Page 11 of Love Game
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 himthatvulnerable. 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 Ican’tsing, 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 kindawantto 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 afamilyfilm. 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 fuckingterror. 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.