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Grr. I can’t wait until he’s got less clothes on.
When I get my tiles, I sort them from A to Z as I always do. And score! I got a blank tile too. Maybe I’ll finally be able to form the word ‘alphabetization’—I’ve always wanted to do that.
As we begin, sadly, a chance to play ‘alphabetization’ doesn’t turn up, but I have an even better word: ‘psychoanalyzing.’
“Nice.” Making a big show out of it, Evan slides off his shoe.
Crap. He’s wearing socks.
“Coward.” I glance at his pants.
If I were sober enough to psychoanalyze myself, I’d ponder why I’m so eager for another high score. Is this objectification of Evan? Oh, hey, ‘objectification’ would be a great word to use—if only I could find the letters. Either way, I get lucky again and score hugely with ‘mischaracterize.’
Evan slides off his other shoe with relish.
Is he happy to be losing? If so, I’ve mischaracterized him.
We resume playing, and Evan somehow gets a word that I’ve never seen used in the game: ‘ventriloquizing.’
I narrow my eyes. “Is that even a legal word?”
Evan points at his dog. “Dude, dudette, you should raise the stakes and play for peanut butter. Or butt sniffs.” He locks eyes with me. “What I just did was ventriloquizing.”
“Fine.” Copying his earlier show, I take off my shoe. I do a decent job of shoe-shedding, I think, because he looks at my bare foot with such hunger you’d think it were a naked boob.
We play head-to-head for a while until I get him with my favorite word thus far: ‘demythologizing.’
Now we’re talking. Evan takes off his sock, exposing a strong, manly foot.
Hmm. Who told me they find men’s feet hideous—Jolene or Dorothy? Either way, Evan’s sexy foot is actively demythologizing that claim as we speak.
I wonder, is it safe to ride a foot, sexually? Or would that lead to an itchy vag? Asking for a friend.
Utilizing some cat ninja skills, Sally appears on the table in front of me and stares me down. Crap. Between this and all the foot musings, I’ve accidentally set up Evan for ‘hypnotizability.’ Maybe I have a strong hypnotizability, and the cat is using it against me to assist her owner.
Either way, I take off my other shoe.
Evan’s eyes gleam as he stares at it.
Can two people develop a foot fetish out of nowhere? Maybe via the likes of T. gondii, the cat parasite, except a different one that transmits itself when you lick (or ride) someone’s feet? Maybe it first lived on the foot of a bigfoot?
Wait.
I look at my tiles and at the board.
Score! I play ‘cryptozoologist.’
Evan arches an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
I lift my chin. “A person who searches for cryptids, which are creatures like the yeti and the Loch Ness Monster.”
Evan undoes the top button of his shirt. “Sure, it is.”
By all the yetis… Evan slowly and teasingly undoes the next button and the one below that.
I fight the urge to rip the shirt off his body because that’s not very lady-like. After what feels like an hour of hormonal torture, he takes the shirt off and drops it on the floor.
Wow. I’ve seen him shirtless before, but it’s like he’s gotten hotter, and somehow even more ripped. Also, is it the alcohol in my system, or does Evan’s sixpack somehow have ten sections—each begging me to lick it? At least the number of pecs is still two, as expected, but they look steelier than before, more defined. Even his nipples are?—
