Chapter 7 #2
“Admit it. You are scared,” 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—or like you’re determined not to look anywhere else because that would be too tempting.”
“Is this hell? Am I in hell? I must be 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’re scared of me.”
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 you ogled my 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’d kiss me.” 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 I wanted to 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.”
“A thousand 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.
Got her. Hook, line, and sinker. “Nothing illegal or coercive,” I said. “Everything else is fair game. The kiss also has to be voluntary and purposeful. CPR doesn’t count. Neither does getting trapped under mistletoe or tripping and falling on the other person.”
“Kisses are mutual. How are we supposed to determine who initiated it?”
“Come on. One person has to lean in; the other has to meet them. It’s like porn. You know it when you see it.”
“That isn’t clear enough.”
“Yes, it is. There’s no reason to get hung up on such a small detail unless you’re thinking of caving already.” I shrugged. “Come on, buttercup. Yes or no. Are you in or out?”
Her nostrils flared. I could see the debate raging inside her because it was the same one I’d have if I were in her position.
On one hand, she couldn’t resist a challenge, especially when it came from me. She wanted to prove to me—and maybe herself—that she wasn’t attracted to me and that, even if she was, her self-control was stronger than mine. The hundred pounds didn’t hurt either.
On the other hand, a kiss might land us in trouble with Blackcastle, which had a strict no-fraternization rule.
Our platonic flatmate situation didn’t violate it, but any romantic or sexual contact—like a kiss—would.
The violation could get us fired, suspended, or at least heavily disciplined in whatever manner HR saw fit.
However, that was only if the kiss happened and if they found out. It would be one kiss shared by two people who both had something to lose. If we didn’t tell anyone, how would Blackcastle know?
“What’s the proposed time frame?” Brooklyn asked, dodging my question.
“For as long as we’re living under the same roof.”
She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head.
“Fine, but only because I can’t wait to prove you wrong.” She held out her hand, her eyes steely with determination.
I grinned and shook it. It was small and soft, but her grip was like iron.
Although there was a 95 percent chance our bet would end in a draw, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try my best to outplay her. “May the best flatmate win.”