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“We all do, but Casey’s the only addicted one.” Asher stands, slapping my shoulder before collecting the dirty mugs and walking back into the kitchen.
“I’m not addicted.” I shake my head.
“Yeah, he is!” Asher calls.
I throw a glare over my shoulder, then glance back with a winning smile. “I’m really not.”
“Sure.” She laughs, taking the controller. “What’s your favorite game?”
Well, if she’s gonna go asking that…
Picking up the other controller, I flick on the TV and walk her through Devil’s Doorway, acting like a teenager and finding any excuse I can to bump our knees together or mansplain how to use a gaming controller.
I’m not trying to be a douche, I’m just looking for any excuse I can to touch her. I need to get the fuck over myself and pull it together, but she’s right next to me on the couch, and the buzz between us is impossible to ignore.
She plays a little, firing looks my way and sending all the blood rushing to Mr. Jones every time she bites her lip or catches my eye.
How we aren’t playing tonsil hockey and stripping each other’s clothes off right now is beyond comprehension.
I do my best to focus on the game, and eventually she sits back and lets me do most of the work.
I can see her starting to get bored, her eyes glazing over, her head tipping to the side. I don’t understand, because it’s Devil’s Doorway, the best game ever invented. It’s hard not to be offended by her lack of enthusiasm.
“Are you dozing off?” I nudge her with my foot.
She jolts upright, sniffing as she comes out of her daze. “No.” Her mouth stretches wide with a yawn.
“Need yourself a nap time, do ya?”
She gives me a side-eye. “Growing a baby is tiring work.”
As soon as the words pop out of her mouth, the relaxed vibe in the room gets sucked into oblivion. My fingers go stiff around the remote, the reminder like a slap in the face.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” she mutters, then closes her eyes with a sigh. “Just forget I said that.”
“I can’t.” I drop the controller, and it clatters onto the coffee table. “It’s the truth.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I’m tired all the time.” Her nod is minimal, and the black cloud that’s just shifted over us is fucking oppressive.
We both feel it and obviously have no idea how to go back to the chill vibe we were coasting on before.
“I hate this.” She jolts off the couch. “I didn’t come here to depress you, okay? I just had to get out of my room for a while and away from my computer and all of…” She points at her stomach. “This!” She makes a face. “You were the perfect distraction until I ruined it.”
“You didn’t ruin it. Here, let’s just play something else. Find something good to distract you again. What games are you into?”
She spins to look at the TV, her lower lip sticking out. “Just Dance?”
“Just… Dance?”
“Yeah, you’ve heard of it, right?”
I want to say “Hell no,” but I have heard of it.
Fuck it, I can still say “Hell no.”
“We don’t have that one.”
Her eyes narrow at me. “We can always watch some YouTube clips. Dance along to those. Come on, hockey man.” She playfully slaps my knee, and I start shaking my head. “Can the big boy not dance?” Her eyes start to sparkle. “You’re so smooth on the ice. It doesn’t transfer to anything else?”
