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“I don’t have time,” is my answer to that, but she rolls her eyes.
“You better find time before you’re left with nothing to remember your life outside of the rink.”
She sends me one last look before heading into the house, leaving me to ponder what she just said. As I sit there, picking at the steak that is ice-cold now, I can’t help but wonder if she’s right.
If they are all right…
Looking across the Solo cups at my competitor, I move the Ping-Pong ball in my hand and I know I have to win.
No. That I will win.
Baylor may think she can win at everything she does, but she doesn’t realize that I live in basically a frat house and we do this almost every weekend. Plus, she doesn’t know exactly how badly I want to pick her brain and figure out what makes her tick. Or how badly I want to lay her down and hear her scream my name.
The struggle. It’s real, folks.
With her hands on her hips, she watches me, almost like she is calculating how she is going to beat me. Trying to be one step ahead of me. Maybe to some people that would annoy them; to me, it turns me the fuck on. Pressing myself into the table to hide my growing hard-on, I eye her as I decide where to shoot.
“We playing, or are you going to stand there and stare at me?” she calls across the table, crossing her arms under her breasts, giving me a great view.
But. I. Have. To. Ignore. It.
Or I’m gonna jump over the table and tackle her.
Licking my lips, I say, “Trying to figure out how I’m gonna console you once I win.”
With a bored look, she says, “Don’t worry about that ’cause you aren’t winning.”
“Oh, but I will,” I say, sending her a grin before I shoot, landing the ball in the middle cup.
Fishing the ball out of the cup, she picks up the cup and downs it like a dude. Not like a girl who sips her beer and babysits it. When she finishes, she puts the cup down and sends the balls across the table to me, meeting my gaze.
I’m impressed and a bit scared.
This girl keeps proving that she can give me a run for my money.
“Like beer?”
“Sure,” she answers. “I’m more of a Jack kind of girl though.”
“Hmm, me too. When I win, we’ll crack a bottle open while we talk.”
She laughs before setting me with a look. “Aw, hoping for a cute little share-our-feelings moment where at the end we start to make out and then have sex?”
She presses her hands under her chin in an adorable, innocent way, and I glare at her patronizing manner. She’s giving off a very annoyed, almost angry vibe. I don’t know what is going on, but she isn’t the girl from the bathroom. No, someone’s pissed her off, or she’s fighting so hard not to want me. Either way, she’s screwed. I’m getting under her skin, and she’s gonna like it.
I shrug as I mock that I’m thinking for a moment before looking over at her and nodding. “You know, that’s exactly what I want. Sounds fun, eh?”
I might have added the eh to be a dick, and by the way her eyes cut to slits as she drops her hands, I can tell she doesn’t appreciate my tribute to her Canadian ways.
“Not gonna happen, buddy. Now shoot, so you can miss and I can win.”
“So full of yourself,” I say before shooting it into the cup beside the one I just scored on. “You see, I’m winning right now.”
“For now,” she says, sending the ball my way before downing the cup and looking over at me.
Smiling, I stretch my shoulders before shaking my arms out. It’s all for show though. “I have to say, this tough-guy act you’ve got is turning me on.”
She doesn’t smile as she holds my gaze. “Well, turn yourself off because once I win, you’ll never see me again.”
