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"What is it?"
"Agree first."
There's a mischievous look in his eyes. Okay, fine, I'll bite.
"Sure," I say.
His grip tightens around my hip. He grabs me and lifts me onto the table. I land hard on my ass. My legs part in a desperate attempt to maintain balance. Not enough. I lean back and plant my hands behind me.
Drew keeps one hand on my hip. The other slides down my leg, under my knee. He slings my legs around him. The same position we'd be in if we were fucking on this table.
My heart goes into freight train mode. I've got no clue what he's doing, but part of me doesn't care. He's so close. His crotch is pressed up against mine. If we weren't wearing all these clothes, we'd be steps away from something so perfect.
I take a deep breath. My body needs to calm the fuck down. "What are you doing?"
He grabs me by the knees and pulls me closer. "That's fairly obvious."
I lean all the way back, so I'm flat on the table. For some crazy reason, I want to go along with this. "Should I even ask why?"
"I'm not about to get a table that's too tall or too short."
"Is this a regular problem?" I close my eyes so I won't look into his. That will send me straight into a frenzy.
He lowers my legs so they're hanging off the table. "It has been a problem before."
I push myself up and off the table. He keeps me pressed against it for a moment. His hands are at his sides. He's not even touching me and I'm ready to explode.
I shift to the side, so I'm not wedged between him and the hard edge of the table. It gives me no relief. Instead, I feel cold and empty.
I try to shake it off. I try to keep my voice even, like this whole flirting thing isn't getting to me. "And?"
"Perfect."
My eyes move to the floor again. Same hardwood. It's still beat up and waxed as hell. "You're not having sex on our dining room table."
"I'll clean up after."
"Still." I meet his gaze. "Are you even having sex?"
"Those are fighting words, Kendrick." He takes a step toward me. "Are you even having sex?"
"That's classified."
"That's a no."
"And how long has it been for you, Denton?"
The joy drops off his face. His expression steels. His gaze drifts to the window. He's somewhere else, somewhere far, far away.
I want him back. I have to say something to drag him back here. "That long?" I make it as playful as I can.
He snaps back. No joy yet, but he's not all serious. "I'll tell if you do."
"Only if you go first."
He shakes his head. "We do it on three. As many fingers as—"
"Years—"
