“This was better.”
I scrunch up my nose. “We didn’t even leave the house.”
“Exactly.” He looks at me. “No pressure. No performance. Just … this. Us.”
“My grandmother hijacked our evening.”
“I liked it.”
“You fixed half her house.”
“I wanted to.” His fingers brush my shoulder—casual, natural.
I have the urge to rest my head in the crook of his arm and chest.
He says, “Besides, now I have a good excuse to skip poker night.”
I wince. “Not a fan of betting?”
He goes still and instead of the air leaving the planet, oxygen seems to feed the flames between us.
“Patton—” I start.
“Winnie—” he says at the same time.
We stop. Stare at each other.
“You first,” I say.
“No, you.”
“I insist.”
He runs a hand through his hair, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I just meant that betting isn’t my thing. Cards, sure. But putting money on things feels wrong.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It does.”
Another loaded silence.
I should tell him about Operation Make Maverick Smile and how stupid I’ve been. But the words remain locked behind my lips. Needing something to hold on to, I catch his hand.
Voice a whisper, I say, “Patton. What are we doing?”
He looks at our joined hands, then at me. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to stop.”
“Me neither.”
“Good.” He squeezes my fingers. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
I sure hope so.
31
WINNIE
After Patton leaves,I’m left sitting on the porch, heart full and guilty conscience overflowing. I have the sinking feeling this isn’t something that’ll easily be fixed, especially since I’ve had the opportunity to tell him about the bet, but can’t bring myself to do it. I fear that it’ll ruin everything. A dismal thought crawls out of the darkness. Does that mean what we have is fragile? Likely to break at the slightest problem?
Later, lying in bed, my phone buzzes.
