“I was thinking more of Marco Polo.”
She went to protest after that, but it died on her lips. After all, what would she be protesting for? He was suggesting a harmless game that kids played. There was nothing scary or weird about that, no matter how dark it was. Though she had to say, it did seem darker than it had before. The blackness felt denser somehow, now that everything was so suddenly silent.
Why was everything so suddenly silent?
He was still moving, she was sure he was. Yet there was nothing—not even the hush of his breathing as he got closer and closer, or the splash as he dove down to grab at her legs.
Though she knew he would probably do it soon.
It was the reason she kept quiet, when he called out, “Marco.”
“Come on, Letty. You have to say Polo.”
“If I say it you’ll get me.”
“I’m going to get you anyway if you keep talking.”
“That isn’t fair. I need to keep talking to ward off ghosts.”
“Now we got ghosts on top of campus killers?”
“It’s probably the spirits of his murder victims.”
“That is some sound horror movie logic right there.”
“Why thank you. I pride myself on it.”
“You know what’s not sound though?” he asked, and she went to answer him. It was just that he got there first: “Discussing horror movie logic when you’re trying to avoid me doing this.”
She didn’t mean to scream. Or to sound so delighted when she did the screaming. Part of her had thought she really was unsettled, that her heart was only pounding out of fear, that she was shivering because of nerves or anxiety. But then he got her in a kind of bear hug, and somehow everything was upside down and inside out. She was almost laughing through her yelp of surprise.
And then he spun her around, and that almost disappeared.
The noise that came out of her was rich and full bodied. It sounded like the sort of thing other people did, at fairgrounds while holding hands in Taylor Swift videos. She even threw her head back the way they did, and clung to his big arms tightly. It was only afterward that she thought about where his hand was: directly underneath her barely covered breasts.
Or how something very bare and low skimmed something equally bare and low on him, as he spun her.
Before he set her down, and pushed away.
“Okay, now it’s your turn. You find me,” he said, voice just a touch breathless.
Though she was sure it was just the effort of lifting her. That was probably why he seemed like he was struggling to contain it—he didn’t want to offend her.
“Oh god, Tate, I’m terrible about this. I couldn’t even hear your voice getting closer.”
“I’ll talk louder this time. Come on, give it a shot. It’s a pretty small pool and I’m a pretty big guy.”
Still, she hesitated before calling out to him.
And when she finally tried, her efforts were halting. Wavery, as though he’d poked a finger into all the places that were sure and steady and sent ripples darting through them.
“Marco.”
“Polo.”
His voice came from somewhere to her left, she knew. And when he replied a second time, she guessed correctly that he was only a few steps away. Yet for some reason, she didn’t go in that direction. She went the other way, arms out in front of her as though she was really trying. If he could see her, somehow, he would never suspect she was avoiding him.
“I don’t think you’re playing the game right, Letty.”
“It is beyond dark in here. How do you even know that?”
“I know it because I’m basically an inch from you and you’re disappearing over there.”
“Maybe I just want to build the suspense. Keep you guessing, and then, blammo.”
“Or maybe you just want to avoid touching me.”
“That’s not even remotely true, Tate.”
“Give me your hands, then.”
“What?”
She made a scrunched-up, incredulous face to back the word up.
But she didn’t know why. He couldn’t see it.
“Let me help you grab.”
“Oh no that—” she started, but never got to finish. The words snapped shut the moment he took hold of her hands. Just the way he went about it was enough to silence her—fingers like thick bracelets around her wrists, his grip sure and warm but not insistent.
And then he placed her hands on his body.
She had no idea where. It could have been his chest or his stomach or his right thigh for all she knew, though in truth it barely mattered. It was the darkness and the silence and the idea of what he was doing that really set her heart off. He was making her touch him, and not in an obviously innocent way. This wasn’t like resting her head on his shoulder—that had been as platonic as you can get.