The Right Moves (The Game #3)(36)
Author: Emma Hart

The lasagna is done, so I plate it up and set them on the table. After calling Abbi and Mum into the kitchen, breaking what I imagine was a slightly awkward silence, I take the opportunity to ask Mum about everyone back home.

“Your father is working too many hours, as usual,” she replies with a heavy sigh. “I keep telling him to give that junior of his the simple work – you know, phone calls and filing and the like – but he refuses. Insists the boy is merely a helping hand until Jason goes to University in September and comes to do work experience with him.”

I frown. “I thought Jase was going up in the United academy? He’s one of their best players!”

“Yes, well, that’s still an option. He hasn’t quite made his choice yet, but obviously University is the better option for him. Your father is working on it.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself snapping at her. “Mum, Jase’s wanted to play for that team since he was old enough to kick a ball. He has a chance now, a real chance. Surely you can’t take that away from him?”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” She sniffs and sips her wine. “He needs to understand he has options. Not everyone has to go off and chase a crazy dream.”

Abbi’s foot touches mine gently under the table, and I take a deep breath, smiling falsely.

“Of course. He should explore his options.” The ones he wants to. Not the ones forced onto him by overbearing parents.

“So, Abbi.” Mum turns to her. “What do you do besides dance?”

“Oh. Nothing right now,” Abbi replies quietly. “Dance takes up most of my time.”

“Blake has told me what a wonderful dancer you are. The way he speaks, I’m surprised you’re not already in Juilliard.”

“I wasn’t well when the last auditions came round, so I’ve had to wait it out. I’m still recovering now, but hopefully I’ll make the next ones.”

“You will.” I smile at her, and she returns it.

“Such a shame,” Mum muses, the sympathy in her voice real. “Lovely you’re recovering, though. If you don’t mind my asking, were you terribly ill?”

I freeze.

“Well.” Abbi puts her fork down on her plate and looks up. “I guess that depends on how you view “terribly ill.” I wouldn’t say so, not anymore, but then I guess depression is only as bad you let it be.”

Heavy silence falls over the table, and I catch the tremble of Mum’s hand.

“You poor thing,” Mum responds, her voice as steady as ever. “What a dreadful thing to deal with for someone so young.”

Like you don’t know.

“Yeah, well, it’s like I said. It’s only as bad as you let it be. Thankfully, I have some control over it now, and dancing helps. Oh, and Blake. He’s very supportive.”

“I’m sure he is.” Mum looks up at me, her eyes getting colder by the second. I raise an eyebrow questioningly, playing dumb. She glances toward the watch on her wrist, setting her cutlery down. “Is that the time?”

“It’s only eight-thirty,” I say casually.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid my jet-lag is catching up to me, and I have an early meeting tomorrow, so I’m going to have call it a night. I’m ever so sorry.”

Liar.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Apparently, I lie as well as she does…

“You understand, don’t you, Blake?”

“Of course, Mum. Do you need me to phone for a taxi?”

“You’re quite alright.” She stands, smoothing out her skirt. “I hired a chauffeur for my stay. I considered a car, but everyone knows you simply don’t drive in New York.”

I stand and follow her into the front room where she grabs her bag. “Well, it was lovely to see you. Even if it was only a short visit,” I try.

“And you, darling. You look well. Anyway, I must get back to the hotel and get to bed.” She pauses by the front door. “I’ll phone you before I leave.”

I smile, leaning in and pecking her cheek. “Great. Have a safe journey across the bridge.”

“Have a nice evening.” She shuts the door behind her, and I breathe a sigh of relief, leaning against it.

I shake my head. Flippin’ heck. That just went from bad to worse to downright hellish.

“That went well,” Abbi says dryly, echoing my thoughts. “Like a train crash.”

“I was waiting for the unicorns and rainbows to burst through the door,” I reply.

“I don’t think she likes me much.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. She doesn’t particularly like me either.” I shrug, and she giggles. “What’s so funny?”

“This is totally off topic of who your mom does and doesn’t like,” she begins. “But when you talk to her you speak differently. You got all posh-sounding the second she walked through the door. I thought I’d stepped into Buckingham Palace or something.”

I groan. “Really? I thought I’d left that hoity-toity shit at Gatwick airport.”

She props her chin on her hand, smiling. “I kind of liked it.”

“Really?” I tilt my head to the side and sit back down. “How much did you like it?”

“Downton Abbey liked it.”

“Which means…?”

“I watch that show religiously just for the accents. So, really, really liked it.”

“How much is really, really liked it?”

“I think it speaks for itself, Blake.”

She stares at me with wide, amused eyes, and the curve of her pink lips is too tempting. I lean forward, pressing my mouth to hers, and brush my lips across hers softly.

“Liked it that much?” I murmur, my face close to hers. She nods, and I lean in again, placing my hand at the side of her head. My fingers tangle gently in her hair, my thumb brushes across her cheek, and she moves closer. She clasps her hand around my arm, holding onto me, and I urge her into deepening the kiss. She does, and as I flick my tongue across her lips, I can taste the lingering flavor of the wine we’ve been drinking. Her grip on my arm tightens, and I pull back reluctantly.

I might not know the reasons behind her pain, but I’ll be damned if I’ll push her into something she’s not comfortable with.

“You’re so in tune with me it’s scary,” she whispers.

“I’m not sure about that,” I reply. “But if talking like a right posh bastard gets me a kiss like that, I’m gonna do it more bloody often.”