Page 38 of End Game

“It’s not my birthday,” I tell him in English, because my Cantonese is rusty as fuck. I can understand it—mostly—but I don’t have an opportunity to speak it now that my grandparents have passed and my extended family lives so far away.

“It’s your favorite,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Wes grunts and motions his hand to Amir, who passes over the remote. The resident monk turns on the TV and a superhero movie I’ve never seen before. Mackenzie and Wes are half reading, half watching. Tucker is on his phone. I’m pretty sure Greg is swiping left on a dating app.

Barrett tucks his arm around the back of the sofa, a few inches above my shoulders. After a few minutes, I curl into him, my head on his shoulder. His arm drops to my shoulders and squeezes lightly.

“You okay?” he murmurs quietly.

“Never better.”

My belly is full, and I’m surrounded by my new friends on a quiet night in, Barrett at my side. I’ve found a group of people I like spending time with, a community of fellow student athletes. We cross races, genders, majors, and ages.

These people have welcomed me into their fold and into their home. Tucker is my bud; we hang out during our psychology class, and sometime this week we’re going to meet up to study together. Greg flirts with me, and Amir teases me. Wes is agreeably distant. Mason and I have so much in common. Sam has been perfectly nice to me. Mack and I are both trying to find our footing here.

Slowly but surely, I’m making myself at home. I’m carving out a niche for myself, a place where I can be my authentic self.

I’m not thinking about the friends I haven’t made yet. I’m not concerned about the difficulties my new team is having. I’m not worried about my dad’s numerous health issues. I’m focused on the here and now, on the movie and hanging with Barrett and all the good things in my life.

There’s a soft snore. Mack is passed out, her head tucked into her chin. She’s curled into a little ball, clutching the throw pillow like it’s a lifeline.

Wes stands up and walks in front of the couch, directly in the path of the few still watching the movie.

“Hey, down in front,” Greg calls.

Wes flips him off as he pads down the hallway. His door creaks open and, a moment later, creaks closed again. He returns to the living room with a blanket in his hands. Without a word, he tucks it around the younger woman, who immediately burrows into the blanket.

“That’s nice of you,” Sam says, looking up at him from the floor. She curls into Miles, whose mouth is in a hard line.

He grunts and returns to his book.

Barrett tightens his grip around my shoulders. “You should stay the night,” he says quietly.

It’s pouring rain outside. I don’t really want to walk home in this mess. Still…

“Mack is already asleep.”

“So?”

“So I can’t sleep on the couch if someone else already is.”

He blinks at me. “So you’ll stay in my bed,” he says, like it won’t irrevocably change our friendship.

Won’t it?

Haven’t we already shared a night in the same bed? Is this really that big a deal?

Yes. Yes, it is. Because even though my crush was a long time ago, the lines are getting blurred, and I don’t know how to react to this.

My blood warms at the idea, sending fire through my veins. “What?”

I’m at the stage in my cycle where everything is turning me on. I’m horny, like, all the time. I don’t just want to get laid—I want the emotional intimacy, too, and I don’t know how to attain that. I’ve relied on my vibrator quite often in the last few days. Even the innocent touch of a hand on my arm or my shoulder is enough to turn me into a panting succubus.

Sleeping beside my best friend? My very male, very hot, very off limits best friend?

“We’re adults,” he insists. “We can share a bed without making it weird.”