“What was the hand thing?”
“Misdirection. The tenet of all sleight of hand.”
She’s doing misdirection all right.
Today has been all over the map but right now, the feeling winning out is adrenaline.
“Andy.” My gaze doesn’t break hers. “It’s bedtime.”
“Nooo!”
Kat turns toward him. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ll do a story.”
I watch them walk side by side down the hall.
I screwed up this morning but nothing broke today. Nothing got worse.
I can’t remember the last time Andy laughed as hard as he was laughing when I got home.
Or the last time I did.
When Kat comes back half an hour later, I’m nursing a whisky in the kitchen.
She steps over the game and crosses to me, taking the glass from my hand. “This the good stuff?”
“It is. Can you tell?”
She sips, then shakes her head.
I can’t help grinning.
“He had a great day,” I say.
“I did, too.” Her gaze slips to my new tattoo. “Play helps us relax. Problems wait.”
I turn that over as I stare at the Twister mat. “So where’s this new tat of yours?”
She turns to point to the cat on her ankle.
“Did it hurt?”
Her laugh lights me up way too much. “Not as much as the real thing.”
My brows shoot through my hairline.
“I’d show you, but we don’t know one another that well yet.”
Let’s fix that.
The thought rises up in an instant.
Because she’s living under my roof, after all. We should be comfortable around one another.
Not because I want an excuse to watch her in those shorts.
I take my drink back and eye the dog on my forearm. “You tricked me. If you were honorable, we’d both know the game we were playing going in.”
Her lips purse, but there’s a glint of challenge in her eyes. “What do you suggest?”
“A rematch. The loser gets a tattoo in the location of the winner’s choosing.” I down the rest of my drink, then nod to the Twister mat. “You first.”
9
KAT
I’ve created a monster.
A gorgeous, competitive monster.
When he proposed the rematch, I figured it was false bravado on his part.
But two moves each into the game and he’s standing on the mat, feet three spaces apart and hands free to rub together in perverse delight.
“Left hand yellow,” Daniel declares.
His trousers from work cling to his hips, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms. One bearing the tattoo I put on him earlier.
I’m on the opposite side, one foot and one hand committed.
“You sure you haven’t played this in years?”
“Nope. One of my roommates in college had a set that was his parents’. We played it as a drinking game.”
He’s quick and smart. Curious and determined.
Plus, he’s fun as hell when he lets his guard down.
When I first checked him out months ago, I didn’t appreciate all there was to him. The guys I’ve flirted with or casually dated all seem immature by comparison.
Daniel is a man.
And it’s a straight shame he doesn’t have a social life, because he’d be good at it. I bet he was good at it, once.
“What’s the point?” I muse aloud. “Prove who’s the bendiest?”
“It’s about awkwardness. Who can keep a straight face.”
“Then I’m definitely winning.”
“You can’t out-awkward me. I’m a professor. It’s in the job description”
I laugh. “Don’t pretend you have the market cornered on awkward.”
“Come on. You’re pretty and popular. I bet you were prom queen.”
“I didn’t go to prom.”
“Too cool.”
“I had a prior commitment.”
He’s hogging one side of the mat. There’s a yellow behind his opposite leg, but I’m not sure I can stretch that far without lifting my foot.
I shoot him a look before folding in half and planting my second hand between his legs.
“There.”
I’m triumphant until my weight shifts and I feel my shirt ride up my back.
“Impressive.”
“I did two years of JV cheerleading. You play any sports?”
“Ultimate frisbee. I have fantastic hands. They called me Soft Touch.”
“That’s what you call a toothbrush.”
He leans closer. “I’m still deciding where to give you that tattoo.”
My ass is sticking up in the air. Probably a few inches from his face.
“Oh, I’ll be the one handing it out. A dog on your arm won’t be nearly as embarrassing as what I’m going to do to you.”
Eventually I hear the light flicking sound of the spinner.
“Right hand blue.”
Blue is on my side of the mat.
There are a couple of ways he can get at it. One is around me, and the other is over top of me.
“Let’s see it, Soft Touch.”
His front fits to my back so his body is flush with mine. I feel a drop of sweat start on my forehead and I close my eyes.
He smells fantastic, and my wavering confidence that he was going to bail is demolished.
“You’re trying to distract me with that cologne,” I pant, from the exertion or his closeness.
“I’m not wearing any.”
He smells that amazing without help?
Spin the wheel.
I reach for it, and the twisting motion makes me press against his body.
Awareness ripples through me.
“I’ve decided where it’s going. Your tattoo,” he mutters.
“Where’s that?”
“Your cheek.”
I glance back at my ass. “Which one? I think the right side is bigger. But you have a better view.”
Pause.
“I meant your face.” Is it me or is his voice tighter than before?
“Right.” I laugh. “Because what’s the point if you’re the only one who knows it’s there?”
He’s silent so long I crane my neck to try and catch his eye.
Heat flares in his gaze.
His front presses to my back. He’s hard and warm against me, and sweat already has my clothes sticking to my skin.
That’s when I feel him.
Is he…
His breathing rasps near my ear. “Kat—”
My phone buzzes from the edge of the mat where I set it down.
A name flashes on the screen.
Clay.
Terrible timing. Like teenaged comedian doing his first stand-up bad.
I lunge for the phone and answer. “Hey. Can I call you back?”
“You’re the one who was blowing up my phone for the last week.”
“I know. Give me an hour.”
Long enough to figure out if my sexy boss who I swore had zero interest just got an erection against my ass. K bye.
Daniel’s turned away, rubbing his face with both hands.
“I have to go to the gym. Tomorrow?” Clay says in my ear.