Page 43 of The Game

I shook my head, keeping my face sincere. "No, Willis, I think yoga hates you more."

Plucking a popped kernel of popcorn from the bowl, he flicked it at my head.

"Shh," Sammy interrupted us. "The movie is starting."

My eyes met the Lion's above the top of the little guy's head, and I watched as the fine lines around his eyes crinkled into a smile.

I had no idea what was going on, but it could only be bad. It could really, seriously only be bad.

By eight in the evening, the rain had turned into a storm; thunder and lightning crashed above the roof of the house, and the falling droplets of rain were blasting against the driveway and doors, bouncing a good foot into the air with the force of impact.

We'd watched two movies; done some yoga, much to the moaning and bitching of the Lion; and I'd just put Sammy to bed. The Lion had peeped into his room as I kissed Sammy goodnight and seen the posters smattering the wall. He'd looked taken aback, his face crumpling for one brief moment.

He was waiting for me against the hallway wall as I came out of the little guy's room. "I'm never going to forgive myself for being rude to him." His eyes stayed on the floor, and I knew this was as close to an apology as I was ever likely to get.

"It's forgotten about. You feed him popcorn and pizza. He loves you."

"I won't forget." His feet were bare, and he rubbed his big toe along the carpet.

"Did you see what he was wearing in bed?" I took a step forward and tilted his chin with my fingers so he'd look at me.

A shake answered my question as his eyes bore into mine.

"Your signed shirt. You are a god in his eyes, Willis."

"I don't deserve to be a god." He tried to force his head away, but I held it still. This was one of the first times I'd touched him, and my brain whirled as it tried to take in all the many bombarding facts of the situation. His skin was hot, and it warmed against my fingers like the smoulder of charcoal. The fair stubble on his chin shot through with a smattering of grey was prickly, ticklish almost, and more than anything else in the world I wanted to feel his lips on mine again. We watched each other as his eyes blinked slowly and his lips parted.

Sod the contract, sod the job.

He pulled away but his fingers caught mine and he brushed his lips against the back of my hand, the lightest of scorching touches. "We can't," he said. My stomach dove to my feet as he continued, "You're the best thing I have right now, and I won't risk ruining that."

Another crash of thunder clapped above the house, and I jumped away from the spell he was weaving over me. My skin was tingling with snapping electricity, and my head whirled. I poked my head into Sammy's room, but he was fast asleep, the storm raging outside the window not disturbing him from his dead-to-the-world sleep.

I cleared my throat when I turned to face the Lion whose intense gaze was still burning through his lashes at me. "You can't drive home in this."

"No?" That tick reappeared.

"No. I have a spare room if you want to crash then we can go straight from here tomorrow to see if cricket is on."

A hefty pause made my heart beat wildly. "Sure. Thank you. That would be great."

Oh my god. The Lion was going sleep over at my house.

Gaaaaaaaah.

I was blushing, and I couldn't help it. Then I remembered his words that I was the best thing he had right now and a deep ache pulled in the pit of my stomach for the former English number one. What had this game he loved so much done to his life?

"I've got a bottle of wine somewhere if you'd like a glass."

"But you don't drink?" His voice was deeper, a gentle rasp making my skin shiver.

"I never said I didn't drink. I said I didn't like to often."

He shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay."

We spent a couple of hours slowly sipping the red wine I'd found stashed in the cupboard from my mum and dad's last visit, and talked. He told me about his exploits with the England team and discounted some of the rumours I’d heard. I wanted to ask him about the scandal regarding the hooker, but even with my body flooded with wine, I didn't have the guts. The last thing I needed was for the Lion to retreat into the wild beast he was when we first met. He was a different man now, a pussy cat in comparison. At least it was beginning to feel that way to me. I wondered if I should have seen this a couple of weeks back when he first started turning up. Was it my own prejudice that had refused to see him for what he was?