Vanessa quickly weighed the pros and cons of participating in what boiled down to a pissing match involving alcohol with the man she’d recently decided was off-limits. In the Pros column: a break from work, good tequila, and taking Mr. Arrogance down a peg or two by drinking him under the table. In the Cons column: strong probability of getting drunk, thereby skewing her good judgment, and Mr. Arrogance taking her downtown to Shag Town. And that would be bad.
On the other hand, it’d be drunken sex, and drunken sex was never about emotions or touchy-feely crap. It was crazy, awkward moves performed by inept, half-dressed individuals who ended up with bruises from falling into lamps and who almost never had anything more than a bare recollection of the night’s events. Therefore, even if worse came to worst, it still wouldn’t interfere with the new keep-her-distance rule. Perfect, she thought, smiling to herself.
Moving her files off to the side, Vanessa situated herself sideways on the couch to face her opponent. “We’ll see who goes down, Maris. Pour.”
Jackson uncorked the bottle, poured the tequila in the shot glasses, then picked one up and waited for her to do the same.
Without hesitation, she raised her glass, said, “Salut,” and tossed it back.
“No salt or lime chaser?”
“I don’t need that stuff, but don’t let that stop you. Some people can’t handle the bite of tequila. I promise I won’t judge.”
An evil grin curled the edges of his lips. “I didn’t order the extra stuff for me, princess.” After throwing the clear liquid down his throat, he added, “At least not for that.”
And with that cryptic statement hanging between them, Jackson took her glass and poured them each another round.
…
“What do you say we make things a little more interesting?”
Vanessa raised a brow as she poured them both their next shot. “That depends on what you mean by interesting.”
“A harmless get-to-know-you game.”
“A drinking game?” She actually looked excited about the prospect for a whole two seconds. Then she narrowed her eyes, nearly twining those long sable lashes. “Does it involve losing articles of clothing?”
He held up his right hand, “I swear the loser is not required to remove any of his or her clothing.” Said the spider to the fly.
Her shoulders relaxed and she leaned in slightly. “Okay, how do we play?”
“I’ll make a statement about myself. It can be true or completely fabricated. You then have to guess which and say ‘true’ or ‘bullshit.’ If you’re right, you get to pick a place on your body that I do a shot from. If you’re wrong, I get to pick the spot. Then we switch roles.”
Vanessa opened her mouth but nothing came out. She closed it. Tried again. Finally, she shook her head. “I’ve played a lot of drinking games in my day, but I’ve never heard of anything like this. Dare I ask what it’s called?”
Jax grinned. “Bullshit Body Shots. Reid and I made it up with our girlfriends in high school.”
“I have no doubt,” she said wryly.
“C’mon, V. You’re a lawyer, and according to you, a damn good one. You should be able to smell my bullshit from a mile away. Unless of course you’re not as good as you claim.”
Yeah, he was baiting her. Again. He seemed to be making it a habit with her. And even though she clearly recognized them for what they were, she couldn’t resist accepting his challenges. A trait he loved about her.
Finally, with a roll of her eyes, she said, “Go ahead and start.”
Game on. He’d start them off easy. “I was all-conference in wrestling my senior year in high school.”
“True. Your sister told me that forever ago.”
He figured as much, but he wanted her comfortable. And unsuspecting. “Where am I doing the shot?”
She made a show of thinking it over, then held out the inside of her wrist. He knew she’d go with somewhere safe. Or at least what she thought would be safe.
Grabbing the saltshaker in one hand and her wrist in the other, he kept eye contact with her as he brought his face slowly closer to his target. He licked a languid path across the soft skin, feeling her strong pulse speed up against his tongue. Vanessa’s pupils grew larger as he added a dash of salt, then licked it off in the same manner as before. He threw back his shot, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat.
When she tried to pull her hand back—most likely assuming that was the end of its use—he held firm. “Ah-ah-ah. I still need this.”
“For what?”
He didn’t answer her with words but took one of the lime wedges and lightly squeezed it—enough for several drops to land and stream over the edges of her wrist—and then finished the process with an open-mouthed kiss to suck off the remaining juice. Then he released her.
“That’s not…” Her voice broke slightly and she cleared her throat to try again. “That’s not how body shots are done.”
“They are in this game. Your turn, Viper.”
Reminding her of her tough-girl persona did the trick. She composed herself, donned her game face, and took her turn. “I grew up in a really shitty neighborhood in Queens, New York.”
“Bullshit. You don’t have the accent.”