Page 281 of Mad Girl

“Elliot,” you pleaded, turning a bit pale. “Come on.”

I swiped your phone off the counter. “You’ve seen mine,” I said, handing it over. “Now show me yours.”

On a hard swallow, you took the phone. Your fingers shook as you clicked and scrolled, searching for a picture.

And I liked that.

How nervous you were.

How scared.

Seconds later, you handed it back, and I took a deep breath before glancing down at the screen.

Majestic snowcapped mountains. Rolling green terrain. Sparkling blue lake. Then him—front and center—Jake.

Dark red hair and overgrown stubble. A chiseled jaw. A nice smile, perfect teeth. Big biceps, but not bulky. Washboard abs. Tattoos that curled and twisted and licked across his pale skin, including one that disappeared inside the waistband of his shorts. I bet you know exactly where that tattoo ends, don’t you, Casey? I wondered then—and still wonder now—how many of those tattoos had been traced by your fingers, your lips, your tongue.

I lifted my gaze to yours, glaring so hard my left eye twitched.

“He hasn’t always looked like that,” you said. “The tattoos are a more recent development.”

“All the hell you gave me for being with Willoughby,” I said, head shaking, “after you hooked up with this guy? You’re unbelievable.”

I leaned back against the counter, suddenly wishing I’d never asked for that damn picture. Jake’s perfect body would haunt my dreams, his tattoos my every waking hour. I dropped the phone in your hand.

“But I didn’t hook up with him over the summer,” you said desperately, arm brushing mine as you deposited your phone back on the counter. “He wanted to, but I told him no. I said, ‘This can’t ever happen again. If I want to be with her, I can’t do this anymore.’ I told him how much you mean to me, and he was happy to hear it, because he doesn’t have feelings for me, either. Which is more than I can say about my brother.”

“Oh my God,” I muttered.

“Michael has feelings for you,” you said, gaze flashing bright. “It’s why he doesn’t give a shit when Sienna flirts with other guys. Why he keeps going back to her, despite the fact he doesn’t actually like her very much. Why he allows you to put your thumb to his lip—again and again—despite how inappropriate it is.”

I shifted against the counter, recrossing my arms. “Okay, I’m sensing you have a problem with the lip thing.”

“Big problem,” you said, deeply enough that I flinched.

“But you’ve never said anything.”

“I’m saying it now. Because we should be talking about these things. It’s high time we get everything out in the open.”

My stomach clenched. “He’s my best friend.”

“And that’s fine. It’s the lip thing specifically I take issue with, particularly when you’re snuggled up next to him in the dark.”

“The lip thing isn’t inappropriate,” I argued.

“It’s hugely inappropriate,” you said, cutting your eyes at me, “and I want you to stop doing it.”

“Are you kidding?” I tossed my arms down and clutched the countertop, fingernails digging into the marble. “You can’t ask me to stop doing anything. We aren’t together. You saw to that when you jumped ship at the first sign of trouble.”

“Wow,” you said, stepping so close I had to tilt my head back to look at you. “You’re awfully devoted to stroking my brother, aren’t you?” You dragged your thumb down the center of my mouth. Slow enough to feel tender, but firm enough to make my breath catch. My traitorous heart stuttered. “What does this intimate little gesture do for you that’s got you all teary-eyed and trembling like I’ve just asked you to kill a puppy?”

I slapped your hand away. “Why couldn’t you pass up staying out all night with Jake?”

“You want me to stop seeing him? Done. Stop being with anyone who isn’t you? Done. See how easy that is? How little everyone else matters? Why can’t you do this one small thing for me?”

“After all the heartache you’ve caused?”

“I’ve been an idiot, and I’ll make it up to you. Tell me you’ll stop.”