He laugh-hums at my reaction. “To answer your first question, I prefer smaller crowds. Or no crowds. Like I said, this isn’t my scene.”
While talking he grabs a Koozie from the side table, attempting to squeeze his oversized beer into it.
“You know it’s not gonna fit. It’s too big.”
A flush spreads up his neck as his head drops, shoulders shaking and he rumbles out, “That’s what she said.”
I snort a laugh. “Did you make athat’s what she saidjoke?”
Our eyes connect when he looks back up.
“Yes. Yes, I did. Admit it, you left it wide open for me.”
“That’s whathesaid,” I quip back.
His face breaks into a smile, the widest one I’ve gained from him yet, might I add. That’s when I spot the twin dimples stamping his cheeks. I practically have to sit on my hands to stop myself from touching them. His teeth are perfectly straight, and I imagine a seventh grade version of him, mouth full of metal, complete with head gear.
“My name’s Jo,” I say, sticking out my hand.
He sets his beer down and takes my hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Jo. I’m Tyler.”
The way he says my name churns butterflies in my stomach. The handshake lasts a beat longer than usual, an electric current running through me at the contact, a pop rocks feeling under my skin. Disappointed when he lets go, I find myself wanting his hand back in mine.
Steepling my fingers under my chin, I grin and say, “So, Tyler. Now that we’ve been properly introduced, let’s play a game.”
Tyler stills, midway to his beer, and looks at me, head tilted. “What kind of game?”
“Never Have I Ever.” He eyes me warily, so I go on. “You do know how to play, right?”
One shoulder lifts and he lets out a quick laugh through his nose. He’s ridiculously cute, in his innocent, nerdy way. It’s clear he’s introverted, yet he carries himself with confidence.
“Of course I know how to play. I’m trying to decide if it’s a bad idea.”
“Probably.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“Sure. Why the hell not?” Tyler throws one arm across the back of the couch, fingertips brushing my shoulder. Goose bumps scatter across my chest and down my arms. “How bad could it be?”
It turns out, a drinking game with this woman is pretty damn entertaining. Jo holds her liquor better than me, and she’s done things I’ve never thought of trying. She got nosy and found a pair of shot glasses in a cabinet, and now, instead of beer, Jo fills the glasses with punch. She sits with one leg tucked under her, the other right beside me, and I can’t peel my eyes away from the tiny straps of her tank top. It’s obvious she’s not wearing a bra by the hard peaks poking through the fabric, and I’m doing math formulas in my head to will my dick back down. It’s not working. Every round of this game chips away at my restraint.
Jo is way out of my league. She’s funny and charismatic, immediately setting me at ease in her company, despite having just met her. With high cheek bones and a smattering of freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, I'm helpless to memorize each one when she’s not looking. Her long blonde hair is now pulled into a ponytail, showing off the purple color underneath—which, if I had to take a guess, sums her up completely by the way her eyes dance with mischief.
Each time our gazes meet, it takes everything I’ve got to look away. Her eyes, such a light shade of blue, are nearly translucentin the light of this room, sparkling each time she laughs. I draw closer to her on the couch.
Although we just met, spending time with Jo feels like a burst of color in a world of gray. Everything about her is movement and laughter. Where I’m reserved, Jo is bold and loud. When she’s excited, she gets louder and her hands move with her words. Everything—and I mean everything—about her is captivating. Earlier when I noticed her paint-splattered hands, my eyes got hung up on her fingernails, each one painted a different shade like she couldn’t bear to leave a color out. Her toenails are painted to match.
The flammable punch we’ve been drinking has loosened me up, because I swear to God, I’m imagining what would happen if I gave her ponytail a tug. That’s not a thought sober Tyler would ever have. No, sober me has exactly zero game. I leave that to my cousin, Austin.
“Your turn,” she says, pouring us each a refill.
I think for a few seconds. “Never have I ever been arrested.”
She groans but tosses the punch back. My brows lift, and she flops dramatically onto her back, covering her face with her hands.
“It was one time,” she mumbles, talking through her fingers. “Homecoming my freshman year here. They got me for public intoxication. But I swear, I wasn’t eventhatdrunk. Just loud.”
“Shocking.” I grin at her with a note of sarcasm. Everything about her looks loud, like despite her best efforts, she can’t help herself. “You know, to be so little, you really are loud.”
She kicks her foot toward me, and I catch it, circling my hand around her ankle. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers. Propping on her elbows, she looks at me, eyes narrowed and playful. “I’m not little, Tyler. I’m fun-sized.”
