Slowly, tentatively, Brinley slides her delicate hands down the length of my chest, then back up and over my shoulders where I assume they’ll rest. They don’t. Instead, she flattens them on the wall at either side of my neck. The action is a bit of a stretch with our height difference, but it sets me ablaze all the same.
I realize she’s doing to me what I did to her in the studio. Forcing the tables to turn. I am one lucky dog and I know it. I’m about to lift a praise to the man upstairs when two small words spill from Brinley’s berry lips.
“Kiss me.”
Kiss me?She just said kiss me, as in…the lineIwas supposed to deliver after pinning her against the wall.
I don’t know which of us just got pranked—Brinley or me.
Did they tell her I failed the challenge before they assigned it to her? I stare at her, dumbfounded for half a blink, then work to fix my face. She asked me to kiss her, and so help me, I’m going to kiss her. She makes the task easy by licking her lips. A second invitation.
Who cares if the production crew got her to do this? It’s still hot, and I plan to take full advantage. With a hungry groan, I move in to press my lips to hers, but I’m not met with the reception I expect.
At the last second, Brinley turns and gives me her cheek instead. I’m caught so off guard I almost give her cheekbone an opened-mouthed kiss.
“Never mind,” she says under her breath.
Brinley pulls her hands off the wall and steps away from me. She looks ashamed, as she well should, but that doesn’t lighten the mood.
I stare at her, dumbfounded and panting like a dog. I’m half tempted to ask why she stopped, but I’m too chicken. I wonder in silence, guessing she felt guilty for kissing me on a challenge or something.
“That was weird,” I say, pulling the bottom hem of my shirt fully over my waist. I feel used, embarrassed, and a little dirty too.
Fully aware that I’m skulking away like a wounded pup, I shuffle out of the room and head for my measly cot.
“Sorry,” she says.
I groan. “Don’t apologize. That makes it worse.”
“I’ll make up for it tomorrow,” she adds.
I stop walking midstride, then turn the tiniest look over my shoulder. Brinley lifts a hand and gives me a fluttery wave with her fingers. “I promise.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Goodnight.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I climb onto my stupid cot and pull the sheet over my shoulder, determined to sleep the bad memory away. Since arriving, I’ve endured hyperactive hiccups, a crazy cat attack, and now, possibly the biggest tease of my life. Sleep can’t come fast enough.
Yet just as I blow out a bothered breath, my esophagus tightens, causing a far too familiar sensation—that spasm low in my throat.
I clench my jaw.No, not now.I refuse to add insult to this injury by hiccupping like a drunken clown. I hold my breath for as long as I can, the seconds ticking down, but soon I reach my end. Eyes shut hard, teeth clamped even harder, I attempt to release one, harmless breath.
It comes out jagged and rushed, as trapped as it was, but I manage a full exhale without incident. Too bad that’s only half the battle; breathing goes both ways, after all, and I can still feel the trapped air fighting its way to the top.
If I go slowly enough, I might be able to suck in a breath and bury it down. Through the nose, Dawson, you’ve got this. I suck in a great pull of air, desperate to fill my depleted lungs, then release it with a sigh.
There. Nothing. Crisis averted.
Yet the second my shoulders ease, the involuntary action catches me off guard. Throat jumping, breath catching, and a loud, sloppy hiccup ejecting, demanding to be heard.
Another is on its heels. And another even still.Great.This is all I need.
I keep my eyes closed, willing Brinley to pretend she doesn’t hear them. She lost her razzing privileges when she lured me in and turned her cheek on me.
But then her soft voice carries from the bedroom. “Want me to scare them away?” she offers.
“No,” I say, another hiccup tagging onto the word.
