Page 24 of Stick Games
He scrunches up his face in that adorable way, and with a playful grin, he refills our shot glasses that say, ‘truth serum’.
“That’s weird though, right?” he adds, uncertainty, vulnerability flickering in his eyes.
As he salts us back up, my throat tightens. “Gabe, if we’re being honest…” I hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I pick up my shot glass, liquid courage, and toss back the poison, the harshness burning down my throat. I wince, gasping for breath. “Ohmigod, this is awful.”
But even as the taste lingers—bitter and sharp—I can’t help but smile at him through the haze. The honest to God’s truth here is that I love the idea of us sharing our intimate secrets, our fears, and I crave the honesty we’re both finally starting to peel back.
“It’s only awful for the first couple of glasses.” His little dimple warms me all over. “Then it gets better.”
“Why, because then I pass out?”
“Finish what you were going to say,” he urges quietly, getting me back on track.
“I like you calling me Millie. I like that you have a special name for me. I like that I’m special to you.” His face softens and I ask, “Gabe Gerard, do you hate me calling you Gigi?”
He lightly brushes his thumb over my hand. “I don’t love my middle name and don’t tell it to people, but I don’t mind you knowing something about me that others don’t.” A pause and then, “Does that mean I’m special to you?”
“Yes.”
Everything about him sobers and I sit up a bit straighter, sensing he’s about to tell me something very important.
“Your prom…” A long pause and then, “I used to think I knew what was best for you. I was older, and?—”
“Definitely not wiser.”
“Hey!”
I laugh and poke his chest. “Like I said before. You do not get to tell me what to do. Nor do you know what’s best for me.”
He leans in, like we’re conspiring. “You didn’t seem to mind me telling you what to do in the bedroom, and you have to admit, I kind of knew what was best for you, don’t you think?”
“Correction.” I poke him again. “You do not get to tell me what to do or decide what is best for me, outside the bedroom.”
We both burst out laughing, and my heart fills with happiness. I love this intimacy, our banter.
I love this man.
“My prom,” I begin. “I thought…” I wave my hand back and forth between the two of us as my brain takes a painful trip down memory lane. “I thought…” I take another fast drink and not bothering with the lime, I ask, “Why did you kiss Jenny Garrity?”
His shoulders sag, deep regret tugging at his mouth. “Actually, she kissed me and when I saw you watching, I let it happen.” I frown, not really understanding. He runs agitated fingers through is hair. “I was so fucking crazy about you, Millie.”
He was crazy about me?
Ohmigod, he was crazy about me!
I wasn’t imagining it at all.
My heart jumps into my throat, a wave of hope and excitement washing over me.
“But you had the Olympics,” he says softly, his voice strained with the weight of old memories. “I lived in Boston. Your brother. I didn’t want to be the one who added friction to your life. I needed you to stay focused, without conflict, without complications.” He runs his fingers through his hair again, messing it up in that familiar way that makes my heart clench. “After I kissed you, I wanted more. God, I sensed you did too. I just couldn’t, you know. I thought…I thought if I let the kiss with Jenny happen, it would make everything clear. For you. For me. A line wouldn’t be crossed.”
“I thought you put distance between us because you knew I liked you, and you didn’t feel the same.”
“Babe, I did feel the same, but the circumstances, the timing…” He looks down, his voice cracking as he continues. “I never, ever meant to hurt you. I only ever wanted to love you, but I couldn’t then…not the way I wanted to. Not the way I did today.”
As his words land in my tequila-soaked brain, I realize we both hurt each other, and as I struggle to make sense of it all, my heart is heavy with the time I spent hating him, the time we lost together.
“Wow, you really did think you knew what was best for me.” His eyes meet mine, raw and vulnerable. “Maybe you were right, Gabe.”
