The Endgame (Full Version on Galatea)

Chapter Four

He towered over me, and I had to throw my head back to glance at him.

"Bathroom," I answered.

I started to move before Graham's big paws stopped me. He had an amused smile plastered on his face. "Do you even know where the bathroom is?"

Good question. I do not.

"Nope."

He chuckled while shaking his head. His massive hands left my waist to grab one of my hands, interlocking our fingers before tugging me after him. My heart jumped. "Come on, Miller. Bathroom is this way."

I didn't fight the contact, mainly because I had a feeling I would get swallowed in the crowded place and needed guidance. Also, a small part of me was amazed at how small my hand was in his and how terribly nice it felt.

I blamed the alcohol for the pleasant sensation. In any other normal situation, I wouldn't welcome St. Claire's touches or smiles.

We moved across the first floor through throngs of bodies. I couldn't see much, but St. Claire was able to see above everyone else's head and frowned.

He turned his head. "There's a long queue here. Come on, Jackson only allows a few people to the upper floor. There has to be a free bathroom up there."

He led me in a different direction.

St. Claire was stopped multiple times by multiple people, but he brushed them off without a second. He rejected invitations to hang out and talk, to dance with some girls, and to join a Beer Pong match.

Once we were at the bottom of the staircase, I could breathe. Even though we were no longer swallowed in people, St. Claire never let go of my hand and I didn't ask him to. I needed as much support to get me up the stairs without plopping down like a sack of potatoes.

Once we were on the upper floor, he guided me to a bedroom at the end of the hallway. There was a bathroom inside, he explained. I moved quickly before noticing my surroundings.

Unfortunately, I couldn't stay in the bathroom forever to regroup before worrying St. Claire. I splashed water on my flustered cheeks and took quick breaths.

I needed a gentle reminder that St. Claire wasn't a nice guy, and I didn't like him.

When I stepped outside, I took the bedroom in.

There were trophies on a stand against the wall, a queen-sized bed, and photos on the wall. Everything was football-related. It was Jackson's bedroom.

I was drawn to a picture of St. Claire and Jackson. My eyes trailed to their strong bodies and my stomach twisted.

I sensed Graham standing behind me and peering over my shoulder. "Last year's championship," he provided. The hairs at the back of my neck stood up at his closeness. His breath fell over my hair and neck, sending tingles down my spine.

I needed to chill and keep my head straight. I distracted myself by detailing the picture. "You sucked, right?"

He laughed. "We won, Miller."

I hummed. I already knew that, and the distraction wasn't working. My heart was slamming hard, and I felt very hot inside.

I looked across the wall for more pictures. There were family trips, football games, and other events I didn't recognize. Jackson had a picture of a very dirty Oliver and a car in the mud. I had to stop myself from smiling.

I pointed at the picture and Graham chuckled next to my ear.

My eyes shut involuntarily. He had a great laugh, soft and husky. Why did terrible people have great laughs? Why did terrible people have funny stories? Why couldn't terrible people only be terrible? Why did they have to be patient? Why couldn't they ditch you to party instead? Why did they have to act kindly from time to time and confuse you? Or be incredibly attractive?

It was unfair.

However, my body wasn't listening to my brain. My body didn't care that Graham St. Claire wasn't historically a nice guy except for tonight. My body didn't care that we didn't like him.

My body was aware of him and the effect his presence had on me. How his laughter was melodious. How his large hands felt strong and pleasant. How nice he looked whenever he smiled. How his eyes were bright and dreamy.

I swallowed hard.

My brain shouted at me that I needed to move and leave this place now. It was time to look for Melissa. More than an hour had passed. I had been distracted long enough. I should go back to wallowing.

But I didn't want to go back to the dark thoughts. As painful as it was to admit it, I was enjoying my time with Graham. I liked how he was making me feel—light and relaxed.

I was unsure of what to do.

The room was silent and filled with tension. Neither of us moved. My back brushed against his chest. For one crazy moment, I thought about leaning back.

Would he feel hard and powerful?

This was a mess.

I was perching there. In the indecision.

Neither of us was brave enough to move, afraid of breaking whatever was going on.

I refused to choose between leaving and...I wasn't even sure what the second option was. I couldn't fathom it.

When I believed I was going to turn crazy and desperate, his callous fingers brushed over my prickly skin, brushing my hair to the side. My breath hitched.

Seconds later, I felt his hot breath over my neck, followed by a soft touch. His nose skimmed the slope of my neck. The gesture was ticklish.

Then he kissed the juncture between my shoulder and nape. My pulse hammered against my ears. Should I stop him? Did I want to stop him?

I really should. This had escalated beyond my expectations.

Yet I didn't move.

His kisses on my neck felt nice, and I was curious.

How would it feel to kiss him? To run my hands through his wavy hair? To taste him?

My mouth opened but no sound came out. My head was spinning as I allowed Graham to suck on my neck.

His hands snaked around my hips, and he whispered against my ear. "Turn around, Miller."

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