It Sounded Better in My Head - Nina Kenwood Page 0,41

with Vanessa?’ I say. I don’t really want to know the answer to this, but I need to ask him something equal to what he asked me.

‘Nope.’

‘You didn’t even pause to think.’

‘Didn’t need to.’

‘You don’t have any feelings about your ex you still need to process?’

‘That wasn’t the question.’

‘Okay. Your turn.’

Now he hesitates. My stomach clenches a little.

‘Have you ever been in love?’

He’s good at this, I’ll give him that. My automatic response is Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t answer that.

‘That’s a big question,’ I say, stalling for time.

‘We don’t have to keep playing.’

‘I’m having fun,’ I lie, because even though it’s killing me, it would be much worse to stop playing this game and spend days and weeks (and, depending on how my future social life goes, potentially months and years) wondering what would have happened if I’d kept playing.

‘No, you’re not,’ he says.

‘Yes, I am. And no, I haven’t ever been in love. My turn. When are you going to tell your family that you got fired?’ I throw back something as fast as I can, so he won’t have time to dwell on my answer.

‘Tomorrow.’ He pauses and then laughs. ‘Maybe tomorrow. By the end of the week.’

‘Your Mum will understand,’ I say.

‘It’s more complicated than that.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I will if you ask the right question.’

‘It’s your turn.’

‘Hmmm. Okay. Did you want to kiss Owen in the spin the bottle game at the party?’

‘No. How many people have you slept with?’

He makes a small choked noise that makes me laugh. I knew that one would throw him.

‘Pass,’ he says finally.

‘Is that a point for me?’

‘You don’t really score this game.’

‘Well, new rule. We’re scoring, and I’m winning.’

‘If I’d known that, I would have answered,’ he says, shifting a little closer to me.

‘No, you wouldn’t have.’

‘I might have.’

‘Your turn.’

‘I’ve got to think of a tough one, now it’s about winning points.’

‘I have nothing to hide.’

‘Sure you do.’

I pretend to scratch my arm but really use it as an excuse to shuffle a little nearer to him. We’re now lying close enough that if I moved my foot a tiny bit, it might brush against his.

‘Okay. That night at the party, when we got each other in spin the bottle, did you want to kiss me?’ he asks.

There’s a long pause, and I’m so glad that it’s dark because my face is so hot it might be on fire, and that’s only half due to the sunburn. ‘Pass,’ I say.

‘I knew you had something to hide.’

‘Well, now it’s my turn,’ I say quickly. ‘And I’m asking the same question back at you.’ I can’t actually bring myself to say the words Did you want to kiss me?

‘Yes.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, I wanted to kiss you.’

My heart, my heart.

‘Oh.’ I have no idea what else to say. My mind is completely blank. I can’t even think of another question for the game.

‘I mean, I did kiss you. On the cheek,’ he says.

‘I know.’

‘So my answer should have been obvious.’

‘A kiss on the cheek is a different thing.’

I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I especially can’t believe we’re having this conversation without me having a heart attack.

‘If you wanted to kiss me that night, why didn’t you?’ I ask, ignoring that it’s actually his turn. We’ve been talking quietly, but I’m whispering now. These are scary words.

‘Pass,’ he says finally.

I don’t know what to do with that.

‘Do you want to kiss me now?’ he asks, so quiet I can hardly hear him.

‘Pass,’ I say, because even in this moment, even with every opportunity in the world, I’m still too scared to say it.

That’s two passes each. The next person to pass loses but, for once, I don’t care about winning. I can’t bring myself to ask him the same question in return. My hands are trembling. But I don’t want to change the topic. Please, dear god, never let us move on from this very important topic of kissing and wanting to kiss.

‘Have you ever had the urge to kiss me before the night of the party?’ I say.

He’s quiet, and I listen to his breathing.

‘Yes. Once.’

‘When?’ I’m holding my breath.

‘That’s another question. You don’t get another question. It’s my turn,’ he says, and pauses to think. ‘Do you want me to kiss you right now?’ he says.

‘You already asked that,’ I say.

‘No, I asked if you wanted to kiss me. Now I’m asking if you want me to kiss you.’

‘They seem like very similar questions.’

‘Similar but different.’ He’s smiling, I can hear it