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“Please tell me you’re joking about the ping-pong girl,” he groans.
I motion for him to open his gift. He opens the bag and peers inside, then starts to laugh as he pulls out the oversized, fist-shaped dildo. He holds it up, a concerned expression on his face, then he glances at me. I sigh and snatch it from him and shake it. He groans when it lights up and starts singing “Macho Man.”
“What is that?” He laughs.
“Something you can use to hit away the balls.” I wink at him.
“Brooke is going to kill me,” he groans.
“No. She’ll kill me,” I say with a laugh. “And that’s okay, because she wants me dead anyway. I might as well give her a real reason.”
“You enjoy riling her up, don’t you? Even though I have to live with it.”
“You’re not even married and you’re already referring to her as ‘it’?” I tease, nudging him with the fist. “And let’s be honest. I could wear my hair the wrong way and she’d be pissed at me.”
“Did you say something?” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m still stuck on the part where you’re glad your dad is hurt.”
“Stop twisting my words around,” I retort. I scowl at him as he laughs, and I place my hand on my hip. “You know what Mom is like. She’d have one drink and she’d be critiquing Ms. Venezuela over there on her motorboating technique—”
I glance over at her and stop midsentence. My eyes widen.
No way.
“Professor Sullivan?” I hiss.
His head snaps around so fast I’m afraid I’ve caused him whiplash, but he recovers quickly, calmly pushing the stripper off his lap and then getting to his feet. He saunters over to me, smiling at me like we’ve run into each other in Walmart.
“Becca. Call me Liam. Please.” He smiles at me with admiration. “Wow, when you play a game, you really commit,” he murmurs, those damn sexy eyes penetrating me. “Coming to a strip club to masturbate in public is genius, because you know the majority will be doing it too.” He pauses for a second. “But I have to admit, I’m now a little worried about the other thing…”
“About what?” Jake laughs. “And how do you two even know each other?” he adds.
Liam glances at Jake, like he’d forgotten he was there.
“I was about to ask you the same question,” Liam comments.
“Jake and I are old friends,” I cut in, hoping it’s not obvious that I’m hijacking the conversation to avoid Jake finding out about what happened. “So sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not here to strip or do anything else involving…anything.” I shudder. I link my arm through Jake’s, who still looks very confused as he glances back and forth between us. “I’m the one who planned this whole shindig.”
“Really?” Liam murmurs.
His eyes fall on the dildo that I’m clutching in my hand, which I suddenly have the urge to shake. His mouth twitches into a smile when it starts to sing.
“And you’re having fun, I see.”
“Not as much fun as you’re obviously having,” I say, winking at him. “Am I right?” I say, nodding back at Ms. Venezuela. The words start to spill out of me, like they do when I’m nervous. “When I first walked into your class, I thought to myself, ‘that guy is a natural motorboater.’”
What I wouldn’t give to bury that face between my breas—
I hunch forward, still turned on by the thought of him doing anything to me.
“Is that so?” He smirks at me. “The way I remember it, you were too busy lusting after my pussy-saving hands to focus on anything else.” He stops and pretends to think for a moment. “Those were your words, right?”
I glare at him. How long is he going to hold this over me? Am I going to relive every single thing I said about him over the past six months? Because if I am, then we’ll be here forever, and I’ll be very, very embarrassed.
“They weren’t directed at you,” I snap.
“Hold up, hold up.” Jake puts his hands out interrupting the conversation. “I feel like I’ve missed a vital part of this whole thing.” He glances at me. “You’re Liam’s student?” He splutters the words out between fits of laughter. “And you actually used the term ‘pussy-saving hands’? This is too much. Please tell me you didn’t say that.”
“Oh, she said it,” Liam assures him. “More precisely, that she wanted to slither under them. But trust me, it gets better.”
“He was resuscitating a freaking cat,” I cut in, defending myself. “How was I supposed to react when he was standing there, pumping his fingers down furiously on some little old lady’s pussy?”
“Andrew is actually my grandma’s cat,” he cuts in.
“That makes it even worse,” I roar.
Andrew? Who calls a cat Andrew?
“What happened to Andrew?” Jake frowns.
