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Oh, my God. Welp, I could play this two ways—keep getting embarrassed or own it.
Following Josh to the couch, I sat down while he flipped on the TV. "Well," I said, "I hope you all enjoyed the show because that's as close as ya'll will be getting to my fine, beautiful pu—"
Josh coughed loudly. "Don't even say it," he croaked.
"Say what? Pudding?" Laughing, I noticed a tinge of pink on Josh's tan cheeks. "Are you actually blushing?" I asked, turning my body to face him.
"Me? God, no."
But his cheeks turned even redder, and it was so stinking cute. "You totally are. You! Total player who's been with like a million women."
He scoffed. "A million. Sheesh. What kind of guy do you think I am?"
"Okay. Maybe more like a hundred."
Shaking his head, he narrowed his eyes at me. "Not even close."
"Well, I'm sure your number is wayhigher than mine," I said, baiting him.
"Care to make a wager?" he drawled.
Oh, crap.
He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with a large bag, plus a piece of paper and two pens.
"So here's dinner," he said, placing the bag on the table then swatting my hand away as I reached to open it. "Before we eat, though, we still have five minutes until the game starts. So we're going to settle this little bet."
Sending my eyes to the ceiling, I sighed. "What is with you and all the bets?"
He shrugged. "It's just something my friends and I do for fun."
"Huh, fun. Okay." I couldn't even imagine what Josh's friends were like. "So what are we betting exactly?"
"A Lakers game when the season starts."
My jaw dropped. "A Lakers game? But that's so expensive."
"So? We'll be super rich by then with our number one podcast."
Laughing, I shook my head. "All right. So how are we going to do this exactly?"
He handed me a small piece of paper and a pen. "Just write it down and then we'll show it to each other at the same time. And you have to be honest."
"I will. But will you?"
"Totally." He held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."
I raised my eyebrows. "You were a boy scout?"
"Yeah, I was," he answered. "I mean, until I got kicked out for forging my dad's signature."
Bursting out in laughter, I was incapable of speech for a moment. "I don't even want to know."
"No, you don't." He laughed. "Okay. Let's do this."
"Fine."
Just like I used to do in grade school when I was writing a highly confidential note, I hid my paper with one hand and quickly scribbled down my number—my real number that I hadn't even told Devon.
