The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(101)

I risk it all; I run away. I risk it all; I run away. I risk it all; I run away.

I’m still plucking a never-ending stream of petals, no closer to an answer even now.

Risk it all; run away.

Pat’s deep brown eyes meet mine, and the last petal falls. Risk it all.

I step closer to Pat, close enough to feel an electric charge in the air between us. “We can be adults about this.”

Pat’s eyebrows slowly climb up, and his smile erases the worry that’s been hanging in his eyes all day. “You want to be … adult with me, Lindybird?”

I feel more than a flutter in my belly; it’s more like a seismic shift. A blush starts creeping up my chest and neck, finally reaching my cheeks. It’s utterly ridiculous that I’m having this reaction. Pat and I are, in fact, adults. And even if we’re talking about the figurative sense of being adult, we are married. We can be allllll the kinds of adult we want to be. We are free to do any adulting we’d like.

My face isn’t the only part of me that’s hot. “I’m saying we can safely share a bed like two mature people. For sleeping purposes.”

Even though we never shared a bed. Or slept together—in the literal or figurative sense. A few accidental naps on the couch in college were as close to sleeping together as we came.

Pat’s eyes darken into deep wells, and I’d happily throw myself into them any day of the week. “You don’t think that’s … risky?” he asks.

Risk it all. Risk it all. Risk it all. It’s now like a chant in my head, not so different from the cheers in the stadium the night before.

I don’t want to simply share a bed with this man. I want to share it all. I could lose everything tomorrow—but I could have everything tonight.

Pat and I are married. Even the Hallmark Channel would approve of whatever happens behind that closed door. We’ve made our vows—okay, maybe we skipped the vows, but our signatures on the marriage certificate are legally binding and fully official. The agreement we made out of desperation and in haste, has felt more real every day. We’ve been growing into silent promises we made. We’re living this marriage into existence.

I think of our public kiss at the stadium and then our private one in the rain, wrapped in a wet bed sheet. I eye the brick wall where he gently pressed me earlier, making me lose time.

I remember watching Pat braid Jo’s hair, coming home to see what new thing he fixed in the house. The way his eyes met mine first thing after the team won the game, just before a cooler of icy Gatorade was dumped over his head. I think of his bare chest, fresh and dripping from the shower, and the way he pulled me into his chest on the porch swing. Meeting his eyes over Jo’s head just now, snuggled in her bed.

Pat and I have made a montage of memories in such a short time, and I want more.

More, more, MORE.

Desire floods through me. Now that the idea is there, I’m electrified, almost desperate for the need to have Pat completely, in all the ways I can.

Our eyes meet and lock.

“Maybe I’m in the mood for a little risk,” I whisper.

But for some reason, this remark doesn’t land where intended. Instead of throwing me over his shoulder and sprinting to the bedroom—which would be a totally Pat move—he clears his throat and shifts awkwardly. Not meeting my eyes.

My stomach drops, desire instantly shriveling up in the face of humiliation. So much for being risky. Never mind about that whole adulting thing!

“Could we just, um, forget I said anything?” I cover my face with my hands. “Please?”

Pat sighs. “Lindy, it’s not that I don’t want to—don’t want you.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

I wave my hands awkwardly, like one of the people who directs planes on the landing strip. Only I want to direct traffic far, far away from me. I’d like to shut down my airspace altogether. Nothing is landing at my airport tonight! All flights are grounded. Maybe forever.

In a few quick strides, Pat comes to me and wraps his arms around my back. I struggle to get free for about three seconds before I realize I don’t want to resist him. Also, he’s way too strong. It’s a dumb battle to even attempt.

I shouldn’t want to be held by him, not now that I’m good and humiliated. After suffering the most embarrassing rejection of my life BY HIM. But I can’t resist the comfort of his solid body. Sagging against his chest, I let my arms snake around his waist and keep my red face buried in his shirt.

“I need to explain,” Pat says, his breath ruffling my hair. “There is nothing I want more than you, Lindy. But I don’t just want you in my bed. I want your heart. I want everything. Every. Single. Thing.” He clears his throat again. “But right now, there’s a lot on the line. This has been a big week. Tomorrow is a big day. My emotions are all over the map, and I suspect yours are too.”

He is so right—I know he is. I try to swallow down the feeling of rejection. It’s hard to shake, even with Pat’s sensible words.

He cups my cheeks, slowly tilting my face to his. “Look at me, Lindybird.”

I do, though it takes effort to meet his eyes. But the love there, the kindness, the concern—it’s so clear, so rich and full, that for a moment, I feel as though my heart stops, held perfectly still in Pat’s capable hands.