Rush The Game

up?”
    He stops and turns to face me, his expression fierce. “No, and you won’t, either.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Because you haven’t given up, no matter how much shit’s been dumped on you. You’re a fighter. You fought to be the best at kendo. You fought for your mom. You fought your grief. You fought to be normal.”
    I stare at him, stunned. “How do you know all that? How do you know things about me?”
    He steps closer. Then slowly, so slowly, he lifts his hands and curls his fingers around the back of my neck so they meet at my spine. He cups my face, his palms resting against my cheeks. I freeze, heart pounding, my mouth going dry. My skin tingles everywhere he touches.
    “I know you,” he whispers. He sounds so certain that I almost believe him. I almost believe that I know him, too, that there’s something in each of us that clicks with the other, like two pieces of a puzzle.
    I shake my head. “You don’t. You can’t.”
    I don’t know how long we stand like that, so close I can feel his holster pressed against my hip, feel his breath touch my lips.
    He lowers his head a fraction of an inch.
    I’m breathing too fast, heart slamming against my ribs, blood rushing, leaving me light-headed.
    My lips part. My gaze drops to his mouth. He’s going to kiss me, here in this underground labyrinth, far from the world, far from reality. And I’m going to let him. Electricity dances along my nerves, lighting me up.
    But the kiss never comes.
    His mouth tightens into a hard line, and he lifts his head and turns his face away. I almost grab him and drag him back. His whole body is rigid. Controlled. I suspect he’s purposely looking somewhere over my shoulder, somewhere other than at me. His jaw is set, his expression harsh.
    The moment is lost. Or, more likely, he gave it up on purpose.
    I’m both disappointed and relieved. He does that to me, twists me up in crazy knots and leaves me to pick at them until they untangle. I hope I do the same to him. It’s only fair. But miles underground on a mission to kill Drau really isn’t the best place to lose myself in a kiss, and I have no doubt that once his lips touch mine, I will be lost.
    “Okay,” he says, dropping his hands and stepping back. “You win. I don’t know you. And you don’t know me.” He pauses. His voice lowers. “Don’t get to know me, Miki. You won’t like what you find.”
    I’m confused for a second, and then I remember what we were talking about: he was claiming to know me and I was telling him he didn’t. Now he’s agreeing with me, but his words leave me completely off balance, and I don’t like it.
    I stare at him, and then I lose my patience. It’s gone in a snap. “Enough cryptic warnings. What’s so wrong with you? Webbed fingers?” I grab his hand and spread his fingers. “An extra toe?”
    “Tainted motives.”
    I throw my hands in the air. “What am I supposed to say to that? What am I supposed to think? Talk about mixed messages. You are the most confusing, arrogant, self-absorbed, obnoxious—”
    “You can call me an asshole later. Right now, you’re fighting exhaustion.” He hunkers down and then settles himself with his back against the wall and legs stretched out straight. “So we rest.”
    I almost argue, but I’m smart enough to recognize that this is a concession. He’s doing this for me. He’s not the one who’s tired. So I bite my tongue and gingerly get myself settled on the ground, stunned by how grateful I am to be off my feet.
    “You can lean on me,” Jackson says.
    “I—”
    “Lean on me.” Not an offer this time, an order.
    I scoot over and lean my weight against his arm.
    “Not like that.” He shifts both of us around until my back’s against one side of his chest, my head lolling sideways onto his shoulder, our legs stretched out in front of us, side by side. Not perfect on the comfort score, but better than it was a minute ago. He rests his chin lightly on the top of my head and tells me, “Sleep.”
    “What about you?”
    “I’ll keep watch. I’ve been doing this long enough that I don’t need rest while we’re on a mission.”
    “What about Luka and Tyrone?”
    “They won’t need to rest, either. You’re still getting used to the jumps. By the next mission or the one after that, you’ll be like us. A robo-soldier.” And there it is again, that thread of humor, like he’s laughing at himself.
    “Is that supposed to reassure me? ’Cause I