Brain Games

15. What If

Have a little fun.

What do you want, Delilah? Brad's low, raspy voice echos in my head.

What do I want?

Him.

But at what cost? We work together, see each other every day. Wouldn't that complicate things?

The beauty of it is, you two already hate each other, my conscious reminds me. There's no feelings being put at risk. One night of hot, meaningless sex isn't going to jeopardize anything. And if all does go to hell, the worst thing that can happen is you end up hating each other—which you already have going for you.

My eyes travel from his lips, down the column of his throat, over his broad chest, vividly remembering all the dips and planes of the rock hard abs beneath his black T-shirt. What would happen if I ran my tongue along each and every one of those ridges?

Fuck it.

Unable to stop myself, my fingers reach out to touch the hem of his T-shirt, hesitantly rubbing the cotton fabric between my fingers. For a moment, I swear Brad holds his breath. And when I feel bold enough, I slip my hand beneath the fabric, my hand splaying across his toned, taught stomach, feeling his warm, naked skin.

Brad sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, eyes screwing shut. His forehead drops down to mine and he plants his forearm on the wall above my head to stabilize himself. "Delilah." My name is gruff, strained rolling off his lips.

"What if we did?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, eyes locked back on his tempting lips.

Brad's molten brown eyes open, boring into mine, jaw clinched. "Then we won't have to die wondering."

Hot. Why do I feel so hot? All over.

Brad dips his head, nuzzling my neck, breathing me in deeply. His hand possessively grips my hip, tugging my body closer to his. "I'll make it worth your while," he promises darkly, as if I need any more convincing.

I slip my hand out of his shirt, my fingers accidentally grazing a hardness below his belt through the rough fabric of his jeans, making me gasp. I place my hand on his chest, weakly pushing him away, feeling the strong beat of his heart under my palm.

Brad pulls back, searching my face, body tensing with the thought of rejection.

"Let's get out of here," I whisper, not recognizing my own voice.

Brad's eyes blaze with desire, pushing away from me and the wall. With his hand on the dip of my back, he leads me back to the table where four pairs of eyes watch us as we approach.

My eyes meet a guilty, remorseful looking Ashlee. "Hey, Delilah," she says cautiously. "Listen, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I was just teasing. I'm sorry."

That's right, you should feel sorry, biotch.

I wave my hand dismissively. "It's okay. I just left because I didn't feel well," I lie lamely. Totally not because I felt extremely overwhelmed by the subject of me and Brad having sex while his hand was gripping my thigh under the table.

The girl sitting next to Ashlee cringes. "Did you eat the shrimp tacos from the cafeteria today? They looked pretty questionable to me."

"Yeah," I blurt out, grateful to her for providing me with a valid lie. "Yeah. I don't think they agreed with me so I'm just going to go home and lie down."

Yeah. Go home and lie down. Lie down with Brad all on top of you.

Everyone at the table gives nods and words of understanding. We all bid each other goodbye and I grab my purse, Brad following me out of the bar.