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“The offer was gone. Only other option was to walk on, and that’s almost impossible.” Thunk. “It all worked out.” I smiled down at her, ignoring the cinderblock in my chest. “I got to be here to win you a...” I looked up at the prizes, my face screwing up. I didn’t recognize a single creature. “Well, whatever those are.”
“Why not try?” she asked, ignoring my deflection. “People like you are the reasons those opportunities exist. It’s why the rules are in place.”
“Rules,” I scoffed, picking up a beanbag and soldiering on. “Aren’t you the good girl.”
The corners of her mouth were tipped down now. But it was still better than flat. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
“I bet you’ve never done anything bad.” Thunk.
“Define bad.”
“If I have to define it, it wasn’t bad enough.”
She made a frustrated little noise that made me entirely too happy. “I’ve done bad things,” she assured me.
“Oh yeah? Prove it.”
I turned to her, tossing the beanbag a few inches in the air and catching it. God, she was pretty when she blushed.
“Prove it how?” she asked, squaring up as a terrible, wonderful idea came to me.
She’ll never do it. Not in a million years.
But Jesus it’ll be funny to watch her squirm.
“Give me your panties.”
Her mouth popped open, her lashes fanning as she blinked. A rosy, pink flush climbed from under her low neckline, racing for her collarbone.
I shrugged, turning for the clowns. “Didn’t think so.” Thunk.
But when I turned, she was gone.
My smile fell. “Shit.”
Now I owed her another apology.
You just can’t keep your fucking mouth shut, can you?
I stepped out into the wide aisle, scanning for that yellow dress, swearing at myself. Henry was still at the stupid ducks, but she wasn’t with him. Cass was trying to back out of the old lady rugby scrum with very little success, but no Jessa there either.
I glanced back toward the dunking booth, making the decision to head that way, when a pointy finger poked me in the biceps.
A very determined Jessa stood before me, her face set and lips tilted in another smug smile, the flush having made it all the way to her hairline. Confused, I opened my mouth to speak, but before I landed on exactly what to say—leaving it to chance usually gave me the best odds—she took my hand in hers and shoved a warm swath of fabric into my palm.
“Proof,” she said, the words more breath than sound. Her chest heaved, her breasts straining at the neckline.
In a daze, I looked down at my hand where I held a sliver of silken fabric the color of her skin. And then I recited the roster and stats of the ’98 Yankees so I wouldn’t pop a full woody in these tiny swim trunks in front of my entire town. But no amount of Derek Jeter could stop the rush of blood to my cock. She could see what she’d done too—her nose was up, but her eyes were on my dick like a promise.
“Hey, you getting your prize or what?” the game attendant said.
I closed my fist around that sacred silk and put on my most obnoxious smile. “Pick anything you want, Duchess.”
She stared at me through a couple of shallow breaths before turning to the attendant, and I took the opportunity to button the bottom half of my shirt so I didn’t send the blue hairs into cardiac arrest with my unruly cock. Jessa marched up to the counter, and without hesitation, pointed at a pink monstrosity that looked like a cross between an octopus, a crab, and a kangaroo.
“I’ll take that one, please.”
He hooked it and handed it over. She thanked him and strode in my direction with some mixture of pride and lust and annoyance. At least my smile had worked.
