Page 105 of Betting on the Brainiac

“Why now?”

She pauses then nestles against me. “Why not? You feel good.”

Her pause gave away the truth. “You don’t know the answer to why now, but I do.”

“Tell me, Ollie.” She sounds amused.

I let go of one of her wrists and reach up to smooth her hair back. Every movement is an act of will to keep my hand from wandering—to her chin to lift it for another kiss, to her side to follow the curve of her waist to the swell of her hip. But I focus, pulling gently at the blonde strands trapped between us, slipping them free to spill down her back. “The answer is because you feel bad.”

She gives an annoyed sigh. “I feel tired, maybe. I worked late.”

“And you’re avoiding your place which means you’re not happy with one of your besties. And you’re definitely not happy with your sister.” I stop talking to free more of her hair, gently pulling and smoothing them behind her shoulder. Trying to keep my tone equally gentle, I say, “That would make anyone feel bad.”

“It’s not that big a deal.” A long silence, a lazy stretch to bring her lips closer to my ear, a low murmur. “I don’t feel bad right now.”

I stay quiet for a couple of seconds and force myself to draw a steady, quiet breath. Force myself to replay her answer.Why not?

Not like this.

I settle my hand around her upper arms and hold her away from me, letting her see that I mean this. “I’m your friend, not your opiate.”

She goes still, the smile gone, her eyes fixed on mine. Then she’s gone, retreating to the end of the sofa. She reaches for her coffee and pulls her knees to her chest to tuck herself into the corner. She sips from her mug like this is any old morning and any old cup of coffee.

I’m not playing that. “That was a rough visit with your sister.”

“Apparently, since it made me want to dehumanize you and use you for my own selfish reasons.” Her tone is light, but she keeps her eyes on the cat cave.

“You’re forgiven.” Her head jerks back around. “This is why I had to leave Oklahoma. I warned you about the stealth sexiness, and now it’s starting again. I thought I’d be safe in such a big state, but it overcame you. Don’t feel bad. You were always doomed.”

She stares at me for several long seconds—endless, excruciating seconds—before she snorts.

We sit in quiet. It feels okay. Likewe’reokay, even though she nearly just killed me with wanting. But once again, despite my best intentions, now is not the time to tell her about that first kiss. Not when she’s already feeling exposed.

So I let the silence be, and so does she.

After a couple of minutes, she sighs and turns toward me. “What do you think?”

“About . . . ?”

“Me. What Kaitlyn said.”

“That it’s none of my business, and I’m sorry I keep accidentally hearing your family fights.”

“No direct answer.” She nods slowly a few times, and it has a gentle rhythm to it. “That’s not good.”

“It’s not my place to weigh in on this.” Not if I want her to keep talking to me.

She makes a frustrated noise. “I’m asking sincerely for you to tell me what you think.”

What does a good friend do here? Tell the hard truth? Be her hype man? What would I want someone to do for me?

“You like stasis,” I say, carefully sticking to neutral words.

“Meaning what?”

Pulling us from the brink of disaster a few minutes ago used up all my diplomacy. “That’s a deep conversation. It stresses me out to go into it without time to think first. Can we table this for now and come back to it later?”

“I get that you aren’t impulsive, but just tell me.” It’s a dig because I didn’t kiss her just now. I know it is.

---