Page 7 of Mad for Madison

He laughed again, letting out a strangled exhale and looking into my eyes with accusation. “I’m not exactly an expert judge if that’s what you mean.” And when I said nothing, he was compelled to add, “It was interesting.”

“I aim to please,” I said.

“I think that’s clear already,” he murmured, the naughtiness returning to his eyes.

“Honestly, it feels good to tell someone,” I admitted.

“You don’t think everyone knows?” Bradley asked.

I shook my head confidently. “No way.”

“You couldn’t tell that I knew,” he said.

And that was the core of it. “That’s so weird,” I said. “I can always tell in public.” Maybe because of the awkward shifting of feet or the pronounced ways people examined me in person or something else entirely, but I could always tell when someone recognized me. And then I realized that Bradley had never acted strange with me. Sure, he was awkward now, but I figured it was mostly the awkwardness about admitting to watching naughty videos. “You don’t judge people.”

“Me?” Bradley asked with surprise. “I’m the last person who should judge anyone.”

That caught me off guard. “Why’s that?”

Bradley rubbed the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. “Let’s just say I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. Life doesn’t leave much room for judging when you’ve been judged enough yourself.” He shrugged, his humility striking in its simplicity. “Besides, what you do doesn’t hurt anyone. You’re not exactly robbing banks.”

I smiled softly, staring down at the steam curling from my mug. It was strange how easy it was to talk to him, even about this. Maybe it was because he didn’t know the whole picture—didn’t know Nico Hart the way the rest of the world did. To him, I was just Madison. Complicated, a little lost, but human.

“Well,” I said after a beat, “if I don’t want to deal with people like this guy, I need a plan. And I might have one.”

Bradley tilted his head, his eyebrows lifting in curiosity. “Let’s hear it.”

I hesitated, twirling the mug in my hands. “You’re not going to like it.”

He leaned his elbows on the counter, a teasing smile on his lips. “You’d be surprised what I’ll entertain after midnight.”

I smirked despite myself, nerves bubbling under the surface. “Okay, what if…you came with me to the gala?”

Bradley froze, the smile faltering. “Me?”

“Yes, you. As my, uh, date.”

His jaw dropped slightly, and he laughed, though it sounded more nervous than amused. “That’s a good one.”

“I’m serious,” I said, sitting up straighter. “If you come with me, people will assume we’re together. And if people think we’re together, this guy won’t bother me. He’s not the type to make a scene if I’m already…you know, spoken for.”

Bradley blinked at me, his brow furrowing. “Madison, I’m not exactly…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at himself.

“Not exactly what?” I pressed.

He looked down at the counter, his voice quieter. “I’m not the kind of guy people would believe someone like you would be with.”

That stung more than it should have. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, look at you. You’re…well, you’re you. And I’m just…this.” He gestured to his plain black T-shirt and jeans as if they were the epitome of mediocrity.

I leaned forward, forcing him to meet my eyes. “You’re exactly the kind of guy I’d want to be seen with. You’re kind, down-to-earth, and—whether you realize it or not—insanely good-looking.”

His face turned a deep shade of red, and he scratched the back of his neck again, clearly flustered. “Now you’re just buttering me up.”

“Would it work?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He sighed, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You really think that’ll help?”

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