Page 69 of Level Up for Love

I’m staring at his hand on mine, the way his fingertips drum excitedly against my pulse. Can he feel the way it’s picked up? “You never told me that,” I say quietly.

“I never needed to. You knew. You know.”

Sure, I did—I do. But it would have felt good to hear it from him. Back then.

I look away, but Wesley’s grip tightens around my forearm, grounding me in the moment, drawing my attention back to his face. He dips his chin down to make sure he catches my eye. “I played your games, Reagan. The Witch Riley ones.” I open my mouth to retort, but he talks over me. “They’re fantastic. They’re so good. Shay and Colin and Arthur have been helpful with their feedback on my game, but…I want your critique.”

I swallow carefully; I can’t remember when my mouth went dry. “You mentioned a strategy advantageous for both of us,” I remind him.

“Well. For one, you’d get to see what I’m working on, so you’ll have an advantage on at least one competitor. And if you let me play yours…I’ll give you my feedback, too, for whatever it’s worth.” His eyes sparkle with challenge. “Don’t you want to know exactly what you’re up against?” he murmurs.

“Not as much as you do, it seems,” I say dryly.

“Listen. I know things between us are…” We’re both searching for a word for it. Tense? Complicated?

Charged?

We let the silence hang in the air.

Wesley continues. “Maybe this could be…a tentative truce. Until the competition.”

“Until the competition,” I repeat.

He nods, never once breaking eye contact.

Finally, I stick out my hand—the free one—toward him. “Fine. Deal.”

His grin is far too wide. “Deal,” he confirms. “Saturday?”

“Sure. Where?”

Wesley chews at his lower lip. “Colin’s girlfriend is in town this weekend. I suppose you could come to mine, but it just might be a tad cramp—”

“Colin’s what?”

Wesley laughs. “That’s rude, Reagan.”

“No!” I protest. “No, I swear, he’s never mentioned her!”

Wesley is enjoying my discomfort too much. “He’s a very private person.”

“Right. God, well. I suppose—”

I let myself sit with it for a moment. The reflex to protect my space and eject everyone from it is still there. But underneath that, there’s this soft, tentative desire to let someone in. I used to love hosting. I miss the way my couch filled up on movie nights, and the all-but-assigned seats my crew had at the gaming table.

Back in college, I’d bristled at Wes coming close enough to see the parts of my home that were the most me—it hurt more than I’ve ever let anyone know when he turned his back on that. But this is for Afterwards—a game that I daydream about during work, a project that’s captured me in a way nothing else has all year. Maybe I can trust myself to let him in for that, just a little.

Just enough.

“You can come to mine,” I finally say.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” I take a breath. “So. The skeletons?”

“Right. Colin said there may be more minis stored away. Help me find them?”

Wesley finally lets go of my wrist—I’m not sure either of us had realized he was still holding it—and I follow him down the hallway to the storage closet. He stands aside for me to step in, then pulls on the string dangling from the lightbulb above. The door swings shut behind us.