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“I might be able to get you a copy.”
She gestures to the posters. “Do you have to do a lot of these?”
“It depends on the season. We’re doing well this year, so there’s more demand. They’re good for exposure. I’ve had some interest from some big campaigns recently, so we’ll see what happens.”
“What kind of campaigns?”
“Sports companies. It’s something I’ve been working toward.”
“I hope you get it, then.” She moves away from the posters. “You have an air hockey table! Sidney has one. Buck used to try and hustle me all the time.” She claps excitedly. “Let’s play!”
“No one plays air hockey here without putting something at stake.”
“You mean a bet? I’m gonna warn you, I’m good.” Violet taps her fingers on the lip of the table. “I beat Buck all the time.”
I suppress a smirk. “Oh? In that case, if I win, I get to take you out again after this series of away games.”
This is far from fair; there’s no way Violet will win. But I want something beyond the glory of beating a woman who reads during hockey games and refers to the penalty box as the “time-out box thingy.”
Violet blushes. “And if I win, I get to take the cool car in your garage for a ride.”
At first I think she’s joking. Violet has no idea what my car is worth or the time and energy spent having it painstakingly restored. I’m not worried. I’m going to wipe the floor with Violet’s ass. Well, I’d like to do something to Violet’s ass—maybe while she’s on the floor. In the context of the game, I’m going to win.
“You’re on.” I reach across the table to shake on it.
Violet’s smile is pure calculated innocence as she slips her hand into mine and yanks, pulling me forward unexpectedly. Her grin becomes a sneer, her eyes narrowing with something like malice.
“Be prepared to have your balls handed to you, Waters.”
“You think so, eh?”
This is going to be fun. I remove my tie and toss it on the chair in the corner. Next I unbutton my shirt and shrug out of it.
“Is this strip air hockey?” Her eyes drop to my chest. All distractions are good distractions if they work in my favor.
“No. I’m just getting comfortable.” My T-shirt is less constrictive than a button-down.
Violet takes a ready stance. The deep V of her dress gapes slightly, and the luscious swell of her breasts press together to create amazing cleavage. I’d love to fuck her tits—dammit, now I’m distracted.
My competitive nature comes out, and I practically growl, “Get ready to be spanked, sweetheart.”
Her neck goes blotchy. “Nice try. That’s not on the table.”
“You don’t think so? I could put you over the table.” I wag my eyebrows suggestively.
Violet scoffs. “Check your ego, Captain.”
At the beginning, I go easy on her and let her believe she’ll win. It quickly becomes apparent Violet is far more adept at this game than I assumed. She scores two goals within the first two minutes, punctuating each one with a Take that!
“Best out of three.” I sneak the puck by her goalie and smile condescendingly.
“If you feel the need to be beaten twice.”
“You’re going down, baby.”
“If that’s what you wanted”—the puck ricochets against the side of the table and heads toward my goalie—“you should’ve put it on the table.”
She pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue. The image of Violet’s lips wrapped around my cock, her warm, wet tongue swirling around the head diverts my attention from the game.
“Take that!” she yells.
I blink, confused. Damn! She scored again. She’s thrown my game with blow job references, making it impossible for me to recover the win. Violet prances around, fist pumping the air, boobs jiggling. Though I’m irritated she’s beaten me—unfairly—she’s still entertaining to watch.
“I. Am. Awesome!” She props a hand on her hip. “You obviously don’t want another date if you’re going to play like a girl.”
“Enjoy the high, baby. It won’t happen again.”
I up my game during round two. The harder I try, the harder she tries. She’s good. Better than good. I might even lose. She’ll have to go out with me again to drive my car, so I suppose I win either way.
“On your knees, motherpucker!” she shouts when she scores the winning goal. She grabs the puck and kisses it. Wearing a huge smile, she rubs it on her boobs.
I can’t believe she beat me. Again. Her cheeks are flushed and her breath comes in pants. Even I’m worked up.
“I want a rematch.” I take a step to the side, coming around the table.
“You’re a sore loser.” Violet moves in the opposite direction. “I won fair and square.”
“I still want to take you out again when I get home.” I take another step toward her and she takes one back.
“You didn’t win.” She shifts right, preparing to bolt.
