Chapter 22

And Jude, Anton found, kissed the way he kept pursuing about football club: with intent. It was open and gentle, but it was sharply focused, too, like he was trying to map Anton out, like he was committing Anton to memory, like—

Jude’s thigh suddenly slid between Anton’s knees, and the hand that had been resting on his waist started to drop. Anton was suddenly pinned between a weird, primal urge to push forward against that leg, and the urge to shove Jude away. What if he felt—what if he—?

He twitched as Jude’s hand reached his outer thigh, just where it met his hip. When Jude’s thumb ghosted inwards, towards the middle button hidden in the denim, as if trying to feel…something,Anton seized Jude’s wrist to drag it abruptly north again to his waist. For a split second, Anton broke the kiss, heart in his throat, and waited for—something. Some kind of response.