Page 22 of The Defender
“Yes, I can. It’s my flat, which means they’re my rules.” Brooklyn’s gaze remained fixed on my face even as I closed the distance between us again.
“Admit it. Youarescared,” I said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the fact that you’re staring at my face like I have the map to the Holy Grail engraved on there—orlike you’re determined not to look anywhere else because that would be too tempting.”
“Is this hell? Am I in hell? Imustbe if you’re here and I’m forced to endure the same back and forth every three days.” Despite her scoff, a telltale hint of pink tinged her cheeks.
“Answer the question, buttercup.”
“You didn’t ask a question. You said I’m scared, which I’m not.” Brooklyn lifted her hair from her shoulders. I absolutely did not notice how the movement exposed the delicate curve of her neck or the way her pulse fluttered beneath her skin. “If anything,you’rescared ofme.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Why would I be scared of you?”
“For the same reason of not being able to control yourself. Tell me you’re not staring at my neck and thinking about kissing it right now.”
“I hate to break it to you, but necks aren’t a turn-on for me,” I lied. “I’m not a vampire. But if you want to talk about staring, let’s talk about the way youogledmy abs the other night.”
“I wasn’t ogling. I was…counting.” The pink on her cheeks darkened. “Eight-packs are so over. I prefer dad bods. They’re way cuddlier.”
“Liar.”
“Egomaniac.”
We stared each other down, our words bristling with heat and an unspoken challenge. The air crackled like static before a storm.
Brooklyn wasn’t wrong about me being attracted to her, but I wasn’t wrong about her being attracted to me either. I would bet on it. In fact…
An idea sparked in my head, one so bold and audacious that I couldn’t help but let out a slow grin.
“There’s a way to end this debate once and for all,” I said. “Let’s bet on it.”
“Excuse me?”
“A bet. Let’s see who’ll cave and kiss the other first. We’ll be living together for a while. We might as well make things interesting.”
Brooklyn snorted. “That just sounds like an excuse for you to kiss me.”
“No, because I wouldn’t kiss you.You’dkissme.” I spread my hands in a matter-of-fact gesture. “That’s the point of the bet.”
It was genius. I was a little worried at how easily she got under my skin, but competition was hardwired into my DNA. Even if Iwantedto kiss her, I wouldn’t because I wanted to win more.
That was the beautiful irony of the bet—it gave us “permission” to kiss the other, but it effectively ensured we wouldn’t, thereby keeping us safe from emotional vulnerability and any other consequences that might arise if we ever gave in to our attraction.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Brooklyn said, but it wasn’t a no. She was as competitive as I was. “Hypothetically, let’s say I agree. What would the winner get?”
“Bragging rights and…” I searched for another prize. “A thousand pounds.”
“Athousand pounds?” Her jaw dropped. “Not all of us make a star athlete’s salary.”
“Fine. Bragging rights and a hundred pounds, plus the knowledge that you were right and the other person can’t resist you.”
Childish? Sure. Fun? Absolutely.
Rolling with a stupid wager was infinitely better than whatever might’ve happened the other night if my unwanted but perfectly timed anxiety attack hadn’t interrupted us.
“What are the parameters of the bet?” Brooklyn asked.
