Chapter 4: Half Time

On Thursday I sat on my own cushion, just like he'd told me.

I sat at the far end of the couch with a bowl of popcorn between my knees and the semifinal on.

Devin sat in the middle with a beer he wasn't drinking.

There was one full cushion of grey upholstery between us, and I could feel it.

"Good," he said, when the teams walked out.

"Good what?"

"Good that you listened."

"I always listen," I said. "I just don't always agree."

He didn't answer that.

For forty-five minutes the only thing he said was a swear word when the blue shirts missed an open goal.

I kept my eyes on the screen, breathing slowly.

At the half, the blue shirts were up one nothing, and the players jogged off to the tunnel.

Devin put his beer on the table, turned to me, and held out his hand.

"Come here," he said.

I looked at his hand.

"I thought I was supposed to stay on my cushion."

"I changed my mind."

"That's not how rules work."

"It's my rule," said Devin. "I can change it."

I stood up, crossed the cushion between us, and he took me by the hips and pulled me down onto his lap himself.

I'd been ready for a lot of things, and not for that.

I sat with my legs on either side of his, facing him, my knees pressed into the couch.

His eyes were very dark.

"You asked me to say no," he said. "I tried for four days."

"How did that go?"

"Badly."

"Devin..."

"Four days I've wanted this," he said, low and wrecked. "I'm done pretending."

I put my hand on the side of his face, on the stubble, and he turned his mouth into my palm.

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