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“Do you wanna play a game?” Josh held up a deck of cards when she returned. He’d repositioned himself on the very edge of his side of the couch. Either he wanted to escape her lustful gaze or—she clenched her thighs—the dark was getting to him too.
“What kind of game?” Clara choked on her tongue. Surely he wouldn’t, couldn’t, suggest strip poker.
“I thought I could teach you Slap Jack,” he said, the picture of innocence.
A few hands in, Clara knew Josh was cheating, but she didn’t know how.
She pouted into her glass of wine. She had not expected Josh to roundly trounce her. “Are you hiding cards under your butt?”
“That statement is incredibly offensive. First of all, a Conners never cheats. We’re incredibly honest and upstanding. Second of all, and more importantly, there’s no way my ass is big enough to hide cards. I’ve put in hundreds of hours of rigorous thrusting to get these tight buns.”
Clara licked a drop of wine off her lips. She had a hard enough time sitting on this couch, in the candlelight, facing Josh, their knees almost touching, without him mentioning sex. Or his tight ass for that matter.
She reminded herself that Josh wasn’t Everett. Like at all. Somewhere around sophomore year, Everett had decided that big emotions weren’t cool. He committed himself to a “mellow way of life.” He never cried at movies or laughed so hard that beer came out of his nose. Josh, on the other hand, seemed to naturally suck all the juice out of every moment. When Josh ate something that tasted good, he threw his head back, closed his eyes, and groaned. Clara bit her lip thinking about it. “Just deal the cards.”
He did as she bade him, shuffling with an impressive flick of his wrist. Clara hadn’t anticipated how much this game would make her focus on his hands. Perhaps she was losing so badly because she couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways he’d used those long fingers to make her moan? Knowing she’d barely scratched the surface of his sexual talents made her a little crazy. According to that article, he was the Michael Jordan of cunnilingus.
Clara lost another round.
“Good thing we’re not playing for money, huh?” He gave her an impish smile.
She squirmed. Get a hold of yourself. She was doing the same thing as all of those other people who treated Josh like a piece of meat. If he were an investment banker or a plumber, she wouldn’t be imagining ripping off all her clothes and begging him to take her. His illicit profession had warped her brain into some kind of frenzy.
“How many glasses of wine have you had?”
“Two?” Oh no. Was she drooling?
“You’re all rosy.” Josh brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Do you want me to grab you some water?”
Clara’s hands flew to her cheeks. “No. I’m fine. Must be feverish with competitive spirit.”
“I’ve gotta admit.” Josh leaned forward. “I like watching you lose.”
Heat spread across her chest at his gravelly tone. “That’s a horrible thing to say!”
“No, I mean it’s cute.”
Clara brightened.
“You get all pouty like a little kid.”
Oh. Like a kid. Of course. “I am not pouting. I’m concentrating. This is how my face looks when I concentrate.”
Josh shot a glance at the ledger. “Maybe you should concentrate less.”
Clara handed him her discarded cards with more force than necessary. “This game is rigged.”
“I offered to give you a handicap.” Josh tossed a handful of popcorn at her.
The soft kernels bounced off her nose and she gasped. “You’ve got an evolutionary advantage. Your arms are longer, making it easier for you to reach the cards, and your hands are bigger, meaning you can flip through your stack faster.”
Josh laughed. “Your ability to rationalize knows no bounds.”
“Maybe we should switch to gin rummy?”
Josh pulled a face. “Are you kidding? How about Texas hold ’em?”
Clara rose up to her knees on the couch in indignation. “What’s wrong with gin rummy? I used to play all the time with my grandfather.”
