“I’ve never been a quitter,” I assured him. “And I’d quite like to see you upside down.”
I didn’t think that was an innuendo of any sort until Bennet looked at me, eyes glassy and wide, lips parted enough to let him draw a shallow breath. Fuck. I’d said the wrong thing, but I just couldn’t stopmyself.
Bennet tore his gaze away and focused very hard on the sidewalk. “You are insufferable,” he said. His voice had no bite at all.
“In a charming way,” I suggested.
“In a way,” he conceded.
We walked in silence for a few steps. Fallen leaves scraped under our shoes. The air had that sharp bite that meant winter was creeping in, and our breaths fogged a little. Streetlights flicked on one by one and painted Bennet’s face in warm pools of light.
I tried not to stare. Failed.
The frames of his glasses sat neatly on his nose, catching the glow. His cheekbones cut clean lines across his face. I had registered him as cute at first. Now the angles looked fierce. The corners of his eyes tilted just enough to make his gaze seem sharper. His mouth drew my attention more than it should have, soft and full and pink from the cold. It hit me with a quiet thud that he was actually hot.
Hot in that dangerous way that snuck up on you. No warning. No mercy.
I shifted my duffel on my shoulder, hoping it would distract my body from the restless energy building in my chest. It didn’t.
“You’re doing it again,” Bennet said.
“Doing what?” I asked.
He glanced at me, then away. “You have that look like you’re making up an entire scenario in your head.”
“Is that right?” I asked. “What am I imagining?”
“That you march into the Thinkers’ House with a cheese platter and seduce my roommates into forming a fan club,” he said. “You’ll probably charge membership fees.”
A laugh burst out of me, clean and bright. It loosened something between us. “I would make a killing.”
“You’d have to make a spreadsheet,” he said. “And come up with projections based on the averages, taking into account standard deviation factors.”
The idea of me with a spreadsheet was so wrong that it tipped into funny. I laughed harder. “Wow. Bennet Marlowe, comedian.”
“Do not spread that rumor,” he said. “It’ll ruin my brand.”
The tension in my shoulders eased. The heavy heat in my chest did not. It changed shape instead. The more he relaxed, the more I noticed the tilt of his head when he looked at me. The way his lips twitched before he let himself smile. The way his hand brushed mine for half a second when we stepped around a puddle.
He didn’t pull away as fast this time.
We fell quiet again. The silence sat between us in a different way from our first lesson. Charged. Expectant. Every time our arms swung a little too close, my skin prickled. I kept catching myself wondering what it would be like to hook a finger through his belt loop and tug him closer. Stupid idea. He had made it clear enough that football wasn’t his thing. Football guys wereprobably not his thing either. And while I might have nursed a strong crush on the nerdiest of Doctor Whos, so did Bennet. In this, it seemed, ourtypewas the same.
I knew what that felt like, though. To want someone you had no business wanting. To feel that warm, jittery buzz in your veins that didn’t have an outlet. My body recognized the pattern long before my head wanted to name it.
Crush. That was the word. I hated it a little.
We reached the spot where the sidewalk split. One side toward the Bel House, the other up the slope toward the Thinkers’ House.
I slowed. “So. Friday. Adventurers and lactose-free snacks.”
Bennet stopped beside me. The lights from my house cast a soft halo over his hair. “You are very stubborn,” he said.
“It’s a gift,” I replied. “I can bring fancy chips if cheese is a war crime in your place. Or hummus. I hear nerds like hummus.”
“We like quiet and preparation,” Bennet said. “Also hummus.” His mouth curved. “You really want to come?”
“Yeah,” I said before I could pretend otherwise. “Feels like it’s time Dud returned to the party.”