Page 61 of Don't Hate the Player
“Youcould win today too.”
“That’s right,” Jake says gently. “Then you’re gonna have to get through me.”
“We’ll bring it. We’ll fight all of you.”
“It’ll suck,” he agrees, but I see the grin spreading across his face. This is exactly where he wanted to lead me, and he’s proud of himself for getting there. I could say something to wipe the smile off his face, but I don’t want to. I like it there, and it’s stirring up something inside me that I am actively choosing to identify as my, ahem, competitive spirit. “But the best man . . . woman . . . or, like, nonbinary collection of individuals, they’ll win. You deserve to be in that fight. Don’t give up because of what might happen.”
What can I even say to that? Every time I’ve tried to push or pull Jake, he outmaneuvers me and slips in closer. Ordinarily I’d hate feeling out of my depth, but he’s the one person I don’t mind surprising me. Unless it’s going to screw him over in the long run.
“Does your team know you came back for me?” I ask.
“Nope,” he answers.
I felt guilty about taking Jake away from Team Unity this morning, but right now I’m content to have him here, breaking whatever social rules should keep us at odds. We’ve only been talking for a few days and have literally only re-met each other for a week, but just sitting and talking to him feels necessary somehow. I was prepared to do this without him, and then I wasn’t, and now I’m back in the game because he’s with me. That counts for more than whatever weird rivalry Bob and Byunki have.
“You want to get back to them?” Neither of us knows how much time Jake has before his match. It has to be coming up soon.
Jake unsticks his other hand from its hiding spot between his thighs and places it over mine. His hand is warm and more than a little sweaty, but it feels nice, like hugging a field hockey teammate after we’ve won a game.I’ve got you, Jake’s wet hand seems to say. That’s pretty cool, to be got.
“Yup. Gotta go beat Beast so we can, uh . . . beat you.”
I try to pull my hand away playfully, but the physics of yanking anything out from between two sweaty boy palms make the whole motion too awkward to force. My fingers are Jake’s until he decides to let go.
“Good luck,” I reply. “I mean that literally about Beast Mode and very, very sarcastically about the finals.”
“Thanks? Same? I really don’t know what to do with that, but okay,” Jake says and liberates my hands. I miss their warmth immediately. While he stands up and runs his fingers through his hair, I idly wonder if Jake gets his texture from touching his curls with sweaty hands all the time. Like a sea salt spray, but—no, that’s disgusting. Bet his sweat smells amazing, though.What?
Fuck my life, he’s done the thing. All Jake did was sit in a chair and listen to me, and now I want to find out what his neck tastes like. I am either massively starved for this kind of attention or exclusively nerdsexual, because Connor never made me feel the way I’m beginning to feel about Jake. I mean, yeah, I almost kissed him in the car. I can say that now; that’s what almost happened, and I can name it because it was real. But that was . . . I don’t know. Exhaustion. Hormones. Postgame adrenaline wearing off into ambient horniness that didn’t have anything to do with the part where Jake was kind of wet and steamy behind his glasses and smelled like boy and didn’t ask me to explain anything because nothing odd or secret about me could surprise him. Or make him like me less. I am clearly horny for acceptance, not for Jake.
Except he’s standing in front of me now and stretching his arms to warm up before he heads to his green room, and the bottom of his Unity jersey is hiked up, like, a quarter of an inch above his beltline and—Jesus, take the wheel.
“Hey,” I find myself saying as I stand up and hug Jake. “Thank you.”
Jake hugs back better than he did outside his apartment building, which I appreciate. Last time I was too freaked out to touch him, and now I don’t want to do anything else. I know I have to let go of him soon because we’re, you know, in the middle of a massively high-stakes competition and he needs to fight his way toward trying to kick my team’s ass, but I don’t feel bad holding a little longer. I mean Jakedidjust tell me to go after what I want.
“Good luck today, KNOX,” he whispers.
I don’t know if it’s his breath in my ear or hearing him go back to our competition titles that tips me over the edge of reason. Before he can get his face away from my face—and he really is too much taller than me to attempt this when he’s drawn up to full height—I turn my head to kiss Jake on the cheek. For luck, I tell myself. It’s a lie. I don’t care.
Jake freezes when my lips hit his warm face, and for one hopeless second I think he’s going to turn and catch my mouth with his. Then, I don’t know, we’d make out in this hallway? Just a little, as a treat? I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so badly before. When I kissed Connor in the cafeteria, I spent the whole time wondering why everything in there tasted like nickels, but the kissing itself didn’t move me. Here in the hallway,notkissing Jake is moving me, to put an insufficient name to the good heat I’m feeling with my nose pressed against his skin.
But he doesn’t kiss me. In fact he reacts more like I’ve stabbed him than smooched him. After that first freeze, he lets go of me and steps back, his face so red I worry for a second I’ve transferred my cream blush to his pale skin.
“Em,” he says quietly, with some of the panic I remember from this time last week creeping into his voice.
“Good luck to you too,” I reply quickly. Glad I had that one ready to go. “That was just a luck . . . thing.”
“Right, you too. I gotta . . .” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. I know, I know, he has to go. I wish I felt less giggly and triumphant having only kissed him on the cheek, but whatever. It felt good. We’ll deal with it later, after the matches. Probably not on the ride home, since Bob won’t let him come back with me, but sometime after that. I’m not worried about it or anything right now.
I shoo him away with my hands. “Go. I’ll see you later.”
Jake nods and starts back down the hallway. He doesn’t get far before he turns around and looks back.
“Just a luck thing?” he asks. Anyone else would sound cocky asking the world’s most obvious question, but Jake isn’t anyone. As smart as he is, he really doesn’t know. Not like I have a ton of high ground to stand on; I just figured it out five minutes ago.
“Nope,” I say, straight-faced.
“Cool,” he replies and closes the space between us in two long-legged strides. “This,” Jake continues, “isn’t for luck either.”
