Page 35 of Game on, Love
It wasn’t until I was mid-spin that I saw him.
Oliver.
He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk plastered on his face.
I screamed, dropping the whisk in surprise. “Oh my god! What are you doing here?”
I palmed my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. My eyes were still fixed on Oliver. He was watching me with a certainlook,an intensity that I couldn’t place, something I had never seen in another’s eyes before and that sent a current through every nerve in my body.
“I live here, remember?” Oliver chuckled, that deep rumbling sound that somehow managed to both irritate me and send another shiver down my spine.
I rolled my eyes, adamant about not letting him show my true feelings. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“Myapologies,” His grin widened, clearly enjoying my brain lag. “If I knew I had to book in advance to get the front-row tickets to this private concert, I would’ve cleared my evening earlier.”
I grabbed the kitchen roll and threw it at him. He ducked, a proper laugh filtering out of him. “Shut. Up.”
“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. It was very entertaining. You’ve got strong vocals and great supporting acts,” He gestured toMilo, the littletraitor, who was already by his feet. “Though can’t say I’ve ever seen someone sing to a whisk before.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks, “Seriously. If you want to live, zip it.”
His smile widened before he pushed himself off the wall, walking over to where I was. “Smells incredible. What are you making?”
I picked up the whisk from the floor, wiping away the small spatter it caused when it dropped with a wipe.
“Brownies,” I looked at the bowl with the remains of the batter before looking back at him with a smirk. “Want a taste?”
He watched me closely.
“What are you doing?”
My breath hitched slightly as I watched him. Instead of using the spatula that was already in the bowl or the spoon sat next to it, he reached formyhand—dipping it gently in the batter—and slowly brought it up to his mouth and paused.
He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for me to stop him. When I didn’t, something darker in his eyes appeared.
He leaned forward and made a show of tasting before he groaned. “Delicious,” His voice dropped an octave, a little rougher now, and I felt the buzz of it everywhere. And for a split second, we both stood there, the space between us charged with something unspoken.
Suddenly, the oven beeped, indicating it was preheated and broke whatever moment we just shared. I pulled my hand back and turned away quickly, my pulse still racing. Grabbing my oven mitts, I placed the brownies in before setting the timer, thankful for the distraction. I didn’t have to turn back to know he was watching me, and I could feel the warmth of his gaze wash all over me.
The air in the kitchen felt charged, and when I caught Oliver’s eye again, his expression was softer now; unlike me, hewasn’t trying to hide whatever he was feeling. It made me feel uneasy, but like it had before, the need to pull back wasn’t there today.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “What are you doing at home? Thought you had somewhere to be.”
“I’m right where I want to be.”
I faltered, taken aback by his response.
Oliver watched me silently, almost expecting me to pull back like I had done in the past. And a part of me wanted to—I was supposed to take it step by step, not break my barrier wide open.
My eyes trailed his stance. He was in a navy blue sweater that sharpened his features; his hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his faded grey jeans as he leaned back on the kitchen counter, still waiting for a response.
Biting my lip, I said lightly. “Smooth.”
It was small, but his eyes sparked. A mix of surprise and mischief was evident in them. “You think so? I can do better if you’d like.”
“Better, huh? I didn’t know I was dealing with an overachiever.”
His laugh was hearty and warm, and it sent a ripple of something through me, just like it did when we were in similar positions the other morning. “Careful, I might start to think you’refinallyenjoying this.”