“You know, I’m actually so embarrassed that I wasn’t able to see you commando crawl out of my apartment because I just watched your ass in the air as you made you way around the bed,” he says, smirking.
I shove him.
“I didn’t say it was a bad view,” he says, slow and deliberate.
Is he flirting with me?
If so, pathetic. And yet, my mouth reacts involuntarily, acknowledging this flirty exchange between us. “Thank you, Idon’twork out.” I then proceed to crawl back to the safety of my side of the bed.
I have tried and failed three times now to spike Xander’s heart rate. With a second bottle of wine discarded, we’ve found one way to entertain ourselves until I pass out.
It’s a victimless crime. Harmless fun. Innocent trouble.
There’s no deep and meaningful. No chance we can stumble into vulnerable territory. And absolutely no way we’re connecting over these stupid games.
The first attempt was challenging him to a push-up contest. I went for pure physical exertion, but that motherfucker smashed out twenty push-ups while practically yawning. The second was rapid-fire math, hoping I could get his heart racing at arithmetic. He bombed out, but didn’t care. In fact, he laughed it off with a steady calmness. The true mark of someone who doesn’t just know himself but is comfortable with himself.
My third attempt was a classic. Scare him into a heart rate spike. I just botched the execution. Less Casper, more Ass Clapper the Friendly Ghost.
Once I’m settled, Xander perks up. “My turn.”
“Go for it. I’ve drunk enough to put down a small horse,” I say, hiking my thumb over my shoulder to my own heart rate monitor. It’s low and slow like a brisket. “There’s no way.”
“A challenge.” Xander rubs his hands together. Then he stops and looks me in the eye. How they shimmer, I have no idea. “And just to be clear about the rules?”
“The rules are, there are no rules,” I say, palming him off. “You spike my heart rate, you win.”
I watch him as his teeth scrape his bottom lip, deep in thought. “Which you won’t,” I say, a little too distracted by what I’m witnessing. I find his eyes. There’s mischief written all over his face.
“But I have.Twicenow,” he says, his register lowering an octave, and the drop in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. And I realize that he’s playing for keeps.
I snap my eyes forward, looking straight ahead. I will not lose. I will not lose. I will not lose.
“Is this within the rules?” Xander says, his breath hitting the shell of my ear. Oh God. How did he close the distance between us so quickly? How was I not prepared that he would use chemistry against me? How is it I’m letting out a “Mmmm” in response that’s a mixture between a yes and a moan?
Jesus fuck. Rein it in.
“I’m going to need verbal confirmation.” His warm breath hits my ear again, sobering up every single nerve ending, making them come alive. I feel his words all over my body. I squeeze my thighs together.
Shut it down.
“Yes. It’s within the rules, because it meansnothing,” I say, my voice grating on the words. I’m trying so hard to convince myself I feel nothing. The hardest. And just when I think I’ve got control, he pulls me into his lap.
And time slows.
My hands fall to his strong shoulders. My knees press into the mattress on either side of his hips. My eyes finally lock on his.
I listen for the heart rate monitor.
Nothing.
That’s probably because every single cell is diverted to the seam of my boxer shorts that are digging into me rightthere. The pressure, perfect.
“Nice try,” I breathe out but before I can claim any sort of victory in this game, his warm hands make their way to my waist, and he shifts me.
Slowly, deliberately, achingly, he grinds me into him. And I have no choice but to go with it because I feel everything.
I let out a slow, soft sigh as I settle into him.
