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This time, he smirked. “Only pussies get sentimental over songs.” Asking him questions was like trying to break some kind of complicated code.
“Favorite movie?”
“Anything with guns, cars, and explosions. You know that.” He tweaked my nose like a child.
“Yeah, I thought maybe your tastes might’ve changed in the last few years.”
“Why? Don’t you still watch those silly nineties teen movies?”
“Hey, don’t make fun.” I nudged him in the stomach. “At least they have a plot.”
“A boring, unrealistic plot,” he scoffed.
I shook my head. “I guess we’ll agree to disagree.”
“I guess we will.” His eyes slowly roved over my face and zeroed in on my mouth. “Do I get to ask questions, too?”
I looked away and picked at the hem of my shirt. “If you want.”
He slid his hand over my hip, down my pelvis, until he was strumming the fabric covering my core. “How many have touched you here?”
“Seriously? You lead with that question? I started out with easy ones.”
He gripped me tighter. “Your favorite color is pink. Your favorite song is ‘Clair de Lune.’ And your favorite movie is10 Things I Hate About You.”
My jaw slacked. “How did you know?”
“I know more about you than you think. Now, answer the question.”
“You already know the answer. Only you.” I narrowed my eyes reproachfully. “I could ask you how many you’ve slept with, but I’m afraid we don’t have enough fingers combined to count them off.”
He shook his head. “There weren’t that many. Ask me how many girls I’ve kissed.”
I rolled my eyes because I didn’t really want to know that either. “How many?”
“Just you.”
“Seriously?” I raised my head in skepticism.
He nodded slowly, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. “I never wanted to kiss anyone because it seemed too intimate of an act.”
“But you kiss me all the time.”
“Exactly.” He leaned in and took over my lips with his. “How many have kissed you?”
My mind went back to the day when we first kissed, and he demanded if I’d had better. I’d kissed three other guys besides him during my time at St. Mary’s, and they were all forgettable. “Three.”
A rumble escaped from his throat. “Who are they?”
“No one you’d know, and I’m not going to answer questions if you’re going to get angry and threaten retribution.”
“Fine. I won’t,” he said like a stubborn child.
I turned around until we were facing each other. I drew my finger down his chest. “How did you end up choosing football?”
“I don’t know. I started playing with friends during recess in elementary school, and I liked it. I guess growing up in Texas had a lot to do with it.” Then he smirked. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of good at it.”
Smiling at him. “You’re passable.”
