Page 53 of These Wicked Games
“Huh?”
“You keep trying to look away from me, but also focus on me. You can’t fuck me here.” He lowers his voice. “I mean, unless you wanna try. Is public sex a kink in your roster?”
Even his jokes feel off. There’s tension lingering under his skin and I can’t help but pick at it. “I was actually going to ask if you were alright?”
“What?”
“You seem . . . off, I don’t know.” I watch the way his eyes unfocus. There’s something he’s not telling me. It’s not like we’re in a place to share shit, and it’s been so long since we’ve even talked normally to each other. I remember after my mother’s first round of chemo and seeing the way she looked after, Andre held me while I cried. It was the first time it really sunk in that she was sick. We used to share so much of ourselves, but we aren’t those people now. I don’t even know the person he’s become, I just know the friend he used to be.
“I’m fine, Oli,” he sighs, thanking the bartender as he slides his drink over with mine. “Just didn’t expect to see dear old Dad is all.”
“When I escaped.”
The words play back in my mind. I want to ask about it but I let it go. I don’t know what place we’re at really. Maybe I can take his mind off whatever seems to be bothering him, though.
Andre’s dark brown curls are piled on top of his head. Fuck they’re soft. I itch to run my fingers through them. His face is atouch pale right now, letting the brown freckles across his nose really pop, and the ghost of a bruise cradles his right eye. He got that during our last game when his helmet was knocked off after he collided with a player. “What is it, Oli?” he says softly, sipping his drink. Nerves rattle my gut.
I take a drink instead, not knowing what to say.
“You look really handsome,” I say softly. Andre turns in his seat, cocking his head. “Sorry, I just—that’s what I was thinking.” While it’s colder than tits outside, in here the bar is a bit stifling. “That sweater looks good on you.” The black knit sweater he slipped on is rolled up to his elbows.
“What’s up with you today?” He takes a drink, then leans into me. It’s subtle, but the heat that flushes my face nearly knocks me off this bar stool. “You don’t have to be like this just because we shared an orgasm.” He smirks, taking another sip. “As fucking amazing as it was.”
It’s not that, though. Something is happening to me, and while the warning is there blaring in the back of my mind, I’m finding it easier and easier to ignore our past. Maybe because the present just feels so good.
I have him back—my friend—and I don’t want to let go.He hurt you, dumbass!It’s not that I’ve forgotten or don’t care. It’s just . . . I’m tired, and having Andre feels good, and maybe I’m giving in right now but I don’t want whatever this is to stop. Call me weak, call me stupid, but I don’t want this to end. Not yet. “That’s not . . . Never mind.”
“What is it, Oli?” His voice is low, and the gravelly tone does things to my belly. “What’s wrong?”
“I . . . don’t know. I don’t know what’s goingon with me.”
Andre nods, looking ahead and drinking his drink. “You still think it was me?” he says softly. I open my mouth but I have no answer for that. Nothing else makes sense. Part of me doesn’t trust him, but I trust myself even less right now. I’m throwing common sense out. It’s not smart, but part of me doesn’t even care.
Maybe Grey’s right; maybe he made a mistake. We were both so young then, but we’re nearly thirty now and have lived a lot in ten years.
Andre finishes the rest of his drink, letting the silence eat the space between us. “Do you want to come back with me tonight? To my house.”
He turns his head to me, surprise written all over his face. “A sleepover?” He grins. “I think someone’s starting to like me.”
“I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. We’re two people who are having sex. Great sex. We aren’t friends, and I don’t know if I want us to be,” I lie.
Andre sighs, shaking his head. “Oli, one of these days you’re going to stop fighting how you feel, and I can’t wait to see it.” He sighs, spinning around on the bar stool to look over the crowded bar. “I do want to go back with you tonight.” He turns his head to me while I finish my drink. “Let’s make it interesting, though. A game of air hockey. Whoever wins gets to have anything they want tonight.”
“So basically, I get whatever I want tonight.”
“Fuck you, Oli. I’m one of the best goalies in the world. You’re not getting past me.” I slip off the bar stool, and almost reach my hand out to him, but tuck it back before I can fully extend it.
“Prepare to be my good littlezaykatonight.” I grin.
“I’m asking Viktor what that means as soon as I see him. If it’s bad, prepare for the bluest balls of your life.”
I know the threat is weak at most. We both crave this thing between us. I’ll let him have his way, though.
“Best of three, Oli. Let’s go.”
I walk toward the air hockey table then pass behind him, leaning in. “Prepare for an evening on your knees, Dre. I don’t like losing.”
sixteen
