Page 40 of Playing the Backbeat

“You liked it?” I ask, unnecessarily, but wanting to hear her admit it. It was obvious. She berated the guys for calling it a night, since we were close to the next battle. But it’s late, already one in the morning, and we’re all in our thirties. It’s way past our bedtime, and tomorrow we’ll all pay for it.

“Are you kidding? I’m fucking invested. Want to play with me now that they’re gone?”

My stupid fucking brain hears the words, and like the horny piece of shit that I am, I’m instantly picturing playing with her in all sorts of ways that do not involve this goddamn video game.

I clear my throat, and oblivious, Dee urges me on. “Come on. I know you want it.”

I shake my head, willing my dick not to get hard because suddenly I’ve lost control of downstairs Dylan as he takes the wheel of my brain and my body. Thankfully, Dee doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’re going to have to let an old man sleep. But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Consider this our version of book club,” I say, trying to refocus my thoughts on safer topics.

“I’m sorry I judged you. This is just as good as book club.”

“Did Deanna Perry just apologize? For a mistake?”

She bumps into me on her way to the kitchen, her hands full of dishes, before she places them in the sink. “Hey, I can admit when I’m wrong, dillhole. Can you?”

I look at her, and maybe it’s the third beer of the night, or the late hour, or the way her cheeks are flush, or the way her messy hair makes it feel like she’s comfortable and at home in my presence, but I can’t look away.

Confused by my lack of response, she watches me, her brows furrowed. “Oh no, are you addicted now? You want me to apologize for everything? Fine. I’msorryI called you a dillhole. But if you want my goodwill to last, I’m going to need you to stop acting all high and mighty when I accidentally get stuck staring at the ceiling while running into the wall. I’m still getting used to the controls,” she jokes.

My heart thuds as I recall how she laughed at herself as she learned the controls, still determined to get unstuck by herself, even when I offered to help. When an alien came up behind her character and attacked, she threw the remote control into my lap, screaming at me to help her, right before a hulking beast of an alien chopped my guy’s head off. She proceeded to blame me for the next thirty minutes for the kill.

It shouldn’t make my stomach fly. It shouldn’t light my insides up brighter than the skyline blinking in the darkness outside the window.

“Next time you get stuck staring at a wall, I’ll save you.”

She pops on her toes, kissing me on the cheek, then slapping me on the ass as she walks past me into her bedroom. “Glad that’s settled. On that note, good game,” she says in her deepest voice. Then she sings a dramatic “Good night” before closing her bedroom door behind her.

I wander into my room, dazed, unable to rationalize why I can still feel her soft lips pressed lightly against my cheek. Without realizing it, my hand drifts to brush over the spot. I walk straight to the wall, dropping my head to rest against the cool surface, then laugh at myself, realizing I’m in the exact position Dee would put me in if she were in control of my character.

Fuck, something is happening here.

Refusing to name it, I get ready for bed. I lie restless in the dark for an hour before sleep finally takes me.

I dream of Dee befriending aliens and becoming their queen—because of course she would—sharing a big bowl of popcorn with a crew of them, before she drags me to sit with her.

I wake with a smile on my face and a hard-on so stiff, I’m tenting the sheet.

I need to go on that date. Because if I’m not careful, I might fall for my terrifying, five-foot-nothing, powerhouse of a roommate.

Chapter seventeen

Dylan

Dee’s back in doomsday mode. Her head is draped over the edge of the couch, her calves resting on the back cushions.

“Should I be concerned?” I ask.

“Shh…”

Her eyes are closed and she doesn’t move.

“Uh, Dee? You good?”

“I’m entering a year of transformation. I turn twenty-nine today. And yet…here I am.” She flails her arms, gesturing at the living room around her before letting them fall meekly to the couch cushions again.

I look around. “Here you are. In your apartment. What’s the problem?”