Page 62 of These Wicked Games
“Thank you for tonight. I needed the distraction.” A distraction. That’s right, because that’s all I am. My fucked-up heart and brain better get the goddamn memo.
“Have a good night, Oli. Get some sleep.” I go to take the keys from him but he holds them up out of my grasp so I can’t reach them. “What?” He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he cups my face, backing me up against the vehicle. I melt. I’m pathetic. Oli’s touch is my weakness. “What are you doing?”
“Cut the attitude,” he whispers against my lips. “Stay the night with me.”
“What?”
“Unless you want to leave?”
A distraction. I’m just a . . . a uh . . . a distraction.Don’t let him fool you. He’s just going through shit right now. That’s all. Still, as I run these thoughts on a loop, I know what I want, and right now that’s to be anywhere he is. “Say you believe me.”
I don’t know why I’m pushing him. I want to stay. I want more with him, but I can’t have anything without this. I can’t do anything as long as he believes I betrayed him. Oli’s blue eyes search mine, his hands still cupping my face, his thumb on my jaw. I see the war playing out in his mind, and it breaks my heart. “Right. Goodnight, Oli.” I grab my door handle, just ready to put tonight behind me.
“Wait.” He flips me back around to face him. “I—” He swallows. “I believe you, Dre. I don’t think you did it.” Maybe he’s only saying it to get his way, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about this man, it’s that he doesn’t lie. Not to me. Not to anyone. “Stay with me. Please.”
eighteen
Andre
I’m not sure what’s happening right now. All I know is that I don’t want whatever may be happening to end. Oli is like a magnet, holding me here to react around him. Inside his kitchen, I can’t help myself, watching him as he walks to the counter. I pinch his ass and he turns to look at me, shaking his head. “Haven’t you had enough?”
Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough. Sex with Oli is explosive and raw. He reaches out his hand and I take it, letting him tug me to him. “This is insane.” His lips land on mine and I instantly groan, licking into his mouth. I could kiss him like this all night—slow, indulgent, and sensual. He gives my ass a squeeze.
We were friends for so long, and I had a huge crush on him before, but this fire is new. It’s consuming. I can’t believe this is real, honestly. If eighteen-year-old me could see us now.
My thoughts drift back to that terrible day that changed us forever. We were going to go out after that practice, which Oli knew. What he didn’t know was that I was going to tell him how I felt about him. How much I cared about him. I didn’t think he’d reciprocate my feelings. That wasn’t the point. I just needed him to know how much he meant to me. Instead, we were driven apart for nearly a decade.
My hand slips into his sweats, smoothing over his half-hard dick. We just showered. His bodywash filling my nose. “Wait.” He grips my hand. “I’m starving. Let’s eat first.”
“Are you serious?” I huff.
All he does is chuckle, though I don’t know what’s so damn funny. I crave him in a way that feels animalistic. There are so many fun things we could try and I want to do them all with him. Oli cups my face, bringing his lips to mine. It’s a slow, soft touch that lights me up just as much as the roughness. “Patience,zayka.”
“Fuck off. Tell me what that means.”
“Google is free.”
Yeah I know, but I want him to tell me. I don’t know why. “What are you making?” Oli pinches my ass, going to his cabinet and pulling out ingredients. I watch him put flour on the counter then go to the fridge, pulling out ground pork, onions, eggs, and sour cream.
He then goes to the sink to wash his hands, and I follow, doing the same. “Weare making dumplings.” He pulls a pasta pot out of the cabinet, grabs the flour and eggs, and pours some warm water into a measuring cup. “First thing is we make the dough.” Grabbing a big bowl, he slides it between us. “Go ahead. I need four cups of flour." I pause for a second, until I realize he’s waitingfor me, then I put four cups of flour into the bowl and watch him measure out the salt. “My mother used to use her hands, but I’ll grab a spoon to mix,” he says, grabbing a spoon and mixing the salt and flour. It hits me then, what Oli is doing, or showing me. He’s sharing a piece of himself with me. I ignore my horny brain, understanding the weight of what’s happening. It feels important. “Then we make a well. Go ahead.”
I take the spoon, carving out a little well in the center of the flour. “Eggs next?”
“Right in the center.” Oli waits while I crack a couple of eggs into the well. He’s standing just to the side of me and I soak in his heat.
“Mix?” He shakes his head, handing me the spoon. Grabbing the measuring cup, he holds it up.
“Gently mix as I slowly add the water, okay?” I do as I’m told. “When I first started helping her the water was too heavy for me to lift, so she always had me stirring.”
I smile. “Can’t imagine a time when you didn’t have those giant muscles.”
“I was a scrawny fucking kid.” He laughs. “There you go, keep going.”
“This is a favorite, uh, meal she made?”
He shakes his head. “She always found ways to make the most out of the food we got. Flour and water were cheap, so we had this a lot.” He smiles. “It’s a comfort food now. Sometimes we’d experiment, making all different flavors. Just simple ways to make them different. It’s also something we did together—makingpelmenion Sundays. She’d make tons and freeze them.” As I mix the dough comes together in the bowl.
Oli grabs the bowl, covering it with a cloth and setting it aside. “Meat time.” He grabs another bowl, dropping the ground pork into it. “You want to cut the onion?”
