“I promise I won’t be like Noah. I won’t pull a muscle or whatever was much, much worse.”
Does she think I’m stupid? Whenever a woman speaks in that tone of voice, something worse is bound to follow. “No.”
“Come on. Besides, it might be a fun couple time.”
“A fun couple time?” As far as I’m concerned, the only fun couple time we can have is horizontally in the bedroom. Or vertically in the shower. But not on a tennis court.
“We’re married. We should try to get to know each other and get along.” She flashes a hopeful smile. “Make the best of the situation.”
“I don’t think crying and gnashing your teeth because you lost is considered a fun couple time.”
I made the mistake of playing with one of my girlfriends once, and it didn’t end well. She screamed like a banshee, attracting a lot of embarrassing attention. And then she developed a migraine for two weeks. I finally dumped her because I got tired of her snit. I wasn’t going to play another game with her, and no, I wasn’t going to lose on purpose, just to make her feel better about herself. It wasn’t my fault tennis wasn’t her game. Or that her sportsmanship left so much to be desired.
“Couples break up over stuff like that.” I wish I could reach into Griffin’s mind and pull up relevant stats. I don’t need Luce throwing a temper tantrum. If half the stuff I read about her is true, she’s going to be a sore loser. And I never throw a game.
“Well. If your ego can’t handle it…” Luce shrugs.
I snort. “That’s so transparent, you make Noah look like a CIA operative.”
“This same Noah who pulled a hamstring?”
“Yes. He could make a wine glass look opaque.” I sigh. “All right, fine. But no crying. No bitching. No whining. No screaming.”
“I’ll try not to embarrass you.”
“And no migraines and headaches or whatever women develop when they’re mad but don’t want to admit they’re mad.”
“Wow.”
“Wowisn’t an agreement.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. And the same conditions apply to you.”
“I won’t lose, so it’s a moot point.”
Amusement ripples over her. She probably thinks I’m some weekend dabbler. “If you’re that confident, you want to up the stakes?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“What are you wagering?”
I narrow my eyes. “If by some miracle you win, I’ll get on my knees and go down on you until you come three times.”
She flushes, but the sparks in her eyes betray her. “Fine, even though it sounds like a reward—for you.”
“Believe me, it’ll be a reward for you.If you’re worthy.”
The slight smile on her pretty face says she’s more than worthy, regardless of the outcome of our match. Her confidence is hot.
“All right. And ifyouwin,” she says, “unlikely as that is, I’ll do the same for you. But you only get to come once. Even though you’ll be begging for more.”
Chapter 17
Lucienne
Sebastian picked the wrong girl to make that wager with.
Although I didn’t tell him, I was a nationally ranked tennis player when I was in high school and college. I didn’t purse it beyond that because turning pro wasn’t the path my mom or grandfather had in mind for me. To be honest, even if they wanted me to see how far I could go, I wouldn’t have wanted to. There’s not enough time in the day to train to be a world-class athlete and run Peery Diamonds effectively.
