A Hater's Gamble (BxB)

THIRTY-FIVE

Miles then turned to me, contemplating. "Liam, shouldn't we be scared? After what happened with the car—."

"If we're going to be at this game together, I don't want to hear about Carl. Is that something you can comply with?," I asked, desperately trying to get rid of his fear, although I would never outright admit it.

Those dark eyes were now flecked with compromise. "Okay," he said, quietly.

"Great," I confirmed, turning off the engine. "Let's go, before things get crazy outside."

                                  •••••••••••••••••

Once our tickets were scanned, Miles gasped as we came across a large Christmas tree, wrapped in red and gold ribbon. Beside the tree was a booth where fans sat with paintbrushes, stickers, and scissors. They appeared to be creating art.

Miles abruptly reeled on me, eyes bright. "Christmas ornament making, at a championship game."

"Yes, Miles, those people are making Christmas ornaments," I retorted, admiring his expression of wonder.

"Can we, possibly, make Christmas ornaments, too?," he suggested, deliberately creeping around the subject, knowing my distaste for art.

I pursed my lips and examined his pleading expression. Eyes big and smile tentative.

"I hate you," I said, itching to take hold of his hand. "Because you make it very hard to say no to you."

I could've sworn that I saw a hint of pink brush his cheeks, but he smiled devilishly. "Does that mean yes?"

I begrudgingly nodded, which prompted Miles to eagerly grab my hand and lead me to the booth, nearly jumping for joy. I refrained from jolting at the contact. His hand was glacial, like the coldest winter night.

"Hi!," the woman at the booth chirped. "Are we making ornaments today, or letters to Santa?"

"Whatever the prince wants," I responded, nudging Miles, who's hand I still held.

Miles casted me a look of irritation, but smiled at the woman. "This prince wants to make ornaments."

The woman's eyes flickered between the two of us, perhaps trying to find a label. Noticing this, Miles tried to move away from the grasp that my hand now held his in. But I squeezed harder.

Don't you dare, I told him with one look.

It would seem odd if Miles suddenly freaked out and released my hand. Let the woman think whatever she'd like.

"So, are you going to get us some ornaments? Or are we to wait all night?," I probed, growing exasperated at the woman's explicit staring.

"Yes, of course," the woman said, finally coming to her senses. "Right this way, boys."

That's more like it.

Once we were situated at our table, Miles quickly started on his ornament. I couldn't bring myself to pick up the paint brush in front of me, though.