The Air That I Breathe (The Game 3.5)

I hadn’t even kissed anyone. I wasn’t interested.

“Oh. Same as me, then.” Reese pinched his bottom lip, forehead creased in thought. “I’m not some whore, Riv. I’m just trying to find someone I’m attracted to, and…nothing.”

Something inside me eased away, as if there’d been tension I hadn’t been aware of.

“I know the feeling.” I scooted back to lean against the wall, and I pulled one leg up. “If I’m not into it, I can’t do it. Literally.”

Reese grinned faintly and abandoned his bed for mine.

That was new. Actually, it was old, but he hadn’t even sat on my bed for almost a year.

I did my best to suppress the part of me that wanted to cry with both relief and desperation. And I was desperate. I didn’t feel okay. I wasn’t happy. Reese was right; I walked around like a zombie and had shadows under my eyes.

Apathy was my only break.

“Why did we stop talking like this, Riv?” He mirrored my position and sat next to me. “You’ve been pushin’ me away since Ma died.”

Dammit. Some things never changed. He was still too blunt.

I didn’t wanna talk about it, ’cause I’d have to admit that I missed having him close to me.

I stared at his leg almost touching mine. Our AC unit was shit, so we walked around in basketball shorts and nothing else, and it would be so easy to just reach out and…yet, so goddamn hard, because our parents had tainted everything. They’d turned our “touching” into something bad. They’d never understood that Reese was my source of energy. Having him wrapped around me or holding him had recharged my batteries my whole life, and now it wasn’t okay anymore.

Maybe an inch or two separated us now.

I swallowed the misery threatening to resurface.

“Hey.” He nudged me. “Talk to me.”

I couldn’t. Suddenly, everything inside me felt like a ticking timebomb, and opening my mouth would set shit off. So I shook my head, even though I knew he wouldn’t accept it.

“Something’s wrong, Riv. I ain’t blind.” He hooked his arm with mine and scooted closer, effectively gluing our legs together, and it nearly did me in.

“I’m tired,” I managed to get out.

My heart drummed faster, my ears felt hot, and there was no way I could look him in the eye.

It was fucking mortifying.

“Wh…” He stopped talking, and his eyes were on me. I sensed him studying me, puzzling crap together, and I did everything I could to keep my face composed.

“Boys!” Pop yelled.

I jumped at the sound and quickly put some distance between us and reached for my magazine. Pop opened the door to our room a beat later. Holy shit. A rushing sound invaded my ears, and I couldn’t imagine I looked innocent.

“What’s up?” Reese asked casually.

“I’m headin’ down to the bar for supper,” Pop replied. “I left y’all a twenty for pizza in the kitchen.”

Why did we even come here? Pop took every chance he got to be somewhere else.

“All right,” Reese answered.

Pop didn’t close the door. It was a thing. He had no issues leaving—in fact, he preferred it—but the door to our room stayed open. It was a statement. A silent reminder. No funny business. Except, there was nothing funny about this at all.

Reese didn’t move a muscle until we heard Pop walk out the front door, but then he slid off the bed and told me to lie down.

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been an idiot,” he said, walking over to the window. He popped it open. “So have you—you should’ve fucking reminded me—but I’ll go easy on you this time. Just lie down.”

If he pulled some stunt, I’d beat his ass…

I tossed the magazine on the floor and eyed him warily, then lay down on my side and adjusted the pillows under my head.

“Make room.” He surprised me by lying down beside me.

I swallowed uneasily, and a bucket of hope started spilling over. Was he for real?

When he closed the distance and pulled me close, I almost shattered. I screwed my eyes shut and shuddered violently.

A year ago, this had been nothing. It’d been normal, something we did every day. Now I didn’t know how to act or where to put my hands.

“I should’ve known,” he said quietly. “I did know. I just… I’m sorry, River. I forgot.”

Forgot what, that I needed him like some pathetic loser?

I lost my composure.

My eyes burned behind closed lids, and he would always be the asshole who tried to be funny when he was worried. He pointed out that my eyes were leaking, and then he held me a little tighter, and I felt a year’s worth of tension and grief beginning to drain out of me.

“Just shut up,” I croaked. “Go ahead and gloat—you’re stronger than me.”

“Should I shut up, or should I gloat?” he teased. Then he lost the humor and pressed his lips to my forehead. “I’m not stronger than you, Riv.”