Page 67 of Perfect on Paper

With a short laugh, he bumped his shoulder against mine. “Way to call me out.”

“I tell people what they need to hear. It’s why it works so often.”

We reached his car, and he unlocked it to throw his backpack in the passenger seat. Then he shut the door and leaned his back against it, facing me in a lazy, languid pose. “There’s only one issue.”

“What’s that?”

He cocked his head. “Well, Winona and I aren’t officially back together, yet. So, it’s too early to call it a perfect win. It was just good enough for the sake of our agreement, I figured.”

God, anything to be contrary, right? It justkilledhim to let an argument go by unexplored. I gave him an exasperated look. “Come on. You obviously think she wants you to ask her back out.”

He swallowed. “But what if I didn’t?”

What didthatmean? I blinked at him, uncomprehending. Was this more of Brougham just trying to be a pain in the ass? Surely not. No way would a person as smitten as he was jeopardize his reunion just to win an imaginary point against me. “I’m not following.”

“What if I didn’t get back with Winona? Would you consider it a failed venture?”

Seriously? How could he look at me so innocently, with those unfairly blue eyes, with his funny little half-smile, and threaten me? And forwhat? If he thought I was the one who stood to lose more in this situation, he had another think coming, stat. “Uh, I think I’d survive, somehow. You’d lose a lot more than I would.”

He pushed himself away from his car, and toward me, with one foot. “You know? I don’t think so.”

And once again, I felt like we were having two conversations. The one we were having, and the one hethoughtwe were having, where I inexplicably understood what cryptic nonsense he was hinting at. “You’re going to have to be a bit clearer with me.”

He dropped his voice to a murmur, even though we were the only ones in sight, making me lean forward to hear him. “You want me to spell it out?”

“Yes, please. Spell it out.”

And it wasn’t until that very moment that it clicked. I couldn’t say whether my suddenly thudding heart tipped me off, or if the thudding was in response to my realization. It all happened in one dizzying, thrilling moment, one messy tangle of conscious and subconscious. Brougham’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his chin had tilted, and his mouth was slightly open so I could hear his breathing. The air between us was buzzing with unseen energy, jumping and sparking off my skin and willing me to get closer to him. And we both hung suspended in time and space, and the moment that was about to happen came into sharp focus. Like I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.

But I didn’t want to stop it.

His hands came to my waist first. Warm and large and gentle-pressured. He pulled me, just slightly. A question. I answered it by moving with them.

Then his face was only inches from mine, and all I could feel was his body heat and a shudderingsomethingthundering around in my torso and all I could see was his lips, then my eyes closed of their own accord.

And he kissed me.

He kissed me.

He kissed me, and his lips were pillow-soft, and his mouth was gentle against mine. Warm.

He kissed me, and he tasted of chlorine, and I was vaguely aware of his hands still on either side of my waist, and as soon as his lips met mine, they squeezed and tensed, grabbing onto me like I was the only thing keeping him upright.

He kissed me, and it was hesitant and questioning.Is this okay? Do you understand now?

I didn’t. I didn’t understand anything. But the only thing that mattered in that moment was keeping him close. And then I was kissing him back, pushing into him until his back collided with the passenger door of his car. My fingers slipping up his neck, tracing his sharp jawbone. My other hand finding his on the warm metal of the door, resting over his smooth skin.

He gave a small moan against my mouth and suddenly all rational thought vanished. My hands flew up around his shoulders and pulled him in harder, deeper. I was flush against him, his chest against mine, my fingers threaded through his damp hair, his tongue running along my bottom lip. He let out a thick breath as his hips lifted to meet mine, and I almost lost all sense entirely.

And this was Brougham.

It was Brougham.

It was Brougham.

I pulled away and scrambled backward, my hand flying to my lips. And suddenly, all I heard were alarm bells. And everything was tumbling, and this wasn’t right, and something was wrong, and I didn’t know what, but it was, it was wrong, and I’d done the wrong thing, and I had to go,go, go.He was staring at me in confusion, and his funny smilewas gone, and he was saying my name, but it was distant and distorted. I think I said I’m sorry. I think I said it three or four times, in fact.

And I ran away, back toward the school, and my mom, and the empty halls, my hand still on my mouth. My head shaking. My brain screaming words I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what was wrong, but all of it was. All I needed was space. This was too unexpected. It didn’t make sense. I needed more warning than this. Where was the warning? Where was the buildup? Where had this come from?

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