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She shook her head. “Nope. Too weird.”
I took her arm and bent it, suggestively sticking my finger in between. “I don’t know . . . could be kinky.” I waggled my brows and laughed at her scrunched-up face.
“No way! Never would happen.”
“Then what?”
Marisa grinned like the cat who ate the canary. “Esophagus,” she said with all sincerity.
“Excuse me?”
She repeated herself.
“Esophagus. I don’t get it,” I told her in all honesty.
“You know?” She ran her hand down her throat. “Esophagus. Like”—she made the motion of giving a blow job.
“Oh. My. God,” I said, completely dumbfounded.
She was snorting with laughter. Her cheeks were blushing.
“Wow. Okay, okay,” I said. “I can’t believe it. I have to forfeit. You beat me.”
“Told ya I would!”
I snatched her to me and kissed her deeply. When we came up for air, I told her,
“You win. You are filthy.” I waggled my brows at her. “My dirty, filthy girl.”
“What do I win?”
“Whatever you want.”
Her face split into a huge mega-watt smile. “I want to go for a ride.”
“I like where this is going,” I teased.
She pushed playfully at my chest. “On your bike, smartass.”
We walked back to my place and grabbed our jackets. Marisa changed her shoes to slip-on sneakers but was wearing exactly what she had been at the beach.
“You said you wanted to take a ride.”
“I know.”
“On my bike.”
“I know.”
“You’re wearing a dress.”
“I know.”
Was she purposefully trying to sound like a parrot? “Are you gonna say anything more thanI know?”
She smirked. “I know . . . everything.”
“Cute.”
