Page 58 of The Beautiful Collision
Eventually, I know I need to deal with the condom, but even that necessary separation feels like too much. I dispose of it quickly and return to bed, where Maya has curled up on her side, looking thoroughly satisfied and absolutely perfect.
Without thinking, I pull her against me, fitting her back to my chest and wrapping an arm securely around her waist. She fits perfectly in the curve of my body, like she was designed to be there. I can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing, syncing with mine.
This is dangerous. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to make a joke, to reestablish the boundaries, to turn this back into something casual and manageable. But I can’t. Not when holding her like this feels more right than anything has in my entire life.
You’re in love with her, my brain supplies helpfully, and I’m not sure that I can deny it anymore. Because the woman who’s snuggled up against me has torn off the mask I wear, seen me at my worstandmy best, and taken up residence inside me that I didn’t even know existed.
The bet that started all this feels like a joke now, and I feel stupid for making it.
I could have the bet won right now, but that means betraying her trust.
And I don’t want to do that.
Not anymore.
I don’t want to win, but I can’t afford to lose.
Her breathing evens out, and I think she might be asleep until she speaks, her voice soft. “What is this, Maine?”
My arm tightens around her involuntarily, but I take a good few seconds to respond. My mind tells me this is the time to escape, to reassert the casual nature of all this, and to buy time to figure out how to get the hell out of the bet with the guys.
“I don’t do this,” she continues. “The cuddling. The… whatever this is.”
“Neither do I.”
She turns in my arms to face me, and even in the dim light, I can see the confusion in her eyes, the same war between want and self-preservation that’s raging in my chest.
“So what are we doing?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know I don’t want you to leave.”
Something in her expression softens. “OK,” she whispers. “I’ll stay.”
As her breathing deepens and she drifts off, I lie awake, holding her close and trying not to think about how completely fucked I am. The bet, the money I desperately need but don’t want to win and can’t afford to lose, and the fact that my friends think this is all a game.
The fact she’ll be devastated if she finds out.
This girl is asleep in my arms, trusting me with her body and maybe even her heart, while I’m keeping a secret that could destroy everything. So tomorrow I’ll figure out if there’s a way out of the bet that doesn’t involve breaking her heart or going broke.
Tonight, though, I just hold her close and pretend that this is something I get to keep.
twenty
MAYA
The sticky residueon the table is winning its battle against my vodka soda, threatening to glue the whole thing down permanently. And, as I lift the drink—overpriced, weak—there’s an actual sucking sound as it separates from the tabletop.
“—and then Professor Pratt had the audacity to suggest my technique was wrong,” Priya’s saying, her voice pitched high with indignation.
“Mmm,” I respond, the noncommittal sound lost in the cacophony of drunk hockey players—minus Maine—at the pool table behind us.
Sophie leans forward to pick up my slack with Priya. “But did you tell him about your clinical placement stats? You had the highest success rate in?—“
Grateful for the cover, my mind drifts, and through the haze of stale beer smell and too-loud classic rock that’s a staple at O’Neil’s, all I can think about is the way Maine looked this morning, sleep-rumpled and shirtless in our kitchen, making coffee for?—
“Maya?” Sophie’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Are you OK? You’ve been staring at that beer sign for five minutes.”
“Just tired,” I lie, forcing myself to refocus, given Priya’s moved on to complaining about the parking situation at the hospital.
