The game continues, and the direction is reversed again. Ms. Sullivan makes a point to play four skips in a row, and Noah groans when his hand grows with each rotation.
I strategically play my “secret” cards when I need them, and when it feels like Noah has half the deck in his hand, I blurt out “UNO,” with fake innocence.
Noah scoffs. “Oh, come on. This whole stack is literally stacked against me.”
I shrug, spreading my hands as if to sayI don’t know what to tell you.
Seconds later, I toss the final skip card down, and his mom snickers. He tilts his head, a mix of disbelief and something else. We stare at each other for a minute, then his eyes widen.
“You two!” he bursts out, and Ms. Sullivan cackles a raspy laugh.
There’s a glint in his eye, a telltale sign.
He pushes back, rising, like he doesn’t know whether to hug or chase me. The latter wins out, and he jolts around the table as I instantly push back the chair to stand with a playful scream.
“Run, Lily!” his mom hollers as I round behind her and take off for the living room.
Max barks, chasing me for a second before deciding he’d rather retreat to the kitchen while Noah is preoccupied and scout some leftovers.
Noah’s heavier footsteps follow close behind me, and he playfully growls at me. I dive for the couch, rolling off it just as he reaches me, and I scramble against the flooring to right myself.
“You think you both can cheat!” He laughs, his voice full of an exaggerated menace, but when I turn to check over my shoulder, his grin is anything but.
“It wasn’t me!” I shoot back breathless already, and stomach aching with laughter.
My hair, that I put up to do the dishes, tumbles out and across my face as I bolt into my bedroom—hisold bedroom.
I round the bed as he flies through the door. He pauses, hands to his thighs, and he laughs. It’s uncontrolled and deep, a timbre both rough and sweet that demands to be joined. Something stirs in my chest, my adrenaline in overdrive, and I let out a squeal when he dives for me, carefully pushing me on the bed and grabbing to tickle my waist.
“Wait! Wait!” I half yell, half chortle.
He smiles unrestrained as he scrambles to follow where I’m kicking back off the bed, not wanting this addicting chase to be over. In two moves, I’m off again, back through the bedroom door and headed across the hall to the bathroom. Quietly, I pull back the shower curtain and my heart races.
I slip in, smacking my hand over my mouth to calm my laughing pants. I focus on the hallway through the space between the curtain and the shower wall.
“She’s not in here, you sore loser!” his mom yells. He must’ve gone to the kitchen.
It isn’t long, thirty seconds perhaps, and he wanders into the bathroom, a smug look on his deliciously attractive face. It’s pointless to stay quiet, but I do, and he pretends he doesn’t know I’m in here.
“I don’t know, Max, she must’ve vanished.” His tone is now mock serious, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the fact he’s talking to Max, and Max is nowhere near interested in this game we’ve concocted.
Then there’s a suddenwhooshas he pulls back the curtain. I expect to see a triumphant grin meet mine, but instead his eyes are hungry and his mouth tight, as though he’s clenching his jaw. Chest heaving, he blinks, taking me in, and suddenly I don’t know if we’re playing anymore.
Overwhelmed by his presence, I back up, back hitting the plastic tub wall and knocking my pink bottle of shampoo off the ledge. It rolls to the drain.
By the time I take my attention off it, I find Noah steppingintothe shower.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I ask, rotating to face him. I step back again, my foot swiping against the fallen bottle and stepping over the drain.
The shower curtain is haphazardly flung over the side of the tub from where he yanked it open, and when he reaches for me, I stumble back, bumping the shower on. I yelp as water sprays over us. To turn it off, I fumble back behind me, but Noah snatches my hand, hauling me away and closer to him and into the warming spray.
What is he doing? What arewedoing?
We lock eyes, our breaths panting in tandem and swirling together under the wafting steam that rises.
The thin material of my dress slowly takes on water and clings to my body, the fabric abrasive against my chest. Noah licks the water droplets peppering him from his upper lip, then trails his gaze down the plunging V of my dress, made deeper by the now heavier lace. There’s no mistaking the flare of his nostrils when he watches a fat drop of water roll down and disappear between the valley of my breasts.
His arms wrap around my waist, fingers gently gripping my hips, and he timidly presses into me, like he’s afraid I’ll spook if he moves too quickly, too desperately. All I am is desperate. My mind begs to be kissed.
