It occurs to me that, a month ago, I’d have laughed my ass off if someone had told me I’d prefer staying in, without the possibility of sex, to going out and hooking up with some girl.
Only what I really want to do is put my arm over Mac’s slim shoulders and draw her close to my side. I have the insane urge to run my finger down her blunt nose, then trace the heart-shaped curve of her upper lip. Rosebud lips. I’d heard the expression before but didn’t know what it meant until now. Mac’s lips are a perfect? rosy pink and plump, like she’s in the process of blowing a kiss even when relaxed. They kind of drive me crazy.
So does the way her nose wrinkles every time she laughs. Which is often.
It makes me disgruntled. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I so oversexed that I can’t just be friends with a girl without having the desire to try something? I want this friendship to work, want to be more than a guy driven by the urges of his dick.
Annoyed with myself, I sit back and cross my arms over my chest. “You got any video games?”
Mac tosses her crust onto the pizza box—and I grab it, not willing to waste perfectly good crust. She smirks at this but answers me. “Nope. Video games aren’t really my thing.”
“Figures. You probably avoid them because you suck at them.” I don’t think that, but it’s fun to egg her on.
Predictably Mac sits up straight and glares. “I rock at video games. When I so choose to play them.”
“‘When you so choose?’” I snicker. “The formality of your speech reveals the falsehood behind your claims, young Padawan.”
She turns in her seat, her knee knocking into my thigh. “You’re calling me a liar?” Pink washes over her cheeks and her dark eyes shine.
God, she’s pretty. So pretty it hurts my heart. I want to haul her onto my lap, settle down, and kiss her sexy little mouth until I can’t move my lips anymore. Since I can’t do that, I give her my best patronizing look. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just don’t have the reflexes necessary to compete.”
“I have the reflexes of a cat.”
I snort, totally enjoying myself now. “If you mean Garfield, then yeah.”
A couch pillow hits me in the face. I sputter and find myself nose to nose with Ivy whose eyes spark with challenge.
“You better run, Grayson, because in about five seconds I’m gonna have you pinned and begging for mercy.”
Hell yes, please. Make me beg. Take my stiff cock out and ride it until I cry. Because I’m in serious danger of tackling her, I jump up and back away as if it’s all a joke to me. “Bring it, Mackenzie.”
* * *
Ivy
I know Gray is teasing me. And it works. He’s going down—hard. I get to my feet and raise my fists. “First hit wins bonus points.”
“You’re so cute when you’re delusional, Mac.” He gives me a little come-hither gesture with his hand.
That smug… “Oh it is on like Atari Pong!”
Gray halts mid-lunge, his mouth falling open as a laugh sputters out. “It’s supposed to be ‘on like Donkey Kong.’”
“You say what you want. I say what I want.” I swing, but he ducks, and my fingertips catch air. Damn it.
His blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Okay, but why ‘Atari’ Pong? Why not just ‘it is on like pong?’”
“I like my descriptors.”
A full-bellied laugh erupts from him. Distraction enough that I bap the side of his big head. “Point!”
That shuts him up. Narrowing his eyes, he circles closer. “Bring it, Special Sauce.”
“Oh, Cupcake, you are so dead.”
We dance around each other, lunging and feinting. When his hand throws a playful swat toward the crown of my head, I twist and duck.
“That’s right,” I say, doing my best Ali, feet moving in an intricate pattern, “fear the wrath. Bob and weave. Bob and weave.”
Gray is cracking up now, his face red and his eyes tearing. He’s trying to concentrate but he’s laughing too hard. Which leaves him wide open on his left. Unfortunately I’m laughing too, and the rat fink keeps getting in taps on my head.
“Take that,” he says, tweaking my nose.