Page 73 of The Revenge Game
Because what if I tell him I’m attracted to him and he doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend?
It would make things incredibly awkward.
I don’t want to lose his friendship. I don’t think I could bear it.
Am I his type? Should I ask him about the type of guys he dates? But how do you casually ask someone if they’re potentially interested in a guy who spent his formative years pretending to be a straight football player? Is there a dating app category forreformed jock with emotional baggage?
I’m so out of my depth here because I’ve never actually dated someone I’m genuinely attracted to. I have no idea if I’m even the kind of guy that someone like Drew—smart, funny, genuinely comfortable in his own skin—would look twice at. Maybe he prefers guys who’ve had their lives figured out longer than five minutes.
Drew’s enthusiastically explaining something about server configurations and his brown eyes are deep and intense, with flecks of gold that catch the light when he laughs.
“Can I ask you something?” I say when he finishes.
“Pretty sure you just did,” Drew replies.
My mouth twitches up, but I don’t let his humor distract me from what I really want to know.
“Why do you wear contacts at work but glasses everywhere else?”
Drew’s hand freezes halfway to his water glass. An emotion I can’t quite read flickers across his face before he recovers.
“Oh, um… I guess I just got used to wearing contacts in professional settings,” he says, but there’s tension in his shoulders.
“That’s funny because you seem more relaxed when wearing your glasses.” I lean forward slightly. “Like you’re more…you.”
Drew blinks rapidly.
Shit. Was that too much? Did I just reveal how closely I’ve been paying attention to him? But I can’t seem to stop myself.
“I like it when you wear your glasses,” I finish.
A blush creeps up Drew’s neck, coloring his cheeks. He pushes his glasses up his nose in that unconscious gesture he always does.
My heart stutters then races, like it’s forgotten how to maintain a steady rhythm.
And somehow, our eyes lock onto each other and we’re caught in this strange suspended moment where everythingelse blurs out of focus. The clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, even the spectacular view—all of it seems irrelevant compared to the way Drew’s looking at me right now.
It’s like he’s seeing something in me I’ve never shown anyone else.
Drew breaks our eye contact, blinking rapidly.
“I think we should probably head home.”
Disappointment shoots through me like I’ve just fumbled a perfect pass. The evening felt endless just moments ago, full of possibility.
Now, reality crashes back in.
Did I do something wrong? Has he realized I’m attracted to him? Does he want to shut down my attraction before I make things uncomfortable between us?
My mind swirls as my face flushes.
We stand, and there’s an awkward moment when I reach for my wallet before remembering we don’t need to pay. Drew does the same thing, his hand patting his pocket before he catches himself with a self-deprecating smile.
Outside, the night air hits my face, cooling my heated skin.
Drew shivers in the cold, and I have to physically stop myself from offering him my jacket. Because that’s not something you do with a friend, right?
The Uber arrives, and we slide into the back seat.
