“As if any man would willingly sit through a chick flick with me.” I shove up against his arm, then decide to stay smushed up there.
“Chick flick?” Braxton brings his hands to his chest, his mouth agape. “I’m offended, Dawson. Are you telling me that I am a chick?”
“Brax. You are no more a chick than I am a thin supermodel.”
“You could be a supermodel.” Braxton playfully shoves the arm resting against him.
“Societyhaschanged,” I contemplate. “What face should I use?” I go through a string of faces, not leaving out the duck face, fish face, or chipmunk face. Why do we name so many faces after animals?
“Definitely the double chin.” He tilts his head down, creating his own double chin, though I’m not sure how he managed that when he’s solid as a rock. “That’s my favorite.” I nudge him again, letting my laughter flow freely.
Except I almost tumble over into his lap, catching myself with a hand on his thigh just above his kneecap.
All laughter ceases between us.
“If you want to sit in my lap,” his voice develops a rasp as he leans his head down so that our noses are mere inches from touching, “all you have to do is ask.”Gulp.My stomach twirls, the few cheese cubes and salami that are not fully digested are threatening to come back up. Not to mention the lemonade from earlier.
This better not be the sickness setting in. Not at this moment.
I am no more accustomed to Braxton’s flirting than I am to experiencing four different seasons in Mississippi. It doesn’t happen.
I can’t let him keep getting to me like this. I’ve seen him flirt, of course. With more girls than I can count on my fingers. Sometimes it’s like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. A pure natural at flirting.
I can do it, too. I’m just as good at it as he is. If not better. The best way to call his bluff? Accept the challenge.
“Braxton Lane Rawls.” I tilt my head towards him, our lips only breaths apart.Be still, my heart.“May I sit in your lap?”
The darkness of the room clouds the color of his face, but I see I’ve got him by the way the apple in his neck bobs up and down. He pulls his face away from mine and tugs on the end of his flannel sleeve.
Bluff called.
With a victory smile, I begin to turn away from him and back to the movie. That is, until his hand reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me from pulling away any further. With more force than I am used to, he reels me closer to him. He slips the arm closest to me around my waist and uses the other to form a cage of sorts.
Locked.
In the arms of my best friend who makes my head spin.
He picks me up with his brute bear-man strength and sets me down on his lap, not releasing his arms from around my waist. My body melts into his like butter on a biscuit.
We just fit.
“Your wish is my command,” he whispers against my ear, using my own words against me. My body betrays me by shuddering from the tips of my toes up to the hair on my head. Like a wave of nerves shocking my system.
I have to put a stop to this. He deserves so much better.
But he feels so right.
Chapter Twelve
Braxton
Flirtingisaspecialtyof mine. I made no secret of my love of the game in the past. My teenage years were full of nonsensical flirting. As I came into adulthood, however, I dialed it back and only flirted with women I was interested in dating and pursuing. Women that could take my mind off wanting my best friend.
Meaning: I grew up and matured. That’s when Jesus saved me, and my life really began to change. I recognized dating wasn’t a game.
I have always kept my flirty side under wraps when it comes to Hadley. I tied up my flirting notions with Dyneema rope, the rope we use on the rig to lift heavy machinery, because if I started flirting with my best friend, I was sure to succumb fully to the love I felt for her.
She knows how to tease me right back.
