We break apart, and Wolfe gives a double thumbs-up.
Our apartment doesn’t get as wild as other nights, thankfully, but with a much smaller crowd, bad decisions are made. Somehow, we end up in the library in a smallish group, playingstrip poker. There’s four girls, me, Wolfe, and Savage, Solace, and Lovelace.
Wolfe materialized a fucking cigar (not lit) and some big ass glasses which he’s claiming help no one watch his eyes. He’s down to just socks and boxers that leave so very little to the imagination, so the glasses can’t be doing much to help him win.
I throw down a straight flush and smirk because I’m still in my jeans.
“Well, I’m fucked.” Savage stands up and shoves his pants off.
The rest go around laying their hands down and removing various pieces of clothing. One of the girls pulls off her top to reveal nothing under it, and a couple of the guys cheer her on. She turns toward Wolfe, and I glance at him, expecting him to be looking at her, but he’s not. He’s looking right at me, with the stupid glasses pushed down so I can tell.
I smile, cheeks getting a bit pink.
“Wolfe,” the girl says when he doesn’t even glance her way.
“What’s up?” he asks, eyes staying on me.
She huffs and sits down, clearly pouting.
I can’t help but grin wider.
“I think it’s time we teamed up against Archangel.” Wolfe pushes his glasses back into place as he picks up the cards to deal.
I roll my eyes. “Not my fault my grandad taught me to play.”
Wolfe and I both lose the next round, and he stands, putting his foot on the table to suggestively pull a sock down, which of course the women eat up.
“Two can play at that game.” I pull up one of my pant legs to take off a sock, too.
“Fuck no! Pants first.” Wolfe wags his finger at me.
“Why?” I ask playfully.
“Because fair is fair! Right?” He glances around to get the support of everyone else. They take up his point, agreeing with him.
I slide my hand up my leg, stopping at my button, and pause. His eyes are still on me, and it almost feels like we are the only two people in the world. I pop the button to cheers, but not from Wolfe. He’s silent, but his attention is fixed. I slide my zipper down, taking my time revealing the Lycra briefs I’m in.
Wolfe holds my gaze for what feels like an eternity, but finally he slowly drops it as I push my jeans off. Warmth spreads through my chest, and I shouldn’t read into this. But I want it so badly.
They gang up on me in the next round, too, and I know I’m losing, but he is, too, and he’s down to just boxers. When the cards are revealed, I stand up and tuck my fingers into my briefs, even though I have another sock.
Wolfe cocks his head in a silent question. I tug one side down with my thumb. His lip curls, but he swallows back the sound.
“I guess I have to take this off,” I say to a silent room.
Wolfe stands, and I think he’s going to shove his boxers off. My heart is in my throat, and my stomach drops out.
Please don’t.
He’s not shy about nudity—he’s been naked after strip poker before.
I hold my breath, sick of the game I started.
But he puts his hands on his hips, leaving his boxers where they are. “I think?—”
“Spit it out,” Solace encourages with a gleam in his eyes.
I’ve never wanted to punch one of my own teammates more.
