Page 65 of Not On Your Life

“You’ve proven your manhood. Please put me down.”

I stumble on the uneven blacktop then quickly right myself. “I didn’t realize it was at risk. Perhaps you’d prefer another demonstration of my masculinity?”

She purses her lips and studies the lot in front of us. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Scared?” I tempt her, knowing she can’t resist playing this game.

“Psh. I could take you in a fight.”

My grip on her tightens. “Are you suggesting we wrestle?”

“Wha—? No! That’s not what I said.” She pushes against my chest, but she’s stuck right next to me.

I rather like having this advantage.

“Put me down, you arrogant brute.”

It’s hardly the insult she intends it to be, and it’s a step up fromdevil. She’s warming to me.

“Brute?” I mull over the word. “Is that because I’m so strong and wildly handsome?”

“It’s because you’re dreadful… and hairy.” Her eyes flit to my chest and she sucks in her bottom lip between her teeth. If she’s trying to act disgusted by me, she didn’t sell it.

I stop at her car and open the passenger side door.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting you down.” I gently put her on her feet—foot. “There’s no way I’m letting you drive home like that. You can’t even push the gas pedal.”

“But…” She frowns at her swollen ankle but can’t seem to come up with a good excuse. “Thank you.”

I smile at her discomfort. “Did that hurt?”

She sighs and sinks into the seat. “Worse than a root canal.”

I laugh and round the car, letting myself into the driver’s seat.

Maddie is quiet as she directs me through town to her apartment. Usually she doesn’t pass up a chance to boss me around. Either the pain in her ankle is turning her mute, or she doesn’t hate me as much as she used to. A man can dream.

I turn left into her apartment complex. It’s not what I expected. I don’t know what I expected. But the white, modern building is very her.

She must have gotten tired of fighting because she doesn’t protest when I come to her side to help her out.

This time, though, I plan to make her work for it. I could scoop her up like I did at the school, or I can take my life in my hands and make her ask for it.

I pause outside her open door, hands in my pockets.

Her dark brown eyes flick up, waiting. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“Why? Did you need help?”

She glowers. “You know I do.”

“As it so happens, there’s something I need as well.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “Might I suggest a trade?”

“What do you need?” Her tone is skeptical, as expected. I’m acting like a jerk again by not helping her out. But this time there’s a reason for it.

I lean over the car “To apologize.”