Free Out on Good Behavior (Radleigh University Book 3) by Dahlia Adler Page A

and maybe that’s mutual and maybe it isn’t, but I have expended way too much brainspace on this crush that I should be spending on—
    A stocking-covered thigh rubs against mine, and I glance down to see that Samara’s crossed her legs, making her dress ride up quite a few inches. It’s also pressing her leg against mine, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel that. Instinctively I press back, just a little bit, and wait for her to move.
    She doesn’t.
    Okay then.
    I’m not sure how long we sit like that, or at what point our limbs start inching even closer, but at some point during a flute solo, my fingertips brush soft, bare skin, sending a little tremor through my fingers. I let my gaze drop to our arms, and I can see hers is covered in goose bumps, but she doesn’t move.
    It’s not the slightest bit cold in here.
    With any other girl, this is where I’d push it—trace lines along the silky inside of her forearm, or drop my hand to massage her knee—but I strongly suspect doing that now would spook Samara, and that’s the last thing on earth I wanna do.
    So I leave my thigh pressed to hers. I keep my fingertips resting lightly on her arm. And I sit through the longest fucking concert in the history of human existence.
    • • •
    When it’s finally over, Sam walks up to Andi to congratulate her on a job well done while I go out to wait out in the lobby; something tells me Andi wouldn’t particularly appreciate Samara’s choice of company. I check my phone while I wait, and see I finally have a reply text from Abe from this morning: Sorry, Franklin—date Fri night. Sat?
    I have a text from Lizzie, too: Staying w/C tonight. NO SEX ON THE COUCH WHILE I’M GONE.
    A laugh startles me, and I realize I’m sticking my tongue out at my phone. “Who’s that?” Sam asks.
    “Just Lizzie being a brat,” I say sheepishly, sliding my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “On the bright side, she’s vacating the premises for the night, if you wanna come hang out a little longer. We can rehash the…stringwork, or something.” I offer up a flash of a smile. “Sorry, my classical knowledge remains wholly unimpressive.”
    I expect my sadass flirting to put her at ease, but if anything, she only looks more tense. Even though I’m dying to see just how much more she might like being touched, it would seem that portion of the night has ended. “I can also just walk you back,” I tell her. “Don’t worry, I’ll run as soon as you’re safely inside so we don’t have to deal with The Wrath of Cait.”
    She thinks it over for a minute, then says, “Let’s go to your place for a bit.”
    There’s nothing flirty or suggestive in her tone, but it leaves me feeling optimistic anyway. A little too optimistic, because I offer my arm and she just smiles wryly and promptly starts walking. As I trudge along quietly beside her, I wish I’d absorbed some Psych knowledge from my time working in the department, because I have absolutely no clue what’s going on in this girl’s head.
    We walk in complete silence the entire way, not a word exchanged between us until she says “Thanks” when I hold open the door to my apartment, followed by “Sure, thanks,” when I offer her tea. I pull off my ankle boots and pad into the kitchen, searching through the cabinets. I know we have tea here somewhere…aha! There’s a box of peppermint that Cait or Connor must have put away, because it’s a couple of inches out of my reach. I jump up, just barely grazing it with my fingertips.
    I’m about to try again when I feel a warmth at my shoulders. My breath catches in my throat as Samara’s long, slender arm stretches over me, her breasts pressing against my back, her citrus-y hair wafting by my nose, and pulls down the box. Only when it’s back at her side do I dare turn around, and there she is, no more than six inches away, her lower lip caught in her teeth. “I’m a little taller,” she says with a note of apology