“Your laugh,” I blurt out. “It's nice.”
“That's not a question.”
“Fine. Why don't you laugh more often?”
He studies me for a moment. “Not much to laugh about in my line of work.”
“Bullshit. You're surrounded by college boys who probably do stupid shit constantly.”
“True,” he concedes. “But laughing undermines my authority.”
“God forbid the scary coach show he's human.” I roll my eyes. “Your turn.”
“Why marketing?”
“I like figuring out what makes people tick. What they want, how to give it to them.” I meet his eyes directly. “I'm good at reading people.”
“Are you?” His voice drops lower. “What am I thinking right now?”
I lean forward, close enough that I can see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. “You're thinking about how much you want to take this dress off me.”
His pupils dilate. “Lucky guess.”
“Not luck. Skill.” I sit back, satisfied with the heat in his gaze. “Your first kiss?”
“Thirteen,” he answers with a hint of a smile. “Sarah Thompson. Behind the bleachers after a junior hockey game. She tasted like bubble gum and braces.”
“Cute. Was she your first girlfriend too?”
“No. That came later. Fifteen. Jessica Miller. Lasted about three months before she dumped me for the baseball captain.” He takes another sip of wine. “What about you? First boyfriend?”
“Miguel Santos. Sophomore year of high school. Dad hated him because he rode a motorcycle.” I grin at the memory. “Which of course, only made him more appealing.”
“Of course,” Beckham mutters, shaking his head. “How long did that last?”
“Six months until I caught him making out with my lab partner.” I shrug. “Your first time?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Getting personal now, aren't we?”
“That's the point of the game, Kingston. Answer the question.”
“Seventeen. Summer before senior year. Girl from my neighborhood.” He holds my gaze. “Yours?”
“Eighteen. Prom night. Super cliché, I know.” I lean forward. “First serious relationship?”
“College. Lasted two years until she decided shecouldn't handle my schedule with hockey.” He runs a finger around the rim of his glass. “You?”
“Junior year of college. Jensen. Marketing major like me. We dated for almost a year before I realized I was more in love with the idea of him than the actual person.” I tilt my head. “Biggest turn-on?”
His eyebrow raises. “You really want to go there?”
“I asked, didn't I?”
He leans in, voice dropping to that rumble that makes heat pool between my legs. “Confidence. Someone who knows what they want and isn't afraid to ask for it.” His eyes burn into mine. “Someone who pushes back.”
I swallow hard. “Good answer.”
“And yours?”
