The Wait (On Hold)

Day 16 17

Indigo eyes pierce me in place as he watches me carefully, "Have you been to any of my games?" He asks.

There are empty cartons around us and Atlas's room smells of Indian herbs and spices. We're leaning against his bed and we're playing twenty questions. Sort of. He skipped over story time and I wasn't complaining. The only rule for our game was that we don't answer a question with a question and are allowed only one pass.

Our eyes are drooping from the heavy meal and the darkness, but we're remain awake. I know my reasons, I'm unaware of his.

I make a face at him, "And see you canoodling with her? No, thanks."

He tilts his head off his bed and looks at me, blinking drowsily, "I wasn't always with her."

I roll my eyes, "Someone or the other." I say and it's true. Even before he went out with Callie, the games were one of the hubs of attraction for King Kyle. Lord knows he can't walk off the field without being mauled by cheerleaders or any girl under a radius of ten feet or less.

I think I make a face at the memories and it gets him laughing. I smile, curling my fingers to keep from reaching out to trace the curve of his smiles.

"Why did you ask this question?" I ask, because it's my turn and because amongst the several hundred other questions I have for him, this one burned the most. Why did he care if I went to his games?

He shrugs, "Well, you did say you loved me. I was wondering why you never came to watch me play."

I narrowed my eyes, "So you always knew I never came to your games?"

He meets my eyes, "Don't be surprised, Lenny. I know lots of things about you."

At that, I laugh, but sober down when I notice he was serious. I lick my lips and turn myself sideways to face him. He looks up at the ceiling again and we remain quiet. I watch him as he thinks.

"What's your least favourite thing about me?" He asks.

"Pass." I say immediately.

He starts to laugh again and colour spills in my cheeks because I know he's guessed why I passed the question.

I push at his shoulder, "Shut up."

"There has to be something." He says and he's turned too, propping his head on his palm and resting his elbow on the bed.

I sigh and close my eyes, resting my head on the soft mattress. "If there were, why wouldn't I tell you?"

"Maybe you're just seeing me through rose-tinted glasses?" He asks.

I look at him, "I'm not saying I don't see anything in you that isn't all perfect and rosy. I'm saying that just because they aren't perfect and rosy, doesn't mean they're my least favourite."

"I resent that you just used rosy to describe me."

I laugh and it's my turn.

"When did you find out?" I ask, my voice quiet in the darkness. I wonder if the lights had dimmed in response to the time, or if the man beside me had controlled it.

When did you find out I was in love with you?

He goes quiet and I watch him as his lashes hide his eyes. I peruse his features without his witness, my eyes catching on his lips that were curving a little into a smile.

"I think my first clue was that your brother never trusted you with me."

My eyelids flutter open wider in shock.