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I bring my head close to hers, seduced by the mixture of peppermint on her lips and pineapple seltzer on her breath. I touch her bottom lip, tugging it down just a bit, just so I can hear her breath hitch again. She doesn’t disappoint, and it damn near burns me alive.
The pad of my thumb dips inside her mouth, and her lids flutter closed. When she closes her lips around my thumb, my cock springs to life. A delicious vibration penetrates my thumb. I can’t hear it, but it’s like she’s humming inside her mouth.
“How about we skip the game and get what you really want?” I ask, mouth over lips.
We don’t kiss, but our lips graze in phantom touches. This girl wants me as much as I want her, but there’s something holding her back, so as much as I’d like to be buried deep inside her, I’ll take it a little slower than knowing her ten minutes.
“And what is it that I want?” she asks, tilting her head and lifting her eyebrow quickly.
“Condom.”
She stares at me with impossibly wide eyes, assuming I meant acondom to use.
I repeat, “Condom.” I know she doesn’t have one. The way she’s dressed, she may as well have a chastity belt on. But at this point, I’m not sure if I want to win or lose this little game. It would be interesting to find out what she would want from me.
“Don’t worry. I have one if we need it.”
Her chest heaves, and mine feels like a thundering herd of horses racing through my veins. The last time I felt this kind of tension, I was a sophomore at the other college. I thought this part of me was dead.
“Three out of four. You can only miss one more.”
“A book.”
My freckled competitor’s brows take a deep dive towards her nose, and she chews on the bottom lip I just caressed. “Be more specific.”
A gruff laugh comes from the pit of my stomach. She wants to play, we’ll play. The fact that she brought a tote bag of a purse to a bonfire where most girls only have their phone and keys indicates she’s not a party girl. She’s much more serious. The kind of girl who spends most of her days in the college library. But based on the way her breath hitched when I touched her, she hasn’t been sexually active.
Will she really be twenty-two? Is she a virgin?
“Romance. The kind that makes you dream of having a man do all the things you’re too bashful to ask for. One where the hero is morally gray or maybe dominant in the bedroom.” I walk my fingers over the top of her brown leather tote. “May I?”
I may as well have a camera because the look on her face will be etched into my mind forever. Disbelief shadows her pupils as she nods. I pull out a paperback of a hockey sports romance. I laugh, but she doesn’t know why.
“Stop making fun of me.”
“Baby, I wouldn’t dare. I’m glad women are reading this and finally finding the courage to ask for what they want out of sex.”
She stammers, “That’s not why I… I… read it. There’s a plot. Like this one where she’s in love with her brother’s best friend, and she can’t be with him because he has girls hanging on him all the time, and she feels second best. But then he… oh, never mind.”
“Oh, I know what we’re going to do if I win,” I say as I sit up, picking my beer off the glass and taking a long pull out of the dark green bottle.
Now I have to decide which one of us will win. If she wins, I’ll do whatever she wants, but I’m hoping it’s to read the book. If I win, she takes off her sweater, and I pull her into me. Not wanting to take a chance, on losing her tonight, I say, “Postie notes.”
“Did you dig through my bag?” she asks, confused.
“No, but your book is annotated. Any girl who has an annotated book with her, must read whenever she gets a chance, and thus carries the sticky flags or whatever you call them.”
“Double or nothing.” She gives me an ear-splitting grin.
“No, Cookie. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Take the sweater off.” As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I remember where I met her before. McShane’s bar, but she doesn’t seem to remember our run-in. Sad really, I was a semi-different guy then, drinking too much, a carousel of girls anytime I wanted. But since the season started, my focus is hockey—until now.
She huffs as she wiggles to sit up. “I should go.”
Does she remember?
“Wait. So, you’re not going to hold up your end of the bargain?” I ask as I grab the hem of her sweater and tug a little too hard. As she falls back on my chest, her braid slaps me in the face, and my nose buries in her neck. Her sweet scent wafts through my nose, and I’m not sure if it’s her shampoo or perfume. “Sorry, I tugged too hard. You’re light under that sweater.”
My hands glide under her sweater, and I’m pleasantly surprised she has on another layer, which adds to her sweetness. She was attempting to be bad, but she knew all along that if she took off her sweater, she would be cold but safe.
