Page 91 of Game On
He chuckles. “There she goes.”
“What?”
“You,” he clarifies, “calling me on my shit.”
“Someone has to.”
He laughs, lowers his gaze, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. Butterflies. Hundreds of them, exploding in my stomach like little firecrackers. “You want to get out of here?” he asks.
“Now?”
“Right now,” he says roughly.
“Don’t you want to celebrate with your team?”
He waves me off. “It’s my third time winning this thing. I’ve got enough trophies at home.”
“Perfect, then I’m in.” I weave my fingers through his. “Gabi will be out for hours, I’m sure. You want to come over to ours this time? That way you don’t have to drive me home at the end of the night.”
He doesn’t answer, just squeezes my hand and startswalking to the car park. I follow suit, thrumming with anticipation. We’ll finally get to spend some uninterrupted time together, and the thought excites me.
We make it back to my place in a flash, but before we can head in, I stop him and say, “Will you wait out here a minute? I need to take care of something first.”
He tilts his head. “Sure.”
I head inside, quickly moving through the living room and into my bathroom. First, I unplug the hair straightener and curling iron from the wall socket, wrapping their cords neatly. I then move to my window, where strands of fairy lights twist around the frame. I trace the wires back to their plugs and disconnect them, letting the tiny bulbs fade into darkness.
My gaze sweeps the room, looking for anything else that might be a risk. I shift a stack of magazines away from the plug sockets and ensure nothing flammable lingers near the remaining electronics.
It’s a new thing, this careful dance of making the space safe. But I know Hudson is uneasy around fire, and this will be his first time in my room. I don’t want to bring it up, to make him feel different or watched. Instead, I’m choosing to adjust silently, respecting his comfort without making a show of it.
With a final look around, satisfied that everything is as it should be, I head back to the front door. I open it to find Hudson exactly where I left him, hands in his pockets, waiting for me.
A thrill of anticipation surges through me at the sightof him. A form of liquid heat that makes my pulse pound a little harder. “Alright,” I say, yanking him by the hand. “Come in.”
We stumble through the house in giddy anticipation, our shoes kicked off and left in a haphazard pile by the entrance. Hand in hand, we make our way down the hall to my room. Hudson takes it all in with a quick glance, a smile playing on his lips as he spots a collage of photos on the wall.
“Your old teammates?” he asks, tracing over a picture of us in the Siren uniform.
“Yeah.” I step closer. “My best friends from back home. Molly and I have been friends since we were kids, and we met Olivia our first year at Oxford.”
He scans the rest of the pictures. His face is soft, curious. “You miss them?”
I look at the familiar faces in the photos, feeling a pang of longing. “Yeah,” I admit. “We used to do everything together. But we haven’t spoken much since I’ve been away. It’s been such a whirlwind.”
From behind, his palm cups the curve of my neck, his thumb grazing the knot at my nape. It sends a shiver down my spine, shifting the atmosphere between us to something a little more charged. “You’ll see them for Christmas, yeah?”
I turn, and his hand falls to my waist. “No, I’m not traveling.”
“I just assumed you would be. At least for the week.”
“My mom was in hospital again recently. Another tachycardia episode. So, they’re taking a trip to the Lakes to helpher recharge. I thought about tagging along with them, but I just … I think it will only bring me down. My parents aren’t exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type. In fact, ever since I left for university, they barely call, forget visiting.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“It is what it is. I’ve grown used to their indifference. I suppose it’s further proof that I’m not living up to their expectations. A daughter who cares more about Oxford, about cheer, about going abroad than upholding their ideals. My dad has said it to me himself; he thinks I’m forgetting what it means to be grounded. He thinks I need to be brought back down to earth every once in a while.”
Hudson frowns. “How could anyone think that about you?”
