Page 104 of Betting on the Brainiac

I slide over and rest an arm around her shoulder, pulling her against my side. She nestles in with her head against my chest. “I’m sorry.” My breath stirs her hair when I talk and it tickles my chin, but I don’t move. “You are not the bad guy. You are the goodest guy. Girl? Woman. You are the goodest.”

I feel her laugh, and her hand emerges from her blanket cape to pat my chest in acknowledgment of my pep talk efforts. She leaves it there, and we sit like that for a couple of minutes.

It’s so quiet now that we can hear the outside noise. Muffled conversation from the courtyard, punctuated by a high laugh. The distant sound of a car door closing in the parking lot. Thecloser sound of a wagon clattering past on the sidewalk that passes the rear of this unit.

Madison’s fingers pick at my shirt, mindlessly fidgeting, but every time one of her fingers grazes against my chest, my body reacts. Goosebumps down my arms first. Then a shiver down my spine that I fight. Soon I have to focus to keep my breath even. I try, but with her warm body curled into mine, her fingers skimming over my chest, it’s hard to concentrate. It’s also frustrating.

I tell myself to give her another minute of comfort before I ease away with an excuse to go to work. But another minute passes, and I don’t move.

She stops fidgeting and rests her palm against my chest, near her cheek. Maybe she’ll fall back asleep, and I won’t need to make an excuse to leave. I close my eyes, hoping she drifts off quickly. Instead, my other senses turn up, and I notice her caramel smell even more intensely. Her softness. Her warmth.

Move.

I don’t listen.

Her hand presses slightly, and too late I realize she’s feeling my heartbeat speed up. I hear it in my own ears. There is no way to explain that away, but I clear my throat, hoping when I open my mouth something sane comes out.

Madison shifts before I can speak, clutching a handful of my shirt, using the leverage to slide and turn, and suddenly she’s in my lap, her knees cradling my hips, her face in the crook of my neck, the tip of her nose brushing the skin behind my ear, the warm puff of her breath fanning the ember I try to keep banked.

I need a lifeline here, and I close my hands into fists. “Madison,” I murmur.

She lets go of my shirt long enough to pull the blanket around, bringing her hand back to slip it behind my neck, anchoring the blanket and closing us into a burrow, shoulders down.

It traps the heat between us, and she brushes her nose against the skin behind my ear again. “What, Oliver?” She moves slowly, tracing her parted lips down my jawline.

Maybe this is how I die.

“Madison,” I try again, and I sound drunk to my own ears. I slide my hands up and around her waist, thumbs against her bottom ribs. I mean to gently move her.

Instead, she makes a muffled sound of approval, and I tighten my hold instead of shifting her over.

She’s worked her way down to the side of my neck, and she pauses, her mouth resting against my skin. Her finger begins the softest tap on the back of my neck. She’s taking in the rhythm of my pulse through her lips.

Intense craving tears through my body. “Madison.”

She lifts her head and watches me from heavy-lidded eyes, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

“Madison.” My voice is rough. “That is not what we are.”

She tilts her head, studying me with eyes that are still hungry.

I want to kiss her. I need it more than my next breath. I know exactly how good it will be.

I brush my lips against the corner of her mouth, and she’s waiting for me, turning her head the barest fraction to capture my bottom lip between her teeth, scraping it so lightly between them as she releases it that it sends lightning down my spine.

She waits for me to take my turn in this dance, and I want to. I want to close the excruciatingly narrow gap between us. But if I do, if I take the offer of her lips, she will remember.

She will remember that night, that feeling. And she’ll know it was me.

Would it fill her eyes with shock or wonder? Stirring that up right now . . .

It’s not what I need. It’s not what she needs. More importantly, she deserves the truth when she’s not vulnerable.

I slide her arms from my neck. “Go to your corner, Mads.”

Her wrists are in my hands, resting in her lap between us, and it changes her balance, making her lose it, forcing her to lean into me, her face settled into the crook of my neck again, her warm breath fanning across my throat.

“I like my new spot better,” she teases, her chest rumbling against mine.

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