Page 167 of Let the Game Begin
I knocked twice on his door, feeling the usual stormy sensation in my stomach. It felt like a full-on tropical hurricane in there. Images of what had happened the last time I was in his room rose up in my mind like a dirty movie, creating a certain yearning sensation between my thighs. It was a physical reaction that I was finding increasingly difficult to control.
This boy had taken my prudish soul and molded it into a creature of lust.
I took a deep breath to calm myself down and toyed with the string on my sweatshirt as I waited for him to open the door. But I didn’t hear footsteps or any other sound that might suggest his presence on the other side of the door. So, eventually, I pushed it open. I glanced inside: the room was empty. Neil wasn’t there. I had no idea how long he’d been gone, and I had even less of a clue where he was.
I walked inside slowly and turned on the light. Cobalt blue contrasted with the black that dominated the entire atmosphere, from the walls to the masculine furnishings that made the room feel oppressive. I advanced further and looked around. I could smell his fresh scent in the air of this perfectly tidied and sanitized room.
The king-sized bed in the center was covered with a dark comforter. The same one I’d clutched in my fingers while his body dominated mine, turning me into a slave of pleasure. It seemed that I could still feel the powerful thrusts of his hips, the shocking strength of his hands, his irregular yet controlled breathing that never managed to outstrip the limits he’d imposed upon himself. I could feel his brutish lips and his electric tongue—I relivedall of it, and all of a sudden, an exhausted feeling came over me, forcing me to sit down on the bed.
My breathing sped up as I reviewed the indecent memories, and my eyes darted over to the sleek bedside table with its skull-shaped ashtray. Next to it, however, was something new. It appeared to be a small notebook or journal. I picked it up and examined the matte brown cover that featured no design or words to indicate anything about it. I opened it, though I realized that I had already violated Neil’s privacy the moment I let myself walk into his room.
He would have screamed at me if he ever found out. I shuddered at the idea, but it did nothing to lessen my curiosity, so I began to page through the notebook. I was astonished.
“Damn…” I whispered, seeing precise and perfect architectural drawings. The first was of a series of ancient Greek columns, the second a temple, the third was our house, rendered exactly true to life. There were also measurements, geographical features, numbers and notations that I understood nothing about. Nevertheless, the precision and organization of it was impressive.
I leafed through the rest of the notebook, occasionally brushing the incredible drawings with my fingers and thought about good he was at this. Neil enjoying drawing, and he appeared to have a real talent for it.
“Keeping your skills a secret from the world, huh?” I said to myself, smiling I turned a few more pages until I stopped on a drawing of the pool house. He had rendered it perfectly, just like all the other buildings.Does he want to be an architect?It seemed so. I didn’t know much about the discipline, but I was convinced that he had a true gift and that his hands were capable of creating incredible things.
I put the notebook back where it had been and stood up from the bed, looking over at his bookshelf. It wasn’t like the rest in the house but was instead composed of a series of L-shaped ledges mounted together to form an irregular and original shape on the wall. Each piece scattered across the wall was painted to match the other shades of the room.
I had noticed it before, of course, but never paid much attention to it—I hadn’t imagined Neil as someone who owned many books or hadmuch interest in reading. But if he knew Nabokov and the other authors he’d quoted during our conversations, he was probably concealing a deeper well of knowledge that he chose not to flaunt.
My suspicions were confirmed as I browsed through his books—his collection spanned everything from Octavio Paz to Salinger, with a stop at Ian Fleming. I spotted Nabokov’sLolitaand whole lot of Bukowski. Neil had several of his books:Women;Tales of Ordinary Madness;Absence of the Hero;Erections, Ejaculations, Exhibitions, and General Tales of Ordinary Madness;Notes of a Dirty Old Man… I raised an eyebrow at the last one and gave a tiny smile.
Then, I spotted another one: “Love Is a Dog From Hell,” I read aloud and grew serious again. Maybe this was why Neil loved this author so much: he was a transgressive man who entangled love with sexuality and had a great capacity for describing erotic male fantasies but in a deeper, more poetic way.
“Bukowski’s his favorite.” I started at the sound of Chloe’s voice and the book I’d been holding fell to the floor.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry, I was just…just…” I crouched down to pick up the book and put it back where it belonged while the baby of the house approached me with an amused smile on her face. Who could say what my face looked like; I was such an idiot.
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Selene. My brother doesn’t talk about himself, and it makes people curious.” She folded her arms over her chest and studied Neil’s odd bookcase, rearranging a few of the books I’d touched. “Better not to leave a trace, though. He doesn’t like other people going through his stuff,” she murmured, making sure to keep her voice low.
“I came here to talk to him but then…well…” I didn’t even know what to say. There was no excuse for my disrespectful behavior. I should never have gone through the door of his room without his permission.
“I won’t say anything.” Chloe gave me a knowing wink, and I sighed in relief.
“We’ve been studying since we were very young. Our grandparents were particularly strict and demanding about it. They forced our parents to enroll us in the city’s most prestigious schools as soon as we were oldenough. They wanted us to be educated, knowledgeable model students,” she explained, staring at nothing in particular on the bookcase. “Neil loves literature, philosophy, and astronomy, but he doesn’t share those passions with anyone else. He reads every night, especially when he can’t sleep. Or sometimes he draws. Buildings, objects; he can basically reproduce anything he sees.” She smiled, turning her intense blue eyes to mine.
“I always thought there was more to him than just a pretty face,” I said lightly, trying not to expose my deeper interest in Neil, because Chloe didn’t know about us.
“Anyway, if you’re looking for him, he’s probably in the pool house, but—” I didn’t let her finish.
“Okay, I’ll go there then,” I said quickly. “Thanks, Chloe. And if you didn’t mention anything about this huge screwup of mine, I would really appreciate it.” I clasped my hands in gratitude and hurried for the door.
But learning more details about Neil’s life had only increased the already dire levels of attraction I felt toward him, urging me to chase him into the darkness that surrounded him. After this, I regretted having praised Kyle for being well-read that night in the garden. I’d underestimated Neil and his intelligence. I’d been condescending, and he’d immediately turned around and proved me wrong.
Breathlessly, I headed downstairs, down that enormous marble staircase and then through the kitchen and out the French doors to the garden. I shivered in the cold and walked a bit faster. I walked past the swimming pool and sped toward the glowing pool house, the lights on inside filtering through the large curtains despite the fact that the curtains were drawn this time.
Is he alone in there?
Just to be on the safe side, I knocked and waited, my teeth chattering as I rubbed my hands together. I should have put on something warmer, but my eagerness to see him had me forgetting just about everything, including my own name.
“Hello, baby doll.”
I stared in shock when I found myself faced with Xavier. His slashing dark eyes were glittering and his pupils were dilated. I glanced at the metal piercing in his lower lip and then at the black sweater that covered his chestand tight, dark-wash jeans he wore. Then, a slow, malevolent smile spread across his face, and my confidence wavered.
“I’m looking for Neil.” I cleared my throat, mentally cursing my stupidity. I should have just backed off and walked away instead of asking to see him. My biggest mistake, though, was going into the pool house when Xavier stepped aside and invited me to make myself comfortable.
