“You won’t burst into flames if you look me in the eyes, you know,” I say softly, feeling a little insecure. Time seems to move slower in this house and, while there’s nothing unusual about two people being this close in a dark corner of a college party, the minute that’s passed feels like a lifetime. I can feel his steady breaths under the palms of my hands, his skin hot.
As suspected, heat rushes to the apples of his cheeks as his eyes meet mine again. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, a nervous tic he’s done several times since I met him earlier. First in the kitchen, then when he had to take his t-shirt off and everyone cheered at his perfectly sculpted body and now while we wait.
“Listen, this isn’t working. You’re too fucking hot and the presidents aren’t helping, I’ve moved on to Stanley Cup winners but with you just here,” he gestures to my thighs spread across him, “looking like that,” he gestures up my body, “it’s going to take forever.”
You’re too fucking hot.
The compliment floods my system, melting me, and the vulnerability from ten seconds ago dissipates into nothing as the validation seeps into my system like a drug. It’s not that I’ve never been told I’m hot before, I have, but this guy seems tortured by it. Like he’ll never recover from it. Like I’m tipping point of his sanity and that is a feeling I could get addicted to.
My lips quirk as I desperately try to ignore my brain seeking more attention; it’s unreliable in the presence of men since it’s so easily impressed by mediocrity. “Presidents?” The blush spreads to the tips of his ears, something else about him I find incredibly endearing, like he wasn’t planning to share that little snippet of information. “How about you stand behind me until you’re good?”
“You’re an angel,” he sighs. “Sort of. That wasn’t very angelic, but you know what I mean. Thanks.”
He holds my hips, guiding me as I stand, the bulge in his pants unmissable even beneath the dark lighting in the den. I feel my skin flush as it registers quite how much I like his tight grip on me.
There isn’t the same energy when the game restarts and I’m too distracted by the man behind me to pay attention. It’s hard to concentrate on which block to pull when his arms are caging me in and he quietly whispers which ones to avoid in my ear. I particularly like when I bend toward the tower and my ass brushes against him, I swear I hear him groan.
Thanks to Russ’ guidance, my turn doesn’t pull down the tower, but I can’t pretend there isn’t a small part of me that wishes it would fall. The round passes by us without incident and, although there’s no reason for Russ to hide himself behind me anymore, he doesn’t move. I lean back, head resting against his chest and when his posture stiffens, I immediately start to move away from him. But his hands find my hips again and he pulls me back gently, his body more relaxed this time.
The sound of crashing blocks makes me jump and when I drag my attention back to the game, one of the guys is holding a block and staring at the pile on the table.
“Henry, you can’t just knock over the tower when you get bored,” one of the guys shouts.
“I didn’t,” Henry says. “Maybe I’m just not very good at Jenga.”
Russ scoffs behind me. “You’re never going to be good at it if you pull the one block keeping the foundation straight.”
“Not everyone is an engineer, Russ,” he says. “It isn’t my fault.”
“Time to face the consequences!” the red head across from me squeals. “Get naked!”
“If you wanted to see me naked, Lola, you could have just asked.”
“Watch it,” Robbie snaps.
Emilia nudges me, interrupting the argument between what are obviously very close friends. “Bathroom and drink? I have no interest in watching a naked man scare the neighbors.”
As much as I’d like to see someone streak down a road, I don’t want to leave her alone. “Sure.”
It takes all my willpower to give Emilia my hand and let her drag me away. “I’ll be back” I mouth to Russ and fight my way through the crowd with the heat of his hands still on my skin.
How do you lose someone in their own house?
“Maybe he’s hiding from you,” Emilia says, muffling her snicker with her drink.
“I thought he was interested . . .”
“I think he’s really shy, y’know,” she says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m sure he’s the guy JJ said just moved in. Quiet, keeps himself to himself. Not your usual type at all.”