He’s ridiculously cute, and it’s frustrating.
“Yup, that’s it.” In a begging voice that is entirely fake, I clasp my hands together and say, “Please, Jason, will you please, please give me mouth-to-mouth? I can’t seem to find my breath anywhere; I need yours to replenish my depleted lungs.”
“Damn, girl, I had no idea.” He lunges toward me, lips puckered. “Open up.”
Before he can close in on my lips, I halt his head with my palm, just as a wave of his fresh cologne surrounds me. Ugh, why does he have to smell so masculine? It’s unfair that men’s cologne can induce an orgasm, or at least get pretty close to it.
“I was kidding.”
“I’m not,” he says, his lips brushing against my palm as he speaks. “You’re turning purple. Quick, lie down; I got you, babe.”
I give him a shove and he laughs, sitting back against the elevator door and putting his shirt back on.
Damn it, he could have kept that off.
“You know, the attraction you’re feeling for me is too strong, so it’s best we just stay as friends. I don’t want you falling in love with me so hard that I can’t catch up to your feelings. Friends is really where we should stay.”
“Friends aren’t necessary.”
“Oh, now you’re just trying to protect your heart. I get it, Dottie. I really do. So after we’re let out of this tin box, I say we go our separate ways, our hearts intact.”
“I think that’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said since I met you.”
“Well, I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”
He really is, surprises that are starting to eat away at my cold exterior. And that’s a problem. Because that’s what I’ll never allow to happen . . . again.
Cute, sexy, crazy baseball player be damned.
“Albert, Bart, Chris, Darrel . . . Emmitt, Uh, Franklyn, George, Harrison, Ichabod . . . umm . . .” I wince. “Jake?”
“No,” Jason groans. “Jesus Christ, woman. Jorge, it was Jorge.” Jason throws his arms in the air, clearly distressed over the stupid ABC game we’re playing. “We are never going to make it all the way to Z with the kind of gnat brain you have.”
“Hey, you screwed up once too.”
“Because you said the most abstract girl name I’ve ever heard and I couldn’t remember it for the life of me.”
“Abstract means you remember it better.”
“Abstract means I’m going to forget how to pronounce it in seconds.”
“Oh, I forgot, you get hit in the head with balls for a living.”
He scoffs. “No, I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t be a damn good catcher, one of the best in the league, thank you very much.” He sighs and shifts his body so he’s lying completely on the floor, his shirt as a pillow. Yes, he’s removed his shirt again, and I’m not complaining one bit. “What kind of name is Euphemia anyway?”
“Oh, now you get it right.”
“Well, you screamed it at me five times in a row as your spittle smacked me in the face, drilling it in my brain.”
“There was no spittle.”
“Oh . . . there was spittle,” he says, his voice full of humor.
Damn him for making me smile again. That’s what the last twenty minutes have been—him being ridiculous, me trying not to smile. I’ve finally resolved to laying my head on my purse so I don’t have to look directly at him.
Smacking his hands together, he rubs them and says, “Okay, let’s go for actor last names now. I’ll start. Aniston.”
This is what my life has come to.
“Aniston, Bullock.”
“Aniston, Bullock, Cox,” he replies.
I lift up to look at him. “Are you just going to list off cast members from Friends?”
“Shh.” He waves his hand at me and then presses his fingers to his temples, massaging his skull. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
Good . . . God.
“H.”
“Nooope,” Jason drags out, a smart-ass look on his face. “One more leg and you’ve been hanged, milady.”
I can NOT believe I’m losing to Jason at hangman. Not just losing but losing terribly. We’re talking ten games deep, and he’s won every single one of them. When he initially suggested the game, I thought, sure, why not? This will be easy. He acts like an immature frat boy with the IQ of a pigeon despite majoring in engineering, so all I’ll have to do is guess different sexual organs and it will be money in the bag.
But here I am, one leg away from losing once again, which means if he wins all ten games, I have to take my shirt off as well.
Stupid bet, but I really didn’t think he could sweep me.
Think, Domico, think.
Blank, U, M, blank, S, blank, U, blank, blank.
Yup.
I’m screwed.
I tap my chin, really pretending to put some though into it. “Let’s go with Y.”
“I’m sorry to do this because you’re pretty, but the noose is coming for you.” He adds the last leg and then draws two X’s where the eyes should be and a squiggle mouth, indicating death.
“Ugh, what is it?”
He fills in the blanks and I read the word out loud, “Numbskull.”
“Yup.” He bops my nose with the pen and says, “That’s exactly what you are, a numbskull.” His laugh does nothing but make me madder. He motions to my shirt. “Show me the goods. A bet is a bet.”
“You realize when I take my shirt off, you’re going to regret it, right?”
“Pretty sure I won’t.”
“You will when I start playing with my tits and jiggling them. Pinching my nipples, moaning from the sensation . . .”
“Yeah, I won’t regret that.”
“You will when you get hard and you can’t do anything about it.”
He laughs and motions with the pen to take my shirt off. “It’s funny how you think I have no issue jacking off right here, right now. I have zero modesty, Dorothy, so I would watch what you do with those tits.”
I should have expected that. With a resigned sigh, I take my shirt off and watch Jason nod in appreciation. He takes my breasts in, long and hard, never blinking, just observing until he gives me one curt nod and says, “They’ll do.”
He’s such an ass.
“Heads.”
“Tails. Ha HA!” Jason clasps the quarter in his fist and raises it to the elevator. “Pants, Domico.”
“You didn’t flip it right,” I counter, not wanting to lose my pants. I’m wearing a thong and sitting in an elevator in only a thong and bra doesn’t really scream good time to me.
I also didn’t think I’d be this terrible at heads or tails. Who loses twelve times in a row? It’s like there is some magnetic force controlling the elevator, blocking me from winning any ridiculous game I play with Jason.
“What do you mean I didn’t flip it right? I flipped it in the air, it turned multiple times, I caught it and then flipped it on the back of my hand. Standard heads or tails rules.”