The Game

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𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑬𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 - 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚...𝑯𝒆 𝑨𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑴𝒆

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

My mouth had stopped working. My brain had turned to soup. My heart was hammering so loud I was surprised he couldn't hear it.

"Do I make you nervous, baby?"

The question echoed inside me like a dare.

I blinked. Swallowed hard. Tried to remember how to speak.
"No," I whispered.
But it came out... weak. Barely believable. A little too fast.

Chris leaned back just an inch — just enough to let his smirk bloom into something smug. Something dangerous. His eyes flicked to my mouth, then back up to mine, slow and steady, like he already knew the truth.

"No?" he repeated, voice smooth like velvet and thick like heat.

I shook my head once. Too quickly. Too fake. My ponytail bounced and slapped the back of my neck.

He leaned in again. Closer this time.
Way closer.

I could feel the warmth of his chest beside me. His shoulder brushed mine. His scent — clean, woodsy, and boy — wrapped around me like a net I didn't even try to escape from.

He bent low, head dipping near my ear again, and this time I froze.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.

His voice came soft — low and teasing — right into the curve of my neck.

"You sure?" he whispered, breath warm against my skin. " 'Cause your hand's still shakin'. And your thighs been bouncing since I sat down."

I clutched the edge of the table without meaning to. My fingers dug into the wood like it could anchor me back to Earth.

"I-I just — I'm —"

I couldn't even finish a sentence.

Chris chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through the small space between us. I felt it more than I heard it. His lips were so close I swore they brushed the shell of my ear.

"You always this jumpy," he murmured, "or is it just me?"

I let out a laugh that cracked on its way out.
It wasn't funny.

"Y-You're... distracting," I finally managed, keeping my eyes on the textbook because if I looked at him — if I saw that smirk or those eyes or that mouth again — I was going to melt into the floor.

Chris leaned back only a little, like he was giving me space but still claiming the air between us. I could still feel the heat of him. Could still feel my own skin buzzing.

"Distracting, huh?" he said, resting his elbow on the table and leaning into his palm. "That's new. Usually it's me not payin' attention."

"You still aren't paying attention," I muttered, flipping a page in the textbook to distract myself. My voice was breathless. Embarrassingly breathless.

He laughed, and it was beautiful.

"Alright, alright," he said, like he was doing me a favor. "Teach me somethin', Miss Tutor."

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, still hiding half my face behind my ponytail.

His grin hadn't gone anywhere.
And his knee?

It was touching mine now.

I didn't move.

Couldn't.