Page 12 of I Love a Good Challenge

Without looking at Graham, I grab the sleeve of his jacket and pull him out of the booth. Like the decent human he is, he apologizes for us both. I don’t know if it’s more annoying or comforting that I know he’s probably politely smiling as I drag him toward the opposite side of the diner.

“Excuse us,” he says pleasantly to the people mid-bite in their meals as we rush past. He acts as if I didn’t just attack him without warning, as if this was the plan all along. As soon as we get past the edge of the booth section, I whip around to face him. I focus on his throat and not his eyes.

“I know you can’t do this again, but just let me talk. Please,” I fiercely whisper (yes, it’s a term). Pushing my finger into Graham’s very defined and very broad chest, I try to commit the feeling to memory. Maybe tonight, before I fall asleep, my brain will catch up and tell me if it feels the same as a couple of years ago. I continue without pause. “I’m not sure what you’re really doing in this town or what stunt you’re pulling by agreeing to help with this wedding. I know you don’t want to be near me, but it’s tough cookies, buddy, because I’m not going anywhere.”

“I never said I didn’t want to be near you,” he counters.

I try to ignore his words because they instantly warm my insides like a hot chai latte. “Even so, we’re barely civil to each other.”

“That’s your doing,” he says.

“And yet, you’re the one who said you didn’t want to do this again.” My breathing is labored, my rib cage rising and falling a little too quickly. My body is on sensory overload. For too long, my heart has been boarded up like an abandoned, haunted house when it comes to men—specifically, this man. By not loving him, I’ve turned into someone I don’t fully recognize. I need him to know how things have changed.

“A weird twist of fate has thrown us together,” I begin again. “But Rafe and Sparrow’s happiness is more important to me than anything. So, let’s set a few things straight and establish how the next few months are going to go since we have to work with each other. First of all, there will be no touching.”

He shakes his head without much of an expression.

“What do you mean no?” I demand.

Graham shrugs. “You just grabbed my jacket. I’m walking you down the aisle. At that point, I’ll have to hook your hand through my arm.” He says the words like they don’t make me weak in the knees. Like I don’t instantly imagine the photos that will be printed and posted online of the two of us in a chummy setting with love all around, forever immortalized. Like I won’t print a copy to hide in my dresser drawer for the nights when I feel sorry for myself.

“Then that’s it. That’s the only time.” When he shakes his head again, I make a low growling sound in my throat.

“Rehearsal,” he reminds me quietly. I see him look around, probably making sure no one is observing me start to overheat.

“George.”

“Still Graham.”

I sigh. “No touching. Except for the wedding and the rehearsal.” I wave my hand in the air frantically. “You get it?”

“Is there anything else you want?” The look in his eyes and the faint test in his tone takes me back to a night we got ice cream together. With sand between my toes, we sat on the beach to watch the waves rolling in on a spring night. Graham asked if there was anything else I wanted out of life besides gloriously immersing myself in chocolate decadence and travel. At the time, I said him.

“You’re not playing fair.” My voice is soft and hesitant.

He sighs, shifting his weight so he is leaning slightly away from me. “Fine, any other rules, then?”

But I don’t feel like setting up any others. I know if he doesn’t touch me (other than those few moments in the wedding and rehearsal, which I may be able to convince Sparrow to let me wear gloves to block out the feeling of his touch), I might be okay. Clearly, I’m struggling with even being near him, but I will myself to believe I can manage. I’ll behave in a civilized manner, except for saying his name. Before, I only called him Graham after he kissed me—and the one time I had hope after he arrived. But if we’re not kissing, he’s back to George in my book. He must be. I can’t handle letting him get any closer to me than that.

And I need to get him out of Birch Borough for my future sanity. A manic plan starts to form within my mind, and since I’m known for being impulsive, I follow it. “Change of plans. No rules,” I say.

His eyes widen. “No . . .?”

“I propose a game instead.”

The faint tick in his jaw tells me he’s intrigued. “What kind of game?”

I stand a little taller and try not to notice the way his expensive cologne is searing my senses. “Eh, not a game, exactly. A challenge. A series of them.” I can feel the sudden grin playing at the corner of my mouth. I have to applaud Graham for maintaining eye contact throughout this conversation while I keep trying to look everywhere else to hide what I’m feeling. He must have learned how to beat any rogue thoughts out of him when he became a lawyer.

“Challenges. Plural?” he replies matter-of-factly.

I nod.

“Proceed.”

“I will issue you a series of challenges leading up to the wedding. You can take them or leave them, but if you leave them, you automatically lose.”

“What sort of challenges?”

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