Page 170 of End Game

“Am I a problem?”

“No.” The answer comes immediately enough that something in his expression changes.

It’s subtle, but the warmth in his eyes is not.

The gravitational pull that has existed between us for far too long becomes considerably more obvious in the quiet.

I know he’s attracted to me. He knows I’m attracted to him. We have both said enough over the last few months to make that fact uncomplicated.

What I don’t know is exactly what I want that attraction to become.

I lift my hand but stop before I touch him.

Micah’s gaze drops briefly to it and then returns to my eyes. He doesn’t move closer or farther away.

I place my palm against the back of his neck.

The contact is warm and immediate. My fingers move slowly upward into his hair, and his shoulders relax beneath my hand.

Instead of competing for my attention the way everything in the dining room did, the sensation gives my attention somewhere specific to settle.

The texture of his hair.

The warmth of his skin.

The subtle movement under my thumb every time he breathes.

Micah’s eyes close for half a second.

“You know,” he says quietly, “for someone with a touch aversion, you sure do keep putting your hands on me.”

“Selective touch aversion,” I explain with a smile.

“Right. Sorry.”

“It is an important distinction.”

His mouth twitches, and I run my fingers through his hair again because I want to feel the texture more.

“Does this help?” he asks after a moment.

I consider giving him a less vulnerable answer, but there isn’t any useful reason to.

“Yes.”

His eyes meet mine. “Okay.”

That’s all he says.

The lack of commentary makes something in my chest tighten for a completely different reason than before.

“You aren’t going to make that weird?”

“I think you have enough weird happening today.”

“I meant between us.”

“I know what you meant.” His voice stays quiet, and I leave my hand at the back of his neck. “We’ve talked about this.”