“Care to make that Scrabble game more interesting?”
Strip Scrabble.
And I’d said yes.
Oh. My. God.
Sitting on the rug across from Chaz, the flames at my back are nothing compared to the heat of anticipation simmering between us. I take another sip of wine—more like a gulp—for good measure.
“You sure about this, Blue?” He eyes the glass in my hand. “We can call it off.No pressure.”
“Chickening out?” I taunt, rejecting his gallant offer now that I’ve decided to take the leap.
“Not a chance.” He sets up the Scrabble board on the coffee table and shakes the bag of letters. “Simple rules, whenever you score under ten points or can’t play, you lose an article of clothing. Agreed?”
“Deal,” I say, under the protective layer of my hoodie. “This is my game so . . .”
“We’ll see.” His wicked grin flips my stomach. “I’m very motivated.”
The first few rounds fly by, and the competitive energy is fun and playful. I snag several high scores, including twenty-nine points forQuiz, which earns a groan from Chaz. He holds his own, staying above the threshold. On his next turn, he playsFiton a double letter score for ten points.
“Ooh, just squeaked by there,” I tease, feeling the buzz of wine in my veins.
“Hoping to get me naked, Blue?”
“That’s the object of the game,” I toss back with an angelic smile as if I’m not eager to discover where all that ink on his forearms leads.
I put downJoton a double word for a score of twenty. But my luck doesn’t hold. Too many vowels. Too few options. After a desperate play of Gee, his grin stretches wide.
“You know what this means,” he says, leaning back to watch me.
“Here goes,” I say, slowly peeling off one sock.
“A sock?” he frowns.
“It counts.” I rebut with a knowing grin. He pays me back in the next round when he scores eight points withHemand kicks off a sock too.
The game escalates after that. There are fewer opportunities. A bad draw forces me to shed my second sock, then my pants. The hoodie covers the tops of my thighs, but the rest is still bare.
“Damn, Blue,” he murmurs, his gaze tracking down the length of me.
“Those legs.”
My cheeks flush, liking his reaction—a lot. “Eyes on the board, Delgado. It’s your turn.”
He reluctantly drags his attention back to the game, and we both manage to stay above ten for two more rounds before he playsHotfor only six points.
“How poetic,” I say, leaning forward. “Off with it.”
Chuckling at my eagerness, he grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it over his head in one fluid motion.
I don’t gasp, but I want to. Of course, I had a vague idea of what he might look like, though the reality is so much better. Tattoos cover his thick arms and curve over his broad shoulders and chest, like a storyboard of his life. I long to trace the intricate designs with my fingertips down his torso to his stomach—softly rounded with squeezable love handles on the sides. Sexy, real, and approachable. His nipples are brown discs, slightly protruding, and there’s a small silver barbell through the left one. It catches the firelight and snags my breath.
“Keep eye-fucking me like that, and this game’s gonna be over.”
I lift my eyes, meeting his hot gaze.
Caught, I own it, mustering up my confidence. “I like what I see.”
