“Can I propose something?”
“Hmm?” She turns her head to look at me.
“How about for the next bet, you set the wager. Come up with something crazy, something you’ve never done before. Anything you want, and I’ll do it with you.”
She smirks playfully. “And what if you don’t like it? How do I know you’re not going to sabotage me and purposely get a bad grade to get out of it?”
“I would never do that to you.”
Her features soften. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
“Take all the time you need.”
Twenty-two
Lights Out
“It’s fucking freezing out here,” I say, speed walking with Olivia to the science building, trying to seek warmth as fast as possible.
“Well, it is below freezing,” she says, her voice slightly muffled by the thick scarf that she has her chin tucked into.
“Smartass,” I mumble, playfully bumping into her.
She giggles, then jogs the rest of the way to the science building. As I chase after her it begins to sleet, tiny snowflakes and frozen pellets flying all around us.
Once inside, the sweet heat engulfs us, and we begin to delayer. She peels off her gloves and unwinds the scarf around her neck while I remove my beanie and shake out my dark-brown hair, and unzip my winter coat. Looking down at my red, freezing-cold hands, I cup them together in front of my face, breathing on them while rubbing them together every few seconds, trying to regain feeling.
Olivia sniffles, shrugging off her backpack and setting it on a nearby bench to pack her winter accessories inside. I note how red the tip of her nose, as well as the tips of her ears, are from the cold.
I reach into my coat pocket and fish out my beanie, and walk up to her, placing the black knit fabric on top of her head, making sure it covers her ears.
She looks up at me with confused amusement, self-consciously reaching up to touch the fabric at the top of her head.
“Don’t want your ears to fall off, Finch.”
She smiles, shaking her head. “Says the guy whose fingers are almost blue.”
I look down at my hands and back up at her, quirking a brow and taking a step closer. So close our bodies are almost touching, and I can faintly smell her vanilla perfume. “Want to warm them up for me?” I ask, my voice low.
Her smile fades and I watch her throat work on a swallow. She looks down at my hands, and, surprisingly, grabs them with her own. Her hands look so small compared to mine, her fingers long, slender, and dainty compared to my rough, calloused ones. She holds little heat in her own hands, but I feel a flush slide over my body just from her touch.
“Have you thought any more about my offer?” I ask, my voice raspy in the intimacy of what feels like our own little bubble.
After the club, on the car ride back to my dorm after our stop in the parking lot, I may have asked Olivia to spend Thanksgiving with me since we’ll be among the few who aren’t leaving town for the holiday—her since she lives here and me because I have nowhere to go, no family to see. The football team is holding a small get-together at one of the frat houses, since most of us are staying in town because we have a game that weekend. I invited Olivia but she seemed hesitant, and I guess I can’t blame her. I’m not too keen on spending the holiday in a dingy frat house either.
She looks up at me through her thick lashes, seemingly lost for a moment before regaining her mental footing. “I actually talked to my parents and you’re more than welcome to stop by tomorrow if you’d like.”
“Hmm.” I tilt my head to the side, pursing my lips and looking up at the ceiling, pretending to think. “Thanksgiving at your house,or”—I tilt my head to the other side, seemingly weighing my options—“at a grimy frat house with guys who have sliced deli turkey sandwiches and reek of stale beer. That’s a tough call, Finch.”
She flashes me an exasperated look, and playfully squeezes my fingers hard.
I chuckle, pulling on her hands and jerking her body forward the few inches between us so that she collides into me. I hear her laugh as soon as her chest presses against mine, and I can’t help but grin, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. “What time should I be over?”
She looks up at me, warm honey–colored eyes wide with surprise. “I, uh—” she sputters adorably. “Three,” she finally blurts. “Three is good.”
I grin, adjusting our hands to thread our fingers together. “Should I bring anything?”
She shakes her head, seemingly at a loss for words. I can only assume she feels the sexual tension radiating between us as well.
