“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 theoofnoise 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. “Yourlegs 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 —”
