Page 100 of Game on, Love
“Andthatdoesn’t surprise me,” He grinned.
I sighed. “I need to know the vibe beforehand. I already feel wiped—”
“Dress casually but layer up instead of just a thick jumper as the place tends to run on the warmer side. It won’t be super loud or bright, and it’s nothing competitive.” He ran a hand through my hair, and I relaxed. “You hungry?”
“Not really,” I murmured, closing my eyes. I’d gone downstairs and made us some sandwiches for lunch, but it was only a couple of hours ago. “Don’t do that if you don’t want me to fall asleep.”
He chuckled, but his hands stilled.
Opening my eyes, I looked at him. “How are you feeling about your match?”
He lifted a shoulder.
“It says it might rain on Friday,” I pointed out, and he smiled as though the idea of me looking into the weather for him pleased him.
“It’s at the Oval, which has a retractable roof, so they are going to prep for it tomorrow just to be on the safer side.”
I nodded, picking up on the tone he didn’t want to talk about it but didn’t want to dismiss me either. “You really won’t tell me where we’re going?”
“That’s how surprises work, love.” He chuckled.
“A hint?”
“You’ve never done it before, but we’ll probably do it again.”
I sat up on my arms, a frown on my face. “How would you know if I haven’t done it before or not?”
He grinned, leaning closer. “You’ll just have to see.”
I moved my head back, shaking my head. “No hints, no kisses.”
He leaned back, his grin still in place. “I did give you a hint.”
“That wasn’t a proper hint,” I tugged on my lower lip before tilting my head. “That’s like expecting me to guess how much you won by from just the first over.”
His eyes flickered with something darker, and I knew I hit the target. “That is evil.”
“What is?” I feigned innocence.
Flicking his tongue out, he licked the corner of his lips before pressing them together, almost like he had to try a little harder to keep his sanity in check.
I bit my lip, watching him in fascination. It was like suddenly all bets were off, and it felt addictive.
“I think me being evil would be me telling you,” I whispered, and his eyes went to my lips before flicking back to my eyes. “That when you scored 122 runs off 97 balls against South Africa on your ODI debut was my favourite match. Or maybe it waswhen you made England’s record last year for the fastest T20I fifty against New Zealand.”
He let out a strained breath before rubbing his lips. This time, when he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly. “Go get dressed, so we can leave, and I can kiss the fuck out of you.”
Warmth ran through me at his words as I licked my lips.
“Go. Before I change my mind and lock you in here forever.”
I laughed as he fell back on the bed.
WALKING IN THE DIMLYlit studio, we were welcomed with the faint scent of clay and soft chatter as the familiar noise of Camden Town faded out and the door shut behind us.
Low wooden tables were set up evenly; each one set up with a pottery wheel—two chairs across each other, a bucket of water and some tools that could probably be useful if you hadanyclue how to use them, which I absolutely did not. But as I noticed the staff members dividing the sections and creating mini booths, I couldn’t help but be curious as to what we were doing.
Tugging on Oliver’s hand that was holding mine, I whispered. “What exactly are we doing?”