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“Just like you and Vicky are friends,” she said, not looking at him, instead focusing on taking her first shot. It hit the board but slid off. No points.
“You look a little rusty with this game,” Jake said close to her ear. “You have to set your stance. It’s all in the legs,” he said, and just then, she felt his fingertips slowly trail up the back of her thigh, not stopping until he reached the hem of her dress.
“Are you done groping me yet? This won’t give you an edge. I plan on winning,” Laura informed him.
“Oh, I know you do. But I thought I’d remind you how much you like my touch.”
“That’s absurd.”
She tossed again. Barely missed!
“You’re not moving my hand away,” Jake said, calling her out.
Oh, right. That would be because she liked his touch. But he definitely couldn’t know that. She couldn’t go swatting at his hand, though; otherwise, Gabe and Vicky down there would see the action and it would be obvious that Jake and Laura were . . .
They were nothing.
Not dating.
Not anything.
But Jake was right. She wasn’t moving his hand away. She huffed out a deep breath and squeezed her last beanbag just as Jake’s fingers continued the trail up the back of her thigh and barely went beneath her skirt. Her stupid body responded to his stupid touch, and she hated that a flare of heat hit hard between her legs. She had to bite back a groan, because she wanted him. Bad.
But he was there with Vicky.
She was there with Gabe.
Dating or not, this was annoying. She glanced over her shoulder to see Jake staring at her with a challenging brow arched. He looked good. He knew it. Vicky knew it. Hell, everyone knew it. But while Laura might not be swatting his hand away, Jake clearly wasn’t pulling back on his own accord, either.
She smiled sweetly at him then refocused on tossing the bag.
She could play this game, too. Literally.
She bent over slightly and heard Jake’s breath hitch. That was when she harnessed all the confidence she had, tossed, and . . .
“Direct hit!” Gabe called from across the lawn as Laura sank the beanbag in the hole.
“Yes!” she said with victory and faced Jake. “You’re up. Good luck hitting that.”
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Jake smiled. “I love it when your competitive side comes out,” he said. He tossed a bag effortlessly, sinking his first shot. Laura’s shoulders deflated. Of course he was a pro at this, too. “You forget, though, I’ve got a lot of practice and plan to hit this”—he tossed again; it sank again—“all night long.”
Laura took a long drink of her beer. “You done yet?” Because she could read into the innuendo. But what bothered her the most was wondering if he was insinuating all night with her—or with Vicky.
“I’m just getting warm,” Jake said and paused to look her up and down while palming the last beanbag. She might like his touch, but Jake clearly liked what he saw. Time to let that competitive side of hers really breathe.
She took off her jacket, letting Hannah’s dress do what it did best—flatter the girls. Which Jake noticed. Laura took a deep, deep breath until the fabric stretched tight . . .
Was Jake drooling?
Good.
She slowly exhaled and took another drink of her beer, then pointed at the platform.
“You have one last shot there, ace,” she said.
Jake shook his head, refocused, shot, and . . .
