“That sounds awful,” I say. “Wait—What?”
His lips curl upward, tongue swiping between them as the dark pools in his eyes bloom.
“I know that’s weird, but… When you look at me, I get butterflies in my stomach, and there’s this itch on the back of my neck like all of my hair is standing on end. I never know what to do with my hands, and I end up shoving them in my pockets to keep from fidgeting.”
I stare at him, thinking of how cool and collected he always appears to be.
“I would love to see you fidget,” I say. “It might make you seem less perfect.”
“I’m not perfect,” he says exhaustedly. “If I was perfect, I’d be able to walk away from you. I’d be able to ignore the feeling in my heart and the absolute need to be near you.”
My mouth dries.
I don’t know what my face is doing as he shifts on his feet and leans closer.
“If I was smart, I’d be able to remember the vow I swore to your brother years ago in your stupid little basement on Halloween when he and I were sixteen and you were home from college. When you pranced around us in that godforsaken referee outfit and the tiny shorts that made melose. My. Mind.”
I recall that night. I know exactly which shorts he’s thinking about.
And as I remember him and my brother playing video games in the basement while I took my younger brothers around the neighborhood, I also remember his gaze lingering on me from that couch for a few seconds longer than ever before.
“And somehow… ten years later, you’re still making me feel as if I can’t catch my breath,” he admits.
My eyes dart to his lips.
I want to tell him I can’t catch my breath when he’s around either.
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask.
“Horrible,” he says, though his voice sounds like he’s straining to compose himself. His throat bobs beneath those fucking tattoos as he watches me, and I feel his chest rise against mine.
“Put me out of my misery, Andi,” he almost begs. “Tell me you’re out of my league. Tell me this crush I’ve had on you for years is all in my head, and what I heard last night was you calling another Maddox’s name.”
My face is on fire. “You heard that?” I pant.
“Everyfuckingword,” he replies.
It explains so much—each look he’s given me today, all the teasing… He heard me saying his name. No,cryingout his name.
Heat consumes me.
“I heard every fucking moan and that… god, that little whimper,” he says in an agonizing tone. “Do you know how much restraint it took for me not to go in that room and help you finish?”
“You should have,” I breathe.
His face inches closer. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, his breath on my face. All it would take is one more push, one more shift forward.
“No, what I should do is run from you,” he rasps. “I should run far, far away. I should run as if touching you will ruin my entire life.”
“Would it?”
His tongue darts over his lips, so close that it nearly touches mine. “It might,” he says honestly. “If your brother found out…”
His gaze washes past my shoulder, and I know what he’s implying. I know he thinks being with me could break up the band or, at the very least, put him and my brother on bad terms.
“I won’t let you ruin your life for me,” I say.
“Then tell me to run.”
