The Right Moves (The Game #3)(54)
Author: Emma Hart

“I do not.”

“You do. And you all talk about the weather too much.”

Blake opens his mouth to argue but swiftly shuts it again, nodding. “I’ll give you that. Although it is a great conversation starter.”

“Better than your lame pick up lines?”

His green eyes flick to me. “Nothing beats my lame chat up lines, and you know it.”

“Debatable.”

“Oi. It worked, didn’t it?” He raises his eyebrows and touches his finger to my nose. His flour-covered finger.

“Did you just get flour on my nose?”

“Um. No.” He cracks an egg into the bowl.

I wipe at my nose and white powder falls into my lap. I narrow my eyes at him and shove my hand in the flour packet, throwing it at him. It settles on his hair, his face and his black shirt. A small childish part of me giggles in glee.

Blake stops and turns his head toward me slowly. I smile sheepishly.

“I didn’t mean to get that much?” It comes out as a question instead of a statement, and Blake catches his tongue between his teeth. His eyes twinkle mischievously, his smile filling with sass. My own eyes widen.

“Oh no. No. No. No!” I jump from the table and run around it straight into a cloud of flour. I cough and sputter, glaring at him. “That was not fair!”

“Neither was what you did. Now we’re even.” That spark is still in his eye.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’re right not to.” He throws another handful of flour at me, and I shriek, shaking my head like it’ll clear it from my hair.

“Oh, that’s it!” I grab the bag from the table and shake it in his direction. He steps back, laughing, and we do a funny kind of dance around the kitchen table. I laugh with him, taking in the way he looks with the flour clinging to him, and wonder how I look. Probably just as dumb as he does.

“Even,” Blake repeats, holding his hands up. “Let’s call it quits.”

“Fine,” I say after a moment. “But the flour goes in the cupboard.”

“Deal.”

I put the flour in the cupboard behind me and turn. Blake’s hands frame my face, wet and sticky. I shriek.

“What the hell!”

He backs away, laughing. “Egg.”

My mouth drops open and I stare at him in disbelief. “You sneaky jerk!”

The cheek-aching smile on his face makes him look five years younger, and I have to fight my own smile. I dip my hands into the bowl he was mixing in, getting them covered in both egg and flour. The thick, gloopy mixture sticks to my fingers, and I run toward Blake.

“Shit!” He laughs harder. “Abbi. Abbi!”

I smear my hands down his face, covering him in it, and scream. His white hands frame the sides of my face, his fingers sinking into my hair. I grab his arms, feeling like I’m going to fall backward, and close my eyes at the firm press of his lips to mine.

I half-gasp at the intensity of the kiss, feeling it right down to my toes. They curl against the wooden floor, lifting me up slightly, and my fingers dig into Blake’s arms. He’s never kissed me this way – hell, I’ve never been kissed this way by anyone, and as his tongue flicks across my bottom lip and he sucks it lightly between his, warmth pools in the pit of my stomach. I ache in a way I haven’t for so long, an ache stronger and heavier than I thought it would be when I felt it again.

His hand threads into my hair, and I lean against him. His lips moving over mine both enthrall me and scare me, making me want to hold him tighter and run at the same time as the ache in me just intensifies.

Blake’s arm slides down and around my waist, holding me in place and making my decision for me. I let my hands travel up his arms to his neck, and hold onto him for dear life. I hold onto him like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing that can keep me afloat and save me.

And I may just be drowning – only this time, I’m not drowning under the pressure of my depression.

This time, I’m falling into my feelings for him, letting them consume me and take me under. I’m drowning in the possibilities of tomorrow, the maybes of us. I’m breathing fresher air than I have in months, dreaming of a future that holds more than just dance.

Because I’m in love with him.

And I feel it. I feel it with every part of me, but I’m not scared, and I’m not even surprised. I think I always knew. I always knew my heart was in his hands, so I go with it. I ignore the screaming in the back of my head and let my heart and my body do the talking.

I know the exact moment the screaming stops and my wants overtake my fears because one of the binds tying the depression to me snaps. Usually it’s a slow fray of a rope coming apart, but this was a clean cut, a swift slicing of the steel rods holding the darkness in place.

My back melds against the wall, and I tangle my fingers in his hair, wetness sliding down my cheeks. With each tear that slides from my closed eyes another bit of weight lifts.

“Abbi,” he whispers, pulling away and moving his hand from the back of my head. He cups my cheek and wipes the tears away, leaning his forehead against mine. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. We don’t have to-”

“I’m not crying for that,” I half-laugh, half-hiccup. “I’m not crying because I’m remembering or because it hurts. I’m crying because I’m letting go of that hurt, at least a little. And now I’m crying because I don’t want you to stop.”

Blake breathes out slowly, his hot breath fanning across my lips. “I mean it, Abs. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. I’ll go and put that bloody chick-flick on and start the pastry again and-”

I yank his head back so he’s looking me in the eyes. So he knows I mean what I’m about to say.

“Blake Smith, if you let me go and walk away from me right now to make f**king pastry, I will never speak to you again. Ever.”

He blinks at me. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Do me a favor.”

“I’m kind of debating not making the pastry again, if you’re wondering.”

“You talk too much,” I mutter. “For five minutes, can you just shut the hell up and kiss me again?”

His fingers cup the back of my neck, pulling me away from the wall and toward him. “Since you asked so nicely…”

He takes my mouth with his again, this time harder, more needing, and I open for him when his tongue flicks against my lips. His hand resting on my back moves down and curves around my ass cheeks, pulling my pelvis against his. An inch of doubt from the darkness flashes in the back of my mind when I feel him hard against my thigh, but I bat it away forcefully.