Chapter Six - 6. The Game
CHAPTER SIX
The Game
One day, I came back from class to find Taylor kneeling on the floor, ass in the air as he fiddled with the cords underneath the TV.
I let myself look at his glutes and the stretch of his hamstrings — for purely normal reasons, of course, I needed motivation to hit legs at the gym — then cleared my throat. “What are you doing?”
Taylor didn’t look up. “A friend gave me this.” He gestured at a gaming console sitting on the rug beside him. “I’m trying to figure out how to connect it.”
“A friend,” I repeated.
“Emery. You met him. He came over for drinks.”
He must’ve been one of the guys who’d played Never Have I Ever. I didn’t remember much about him, just a blurry face.
“Do you often get expensive gifts from friends?” I asked, plonking myself on the couch.
“It’s not expensive and he wanted to get rid of it. It’s last year’s version.”
“Right.”
“Emery’s sweet.”
I harrumphed. “I’ve never heard you describe someone as sweet before.”
Taylor glared at me from over his shoulder, which was quite a sight, since his backside was still in the air. “He’s sweet unlike someone I know. Anyway, better I take the console rather than someone else, who’ll use it as an excuse to take advantage of his generosity and ask for more and more.”
I harrumphed again. This Emery guy sounded annoying.
“What do you want with a console, anyway?” I asked.
“To play FIFA. Obviously.” At my confused look, he continued, “guys on my team played after training and I —” a muscle in his jaw flickered “— came last.”
I laughed. “So you need to practice?”
“We’re playing again this week. They play every week, apparently.”
“Can’t you just let yourself lose?”
“No.” He plugged in a cord connecting the console to the TV, then sat up on his haunches. “You wanna play? Emery gave me two controllers.”
“Okay.” I had no other plans for the rest of the night except scrolling on my phone and probably using my dildo in the shower. I’d been conscious of the noise ever since Taylor mentioned it, and at least the shower was loud, with the running water and ventilation fan.
Taylor chucked me a controller and sat on the couch beside me, but on the very end, so there was half a metre of space between us.
He loaded up the game, which blasted loud music and computer generated images of soccer players — or, in this case, football players — and Taylor gave me a quick rundown of the controls that was purposely brief and useless because once we started a game, I had no idea what the hell was going on.
The first match finished as quickly as it began. “Bathroom,” I announced, leaving my controller on the couch. Once I was sitting on the toilet lid, door closed, I took out my phone and searched up how to win FIFA.
I scanned the first article, then googled a few more queries.
Cheat hacks FIFA how to win.
Best strategies to win in FIFA.
Controls explained FIFA.
“You were in there for a long time,” Taylor commented when I returned.
“I got distracted cleaning the sink.”
He barked a laugh. “You’ve never cleaned the bathroom in your life.” At my expression, he added, “I clean it, idiot.”
“You — ” Now that I thought about it, the mirror was always shiny, the tiles white as teeth, and the shower glass never got grimy. The rug in the living room was clean too, as well as the kitchen sink and stove top.
“Do you clean everything?” I asked. I always thought I was partly responsible for the dorm’s tidiness, since I cleaned up after myself, but it dawned on me that it was more likely Taylor deep cleaned the place without me noticing.
“It’s a habit,” Taylor said, looking like he wanted me to stop talking, his eyes on the TV as he set up another match.
“Wow. You were born to be a housewife.”
“Shut up.”
“Or a house husband, in this case.”
“Shut up, Archie.” He looked at me sideways. “You mention the housewife thing a lot. Is that some sort of fetish?”
Now it was my turn to tell him to shut up. “Though, you gotta admit, the French maid uniform is pretty hot.”
“That’s a housemaid, idiot, not housewife.”
“Close enough.”
Taylor started the game, which put an end to that conversation. At least until half-time, where the ‘hacks’ I’d searched up had turned out to be useful. Probably mostly because now I knew which buttons on my controller corresponded with each movement.
I finished half-time with two goals to Taylor’s zero. We waited for the countdown to the next half.
“I could see you in a French maid uniform,” Taylor murmured.
“I know you’re just trying to distract me,” I said, refusing to be baited, and I won the game, three to one, punching the air in celebration. “Suck on that!”
He just gave me a half-lidded look that was honestly frightening. It made me think of a viper about to pounce.
We played again, and then again, and I increasingly understood how people got addicted to video games.
“Does this have other games?” I asked.
“Nah, just this. Emery gave me a copy.”
“We could buy more,” I mused.
“They’re expensive,” Taylor said.
“So what?”
He looked annoyed. “I’ve got a budget to stick to. I can’t be spending money on stupid stuff.”
“What about that collar?” I pointed out.
He stared at me for a moment, then curled his lip. “That was worth it.”
“Right,” I said skeptically.
“You can’t talk. How much did you spend on that dildo?”
I flushed. “Shut up. It was affordable, actually, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Taylor said, eyes on the TV. Another match was about to begin.
“How’d you even figure out what I’d bought, anyway?” I asked.
“Do you know how sus you looked, clutching that package like your life depended on it?” he asked. “Then I read the shipping label. All I had to google was STGA group.”
“That’s a massive invasion of privacy.”
He made a noise, not sounding regretful at all. The game started, the umpire on the screen blowing the whistle.
“Besides, how did you know it was a dildo?” I asked as I jabbed buttons on the controller. “I could’ve bought anything. I could’ve bought lube, for all you know.”
“You can buy lube at the supermarket. And, like I said, I heard the thudding.”
“You creep. Did you stand right outside my bedroom door, listening —”
He elbowed me, shutting me up, then stole the ball in the video game, dribbling it away. I swore.
“I didn’t listen,” he said. “In fact, I played music very loud so I didn’t have to hear it.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said, narrowing my eyes on the screen. I had to mess with his head so I could win this game. “Admit it — you were jealous.”
“Of a piece of plastic?” he drawled.
“It’s silicone, actually.”
“I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to distract me, because — ha!” he shouted as he scored another goal.
I gritted my teeth, then forcibly unclenched my jaw. “Admit it. You were jealous of an inanimate object.” I dribbled the ball down the field.
“Shut up, Archie.”
I laughed. “You were.”
“Be honest,” he said. “Is it as good as me?”
The question was so unexpected, I jerked my head to look at him. Frantically, I turned my attention back to the TV, determined to keep possession of the ball.
“You’re not answering, which means it’s a yes,” he said, a smug smile in his voice.
“I’m not answering because I’m about to score,” I said, and shot a goal. Fuck yes.
I was ready to keep playing, but Taylor paused the game. He crossed his arms, which made his biceps pop. I tried not to notice.
“It’s not the same, is it?” he said, quietly. He looked…on edge.
I took the opportunity to relax my body, slouching against the arm of the couch. “No.” I let that hang for a moment. “Maybe I should find someone instead.”
“What.” Flat. Not a question.
I waved a hand. “You know, a real man. A fuck buddy. What’s that app gay guys use? Grind—”
“Don’t,” Taylor said, face stricken.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, it bubbling out of me unconsciously, and Taylor looked furious, then relieved, and then, before I could comprehend what was happening, he pushed himself over and pressed his lips against mine.
I stopped laughing. My eyes were open, so I had a blurry up-close view of Taylor’s eyelids, dark lashes fanning, his smooth, creaseless forehead. It was always strange to see him like this: face relaxed, not a scowl or smirk in sight.
His lips moved, kissing me gently, and I instinctively parted my lips. Then my brain caught up, and I pushed his chest away. He blinked at me, eyes dark like a night sky.
I considered swearing at him. I also considered jabbing him in the same spot I’d punched him, creating a new bruise on top of the one he already had, probably because I was a little bit sick in the head.
In the end, I wrapped both arms around his neck and yanked him down. He let out an ‘oof’ as he landed on top of me, body warm and heavy, his bare feet touching mine.
“What are you smiling about?” Taylor said against my lips.
“I’m not smiling.” That was a lie. Maybe it was the oof noise he’d made, reminding me that despite everything, he was actually a human being rather than some cold, immaculate alien.
“You are.” Taylor kissed the corner of my mouth, then my chin, then my nose. “I want to go to your room.” His hot breath gusted over me.
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeated. “Because this couch is tiny and my legs are hanging off the edge.” He looked down between our bodies. “Your legs are hanging off the edge.”
“Say please,” I said.
“No.” There was a tinge of a snarl in his voice, but then he kissed my mouth again.
“We could go to your room,” I suggested.
“No.”
I frowned at him. “Why not?”
“Your room is nicer. Your bed is bigger.”
I thought of us, squished together on his single bed. “I don’t mind—”
“Your sheets smell like you,” he snapped.
I giggled. Then I slapped a hand over my mouth. What was wrong with me tonight? Had I accidentally ingested mind-altering drugs?
No, it was just the brain chemicals going crazy in my brain because Taylor was jealous and needy and seeing him like this made me feel powerful, which should have made me feel like I was wearing armour, but instead made me all gooey inside.
“I don’t know,” I said, making a show of sighing. “I’m so comfortable and I’m not sure if I can be bothered moving—”
“Fucking hell,” Taylor said, standing up and before I knew it, I was in his arms, being bridal-carried towards my room.
I gasped. “If you drop me —”
“I’m not going to drop you,” he said, sounding offended. “I can lift your weight easily. Shit, I can hip thrust your weight.”
I eyed him. “That’s oddly specific.” I touched his shoulders because I had the opportunity. “What else can you do?”
“Deadlift double your weight —”
“Okay, this conversation’s boring now,” I announced.
“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling as he set me on the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“As if you could hurt me.”