Make Me Bad(50)

“Here, you go,” I said.

“No. Go. You,” she responded.

Neither of us could form whole sentences for a solid five minutes.

Now, my hand is sliding up her nightgown. I’m lost to the feel of her thighs. They’re so smooth. I want them wrapped around my face.

“Ben! I’m going to let go now!”

Shit.

Reality slaps me across the face. Madison is dangling precariously from her roof. I’m the only thing between her and certain death, or at least a seriously rolled ankle.

“Not yet!” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. “I need to get a better grip on you. Can you lower down a little more so I can get your waist?”

She tries and fails. “Ah! My hands are slipping!” she cries.

Everything happens at once. She lets go. I reach for her and…she lands daintily in my arms. It’s so unexpected that we both blink at each other in silence, trying to discern if there are any serious injuries we’ve yet to realize. Does she still have all her limbs?

“Are you hurt?” I ask hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” she says, wetting her bottom lip.

I’m not the only one here with their mind in the gutter.

“You weren’t a very soft thing to land on, though. Your chest feels like a rock,” she whispers, gaze on my mouth. “Am I heavy?”

I shake my head. Her eyes are two Jumbotrons blaring the kiss cam. She wants me to lean in and put my mouth on hers so bad, it’s a wonder she doesn’t scream.

But, we’re on a mission, so I set her down and lead her to my car.

We’re halfway across the lawn when she remembers something and doubles back. Oh, right, her phone. Except the thing she picks up and dusts off isn’t a phone. It’s a half-full bottle of whiskey.

She holds it up proudly as I open the door for her. “I have no idea where you’re taking me, but I figure this can’t hurt.”

Our destination is very close by and just as deserted as I hoped it would be.

Not many people want to be on the beach at night in early April. There’s still a chill in the air. A full moon hangs heavy in the sky, and a few waves lap lazily against the shore.

“Swimming at night? That’s dangerous,” she says, cradling the bottle of alcohol against her chest.

I didn’t take her for much of a drinker, much less hard liquor.

“Sure you need that?” I ask, watching her uncork the bottle and brace herself for a shot.

“Oh yes. Positive. I have a feeling I know what you’re going to suggest we do.”

We lean against my car as she takes short, shallow sips followed by howls of disgust. She wipes aggressively at her mouth and emits a passionate blergh sound any time the alcohol passes across her tongue.

“Think you’ve had enough?” I ask, tempted to reach out and take the bottle from her. She’s small. A little of that stuff can go a long way.

“Hold on. One more sip,” she says, bracing her shoulders and steeling her spine. I watch as she uses her right hand to run through the sign of the cross and then she tips that bottle back for a nice long swig.

When she’s done, she shudders. I cork the whiskey, set it in my car, and close the door.

“Okay. I’m ready,” she says, shaking out her hands. “I feel like there’s a fire burning in my belly now. Say the dare.”

“Skinny dipping.”

The two words make her mouth form a perfect O.

“Wait, I thought we were just going to go swimming.”

I arch a brow tauntingly. “Not bad enough, Hart.”

She narrows her eyes, trying to find an escape route. “Did I say I wanted to be bad? No, no. I just want to be less good. There’s a difference. I want to return my library books late, play hooky at work, sneak into a double feature at the movie theater.”

I reach down for her hand as she lists off all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

“I’ll catch a cold. I’ll get stung by a jellyfish. I could swallow a whole bunch of salt water.”

I tug her toward the stairs that lead down to the sand. We’re a few yards from the water when I stop and turn to face her, starting to gather the material of her nightgown in my fist.

“I distinctly remember you saying you wanted to be bad. Skull and crossbones. Motorcycle rallies. Criminal on the run.”

“Oh wow.” She laughs prettily and pats my chest. “This is a giant misunderstanding. We better just go back to the car and crank that heater.”

I’m tugging her along by her nightie, dragging her forward. When we’re nearly at the water’s edge, I stop.

She shakes her head and grips my hand with all her might as if I’m going to let go and push her in.

“I think you should go first,” she says, eyes focused on the waves.

“Oh, I’m not going at all. This is your thing, remember? The whole ‘live life to the fullest’ mantra is something you want to do. I’m fine right where I am.”

She sidles a bit closer. I wonder if she’s meaning to tempt me or if it’s just the way things are between us. “Oh c’mon, you can’t do this to me! It’s winter. Freezing.”

“It’s Texas,” I say, deadpan. “At worst, it’s 60 degrees.”

“The water’s probably colder…”