Chapter 6
Dane
“So how’s your ankle?” I ask, edging away.
“I’ll survive. It would’ve been a lot worse if you hadn’t broken my fall.”
“It was just an instinct.”
“Good instincts.”
What’s that look in his eyes. Trust? Weird. It draws me in. But it also scares me.
I retreat into facts. “So… how much money did we end up raising for the club? That was kinda overshadowed when you fell on your face.”
I’m learning to make my voice a little softer when I tease him. It works. He makes a joke-sad face at the reminder of his public downfall, but he isn’t annoyed. He checks his phone, checking the club WhatsApp group.
“￡623,” he says.
“Pretty good.”
“I suppose so.”
He doesn’t sound that impressed. Looking around his place, I guess that’s a lot less money to him than it is to me.
We fall silent again, awkwardness renewing.
This is weird. I want to make conversation, work on our new non-toxic rapport, but I can’t think of anything to say.
It’s like when I can’t act all competitive with him, I don’t know how to communicate at all.
Then his phone buzzes with an alarm. He grimaces.
“Time for the ice pack,” he says. “Again. I have to do this every couple of hours. I’m fucking sick of it.”
“I know that. I’m studying physiotherapy, remember.”
He looks at me. “I know. I didn’t mean anything bad.”
I’m being defensive again.
“Let me help,” I suggest.
He seems surprised at how eager I sound. “Okay. In the freezer. Thanks.”
I grab an ice pack from the freezer and gently wrap it around his ankle. He props his ankle up on a couple of cushions, leans his head back, and closes his eyes, trusting me not to hurt him.
“You’re pretty good at this,” he murmurs. Then he opens his eyes and looks at me shyly. “Do you want to watch something else?” he says.
He sounds like he’s afraid I’m going to say no and storm off home, taking the last of my Lucozade with me. Why did I never notice how cute he can be? Is it because he’s injured? He’s giving off serious puppy vibes right now.
“I can stay a while,” I say. “If you want me too.”
He starts looking for something to watch. “Home Alone?” he says hopefully.
Is he into ancient films like that? Probably.
“Stick it on,” I say.
The opening sequence is like holiday overload. The music, so much snow, and all those fancy houses all lit up for Christmas. We watch the family running around their palatial home, getting ready for their trip to Paris, their clothes comically 90s.
“This is one of my favorites,” Alex says, and I’m suddenly glad he can’t read my mind. “I watch it most years.”
Now I’m glad I didn’t make a snarky comment about the film.
How have I gone from wanting to beat him at everything and put him in his place to wanting to protect him and spare his feelings?
The speed of the change is making me dizzy.
Emotional whiplash. It can’t all be down to his sprained ankle.
Shit, it hasn’t made him that vulnerable.
It goes deeper than that. I’m on dangerous ground here.
He’s watching the film intently. I watch his face as much as I dare, scared of this new feeling growing inside me.
That I’d rather see him enjoy himself than watch whatever I want.
As the plot goes on, it’s clear that the phone lines being cut is going to play a major role.
“You can tell this came out before mobile phones,” I say.
He laughs. “Things were simpler then.”
He’s really enjoying this. He looks like something from a cute Christmas card in those huge fluffy snowman socks.
He even sings along to all the Christmas songs.
His voice is as sweet as honey. Totally different from how he sings with his band, just straightforward and fresh, no rockstar edge now.
I never sing in front of anyone. First of all because I can’t sing, and secondly because I’m terrified they’d laugh at me even if I was any good.
It’s way too vulnerable, putting yourself out there and practically begging for people to judge you…
But Alex doesn’t seem to care. And this feels way more intimate than one of his gigs.
It’s just the two of us. Maybe he’s just tired because of his ankle and that’s why he’s letting his guard down.
I shouldn’t read too much into it. But I kinda want to read into it.
I want him to trust me with things he cares about, trust me to hold them safe and not mock him.
How would that feel? Different, definitely, after our stolen hookups where we snarl at each other more than talk.
But maybe it could be nice… for a change.
Maybe.
When we get to the part with the booby traps I pay more attention. This is the best part of the film. But when Marvin steps on that nail, Alex literally covers his eyes and peeks through his fingers, shuddering.
“Scared?” I say, halfway between shock and amusement.
“I hate this part,” he mumbles. He’s literally wincing with sympathy. He’s way too sensitive.
“Aw, come here,” I say. “I’ll protect you from the scary kids’ film.”
“It’s not a kids’ film. It’s a family film. There’s a difference.”
“If you say so.”
I wrap an arm around him and pull him close. He pretends to be annoyed, squirming to get away but not really trying, making it suspiciously easy to keep him prisoner. He feels warm and relaxed, and as usual he smells so good.
“You’re laughing at me,” he says, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. He sounds playful.
“Never,” I say softly, and he presses his face into my neck to “hide” from the screen, and my heart skips a beat.
The skip is part arousal and part fucking terror. He falls so fast into acting like we have something together. Like we could be more than friends.
He stays tucked under my arm for the rest of the film.
When it’s over he sits up and smiles, running a hand through his hair.
The sleeve of his oversized sweater almost covers his whole hand, his dark purple painted nails just peeking out of the black fabric.
There’s something so adorable and vulnerable about it.
“Thanks for watching that with me,” he says.
“It was my pleasure.”
The formal phrase is a bit embarrassing to say out loud, but it feels like the right thing for the moment somehow.
Now that we’re being nice to each other.
He’s the kind of person who deserves old-fashioned chivalry.
I can tell he likes it. Would like me to treat him like that.
If… if we were in a relationship. Which we’re not.
“So when do they think you’ll be able to play tennis again?” I ask.
“Why? Looking forward to losing?” he says.
“More like beating you.” I match his playful tone.
He laughs. “I’m not sure. A few weeks, anyway.”
“That’s a shame.” I glance at him sidelong. “How about other… physical stuff?”
He laughs again, looking down, dark hair falling over his eyes. My heart jolts. Yes, my heart. Not just my dick.
Fuck. This is really starting to scare me.
“I guess I could try,” he says. “If you go easy on me.”
He flashes those dark eyes at me, glancing up shyly.
I get chills. Literal chills. He’s never asked me to go easy on him before.
Gentle isn’t our usual style. It sounds…
tempting. I run my thumb along his jawline, making him raise his head.
He gazes at me and I gaze at him. Then we both give a nervous kind of laugh.
We don’t do this. Romantic moves, tender moves.
We have no roadmap here. Before I lose my nerve I lean in, close my eyes, and kiss him.
Surer ground. At least we’ve done this before.
A lot. But fierce kisses, competitive kisses, kisses that clash and joust for supremacy.
This is our first sweet, tender one. Alex’s beautiful eyes are shining as we pull apart.
“I didn’t know you could kiss like that,” he says.
“Rude.”
“But true.” He gives me an unrepentant grin.
I can’t let him get away with that. I wrestle him gently onto his back, careful of his injured ankle. His breath catches as he looks up at me.
“Take that back,” I say.
“Never.”
I hold him down. He doesn’t struggle. Maybe he likes having me on top of him. He shakes his head to get his hair out of his eyes, since I’m holding his wrists prisoner. It’s hot as fuck.
“Why are you so annoyingly strong?” he says.
“Wait, was that a… compliment?”
He makes a disgusted face. “Oh shit, yeah. I take it back. I take it back!”
“Too late.”
I probe at the crease of his lips with my tongue, teasing, tempting.
He moans into my mouth, soft and low. His erection is growing fast and pressing into me.
Apparently I can drive him wild just as fast as he can drive me crazy.
Weird that our chemistry is still red hot even without the tension of animosity between us.
I wasn’t sure if we’d still have that magnetism without the antagonism.
But the messages my body is sending are loud and clear.
My body wants Alex and it wants him now.
“Not here,” he breathes. “My bedroom.”
He sits up, breathless and with his dark hair disarrayed.
“Shit. I forgot,” he says. “It takes me so long to get upstairs now.” He points to his crutches.
“I’ve got you,” I say.
I stand up and scoop him into my arms. I feel his shocked gasp, and then he snuggles into my chest, wrapping his arms around my neck.
“This feels nice,” he murmurs.
“Nice for me too,” I say.
My voice trembles a little. Fear of my own feelings is getting overwhelming.
When I get to the bottom of the staircase, I start to doubt myself.
It looks really far to the top. I’d hate to drop him.
But I take a deep breath and go for it before I can lose my nerve.
We make it to the top. Glad that’s over, I carry him into his bedroom and put him down on the bed.
His room is spacious and bright, with a huge window looking over the town.
There’s a light dusting of snow on rooftops, not enough to block the roads but enough to remind me of the season.
It’s clean but less tidy in here than downstairs, with clothes and music books strewn everywhere.
A rack of guitars stands against one wall with silver tinsel draped over it.
“Are you all ready for your Christmas show at the pub?” I ask.
“Fingers crossed,” he says.
He sits on his bed amid a mound of luxurious pillows, looking up at me.
He obviously doesn’t want to talk about the gig.
He has other things on his mind. I get hit with a surreal feeling.
I’m in Alex’s bedroom. We’re about to fuck for real.
Can’t call this a secret, stolen moment in the tennis changing rooms or the car.
Can’t call this a purely physical thing that means nothing.
Not with that look in Alex’s eyes. My breath gets tight, but not from arousal.
I look out the window to catch myself for a moment.
Wrong move. I can see our old school from here.
This is such a small, suffocating town. It’s impossible to escape the past, for good or bad.
I’m suddenly right back in that school corridor where Alex was waiting for me to kiss him under the mistletoe. And I just couldn’t do it.
Can I honestly say I’ve moved on that much since then? Am I ready to be with Alex, walk down the street holding hands? Introduce him to Dad as a boyfriend? The way Alex is looking at me now with that sweet smile, that’s clearly what he expects from me.
I don’t think I can do it.
“What’s wrong?” he says. “What are you looking at out there?”
He cranes his neck, trying to look out the window without standing up. I sit beside him fast before he gets up and figures it out.
“Nothing. There’s nothing out there. Just... would it be okay if we just hang out for a while?” I say.
“Hang out?” He wrinkles his nose, looking confused.
I get all American in my phrasing when I get nervous. Does he know that?
“Erm, yeah,” I say. “I mean, just press pause on… what we were about to do.” I mutter the last few words at the end of an embarrassed breath.
He blinks, surprised. I can’t blame him. I was the one who started kissing him and then carried him upstairs like some overbearing character from a play. I’m the one who’s made all the moves here. Now I’m blowing hot and cold. But his perfect manners and maturity win out, as usual.
“Of course,” he says.
I put my arms around him, at a loss but still wanting to hold him.
“This is nice too,” I say. “Just holding you. Instead of always having to get each other off.”
He nods, hot breath on my neck.
It’s true. It is nice. But he must know something happened to change my mind. He must know I’m getting cold feet.
He knows I’m a coward.