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“That I’m not interested.”
“Senators’ sons aren’t your type?”
I shrugged.
“What is your type?”
His tone had lowered, and I looked up to meet his intense, focused gaze. My eyes skittered over his tattoos, his strong jaw, the breadth of his shoulders.
“What’s your type?” I fired back.
“Big tits, big hair, big attitude.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “I think I’m going to burn your waffle on purpose.”
“You can burn my waffle any time you want.”
“Okay, how did you make that sexual?” I asked.
“That wasn’t sexual. You just read into what I said as being sexual. Are you thinking about sex?”
“No.”
“You ever think about sex?” he asked.
“For someone that needs caffeine in the morning, you’re far too on-the-nose for this conversation.”
Bones slid off the stool and sauntered toward me.
“What are you doing?” I demanded as he glided up behind me, pressing his strong chest against my back.
“I want to learn how to make waffles.”
“You were learning fine from over there.”
His large hand went to my hip, and I felt him turn his head so that his nose brushed against my hair. “I have bad eyesight.”
“Then get glasses…”
“You like men who wear glasses? You’re into hot nerds, aren’t you? I know the quadratic formula.”
“You do not,” I said with a laugh.
“I do. My math teacher taught it to us in a song. I still know the song, I still know the formula, but I have no idea what the fuck to use it for. By the way, your nipples are hard.”
“They are not!” I lied.
“They so are. If I’d known that math turned you on, I would’ve mentioned it sooner.”
I arched my back just a bit and bumped my ass against him.
He sucked in a harsh breath.
“Prove it,” I stated.
“Prove what? That being near you makes me hard?”
His words sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine. “No, I mean prove that you know the quadratic formula.”
