Page 93 of Level Up for Love

Wesley brushes his lips against the shell of my ear. “What about this one, hm?” Wesley whispers sweet nothings in a dramatically thick Boston accent, and my chest immediately seizes with a laugh. “Is this still working for you? Is this what you like?” He nips at my earlobe; I can hear the grin in his voice.

“Oh my god, Wes, stop,” I wheeze, trying to squirm out of the cage of his arms. “I want your voice. I don’t want you to be anyone else when you’re with me.”

He hovers over me, his elbows to either side of my shoulders. I think he’s about to tease me again, but then he asks softly, “You’d really play another game? With me?”

I would, I think, but I feel a twisting ache in my chest, like I’m missing something I haven’t even lost yet.

How much of this is a game to him? Will he still want to play once he’s resecured his spot in the industry? Will he still create things of his own?

I lift my chin. “Maybe I’ll start DMing again instead,” I joke, avoiding the question.

His answering sigh is so small and so quiet that I barely catch it. It’s just an exhale and a shift in his shoulders as he deflates slightly. Then something in his eyes changes, and he’s playful again.

This is safer ground for us, I think. I won’t pretend that I’m not craving a different sort of distraction.

“I don’t know, Reagan. I think,” he says slowly, his tone low and goading, “you like it when someone else is in control for once.”

I release a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, so you’re that kind of Dungeon Master, huh?”

“Is that the kind of Dungeon Master you want me to be?”

“Oh my god, shut up—”

But then he laces his fingers with mine and draws both of my arms above my head. He leans forward until our noses are touching, until he’s putting just enough pressure on my wrists to pin them in place.

It’s such a terrible joke that I’m ready to buck him off of me, but after a moment’s hesitation, I savor the ache as it builds in my shoulders, in my core. On second thought, I hook my ankles together behind his back and draw him closer.

I’ve started to enjoy Sunday mornings like this.

Wesley and I are up so late that we sleep in, which works well, since the sun is already high in the sky and warming his backyard by the time we’re ready to enjoy our coffee. He pulls out two chairs for us and sets out a couple of throw blankets, but at the last moment, he hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me into his lap.

He’s nuzzling my hair when he asks, “Have you been to Vermont before?”

I sip my coffee and pause to peer at its milky brown color. This is my first time staying over at his place, and the first time he’s made me coffee. How’d he get it right? “A few times, in college. Nali really likes skiing.”

“Do you?”

I smile and shake my head. “I’m more of a lodge girl.”

“Really? You give me snowboarding energy.”

“You know, you’re not the first person to say that.”

“Will I see you again? Before the trip?”

His fingers have started tapping out a rhythm on my thigh. The gesture distracts me, reminding me of the other times his fingers have settled into twitchy patterns—when he’s brainstorming a new idea, or when he’s working himself up to something.

Wary, I bite at the inside of my cheek. “Maybe not,” I say, genuinely apologetic. “Mona and Mom have a lot planned, and I told them I’d help out this week.” God knows how much I’d rather spend that time working on the game, or letting Wesley distract me from it.

Only a few more months of this left.

Wesley nods. “At D&D, Mona made it sound like something you two wanted to avoid. I get that.” Then he takes in a careful breath, and my shoulders tighten on instinct. “You could come with me if you want. Instead.”

“To Thanksgiving?” The coffee, which Wesley made perfectly sweet, turns bitter on my tongue.

He nods. “At my grandparents’, in Massachusetts. It’s on the way to Arthur’s cabin.”

I already know what I’m going to say, so I don’t know why I’m entertaining him when I ask, “Is it, like, a big family thing?” Mine always are—by turns warmly welcoming and stressfully dramatic.