
Close to You – Gracie Abrams
One week. That was my limit on the airbed. The support under my back shifted with every toss and turn, attempting in the middle of the night to try and get the inflation to just therightplace like I was Goldilocks.
And to make it worse, it wasn’t the mattress that kept me rolling over. Even if I found sleep, visions of long brown hair, deep hazel eyes, a slight smirk, the teasing chorus of her voice, they all tore me awake. Bolting up in a cold sweat. Blood hot and racing; that is, the blood that wasn’t sent directly to my dick. There was no relief. No matter the number of nervous, quiet midnights wanks like I was living back in my parents.
By night seven I was officially done, relegating myself to the sofa downstairs, but not before I kicked the air mattress for good measure as I gave in. I grabbed my pillows and duvet, dragging them into the hallway feeling too much like a kid off to build a pillow fort.
At least it would be comfier.
Creeping quietly out into the hallway, my eyes landed on Dylan’s closed door. She was right there. One thin wall away. I’d never been this aware of someone else’s presence.
I inhaled deeply, holding onto that edge of control that was wearing thinner as I carefully headed down the stairs, the distance doing nothing to lessen the hold she had on me.
Those eyes. Long legs.Unusually small hands.Everything about her was hyper magnified now that I was with her all the time. We’d gone from almost zero in-person contact to sleeping under the same roof, and she’d stayed exactly where she was, sitting on the edge of my every thought, driving me mad.
Reaching the sofa, I cleared off the small cushions, setting them to the side. Dylan had called them ‘decorative’ and they had to be, because they were far too small and firm to be used as actual cushions. Just as I got my pillows in the right place, my feet sticking out at the end, the sofa too short, I realized I’d left my phone upstairs. I was planning on sneaking back before morning, before she found me here and discovered how I despised that air mattress so much that I was forced to sleep somewhere else.
I wouldn’t be the one to blame for someone else becoming that so-called mattress’s next victim. I’d sooner pop the damn thing.
I was at the top of the staircase when I first heard it.A sob?I stood frozen, eyes glued to Dylan’s door where I was sure I heard the noise.Maybe a nightmare?I didn’t have to wait long before there was another one, a little louder and easier to hear. Taking a step closer, I weighed up what to do. Should I knock and try to wake her up? Leave her, hope she woke herself up?
I was trying to recall what I’d read about sleepwalkerswhen there was another noise. Not a sob or a cry. But a moan. And another. Loud enough to be heard through the pine door that might as well be paper.
My feet felt like they were trapped in cement, stuck to the ground only a metre away from her door, torturing myself with the whimpers, the moans I could hear, the light buzzing that told me this was no dream. It might have been for me, although whether it was a nightmare or a wet dream so powerful it had me almost certain it was reality, I was still yet to decide.
I swallowed, realizing how heavy my breathing had become. Standing outside her door, listening to her … come undone, like I was a pervert, reality crashing in around me as I forced myself to take a step and then another down the stairs, towards the safety of the couch.
‘Oliver.’
I heard my name. I HEARD MY NAME.
