Page 64 of I Love a Good Challenge

A tightness works through my chest.

“Dinner.” His tone is incredulous as he peeks over at me. “Next Thursday.” His hand is now rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, I know it’s soon, but with the wedding . . .” She cuts him off, and what ensues is a bunch of humming and assuring her before his eyes fully catch mine. “Okay, I’ll ask her.”

He clicks the phone over. “Mom, you’re on speaker again.”

Her voice comes through, pleasant and friendly. “Oh, good. Lily, I would love for you to attend Graham’s birthday dinner. Would you want to come?”

I just took a poorly timed sip of my water. I sputter as it chokes me. Peeking up at Graham, I see the tightness in his jaw, the subtle shifting of his head, and the light tapping of his foot. I don’t want to make things unnecessarily harder for him anymore . . . unless it’s clearly just for fun.

“I’ll be there,” I cough out.

“She’ll be there,” he repeats firmly, a hint of a smile teasing his mouth into what looks like relief.

The fact that he was worried about me refusing is enough to make me want to do better at putting action to my affection. He takes the phone off speaker again. I don’t miss the tensing of his shoulders as he sits beside me, reaching for my legs without making eye contact. His hands are warm and send comfort throughout my limbs. Who knew a tiny movement could do so much?

He looks like a throwback to the high school guys I would crush on in middle school. I use the fact that he can’t move much once I’ve trapped him with my legs across his lap to commit him to memory. And it makes me wish that we had known each other back then. High school sweethearts sound nice, but that’s not what we were. I don’t even know what we’ve been.

Still, seeing his full and brilliant smile break through as he chats with his mom, I grin. His happiness is my happiness, and his sadness is too. That realization sends me reeling.

“Yeah, Mom. She’s worth it.”

Graham’s voice pulls me back into my living room. The intensity of his gaze in my direction leaves no question that he is referring to me. He says it even when he knows what it means to wait for someone to love him back and be disappointed. They hang up, and he stands, already moving toward the hall closet.

“Pain medicine,” he says over his shoulder. “I didn’t forget. And as for my birthday dinner, Mom won’t take no for an answer.”

I nearly laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, unable to contain my joy that I have my person back. It’s one thing to have a best friend who handles your havoc, but it’s another thing when it’s a person you want to spend your life with. It means so much more when it’s the one you want to exchange vows with, and you want to commit every moment to ensuring they’re beside you for as long as earthly possible.

Oh, my lands. I want to spend the rest of my life with Graham.

The realization hits me hard as Graham walks back from the hallway. For the first time, I notice his pants, a pair of grey joggers that fit tightly across his muscular legs and stop deliciously at the bend of his ankle. I didn’t know I was attracted to ankles until right at this moment. The memory of my discomfort when he wore sweatpants before creeps into my brain. There is something about the end of his pants meeting his ankles and bare feet that causes my lingering fever to climb much more quickly than medically possible.

“I need you to cover your feet.” I sit up and wince, shielding my eyes from that area of his body. “And your ankles too.”

I’m looking at the wall, but I can see him slowing his stride, those bare feet creeping closer.

“Lily, I hear you say a lot of things, and mostly, I understand your language, but this one has me stumped.”

Cautiously, he moves closer to the couch, medicine in hand. The sight of his approaching feet again sends another flash of heat blazing through me. I’m actually sweating now.

“Don’t come any closer! Put on some socks!” I scrunch my nose.

“Do I smell? I can’t smell. My feet never smell,” he states, as if he’s not human.

“Ha!” I laugh in an unhinged way then clasp my hand over my mouth as I remember that my throat still feels sore. I also continue to have an unfortunately clear view of his ankles.

Let the record show that I will forever blame the fever for my reaction. I feel my nose scrunch again as I fan my face, silently willing him to sit so those ankles and feet will be out of sight. I also miss touching him, and I’ll be able to reach him from the couch cushion.

“Lils, are you attracted to my feet?” Finally, Graham sits. I ignore his question, thinking I’m out of danger, until I look over to see his foot propped up on his knee, like a sitting figure four.

“Not your feet!”

His smirk is maddening. He actually has the audacity to smirk at me in my distress.

“Your ankles,” I mutter.

“My what?”

“You heard me.”

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