Trey’s head drops between his arms in defeat as I lay down my cards, a wicked grin on my face. “Gin.” My heart pounds in my chest. We’ve crossed into dangerous territory, and I can’t believe it was me who suggested strip gin. I haven’t played this since college, and for good reason. I suck at it. The only reason I won that hand was pure luck. I paid no attention to the game, too distracted by Trey.
The alcohol has made me brave and stupid.
So stupid.
He stands slowly and grips the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. My mouth waters—literally waters—as I shamelessly check him out. Add “horny” to the list. Brave, stupid, and horny.
I knew he went to the gym, butdamn, he’s cut. Every ab muscle flexes perfectly, and that V disappearing behind his Cinch jeans and trophy belt buckle has me shifting in my seat. I’ve always found him attractive but seeing him shirtless is a whole new level.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been checking him out when it dawns on me—he hasn’t sat back down. My face heats, turning red as my eyes meet his, and he has the biggest grin on his face.
This motherfucker.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. He disarmed me with pineapple pizza after a long day at work, and now he’s using his playboy charm and underwear-model-worthy body to reel me in. He probably lost on purpose.
Well, it won’t work.I might look and appreciate it, but Iwon’ttouch.No, sir. No touching for me.
“If you’re done checking me out, it’s your turn to deal.”
I look down at my cards, avoiding the panty-melting smile on his face. He sits, and I look up at him. Meeting his eyes, I slowly run my tongue across my lips.
His eyes go wide. He looks nearly feral.
If he wants to play dirty, so can I.“Thought you were good at cards, but look at you now. Put clothes on the line and you choke.”
“I’ll give you something to choke on.” He winks and starts gathering the cards.
I try to hold it back, but I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, and his own shoulders silently shake with laughter. I discard for the sixth time when Trey knocks his knuckles on the table.What the hell, no way he’s knocking this soon. My hand is complete shit, I haven’t even had the chance to set anything up.
He lays his cards down, and I peek over. I definitely lost.
I don’t hesitate before removing my left sock and throwing it in his face. He laughs and bends over to check out my toes, waggling his eyebrows.
I squeal. “Don’t, you freaking weirdo.”
“Just returning the favor. You have cute toes.”
“You got a foot fetish you haven’t told me about?”
“Nope, it’s justyourtoes.”
We might be playing a dangerous game tonight, but I can’t deny we’ve grown closer these last few weeks. I’ve tried to let myself relax around him, and now we’ve developed our own friendship outside of Knox and Kacey or gathering at the ranch. Trey is funny, smart, kind, and thoughtful. He’s always doing random little things for me, like making me my favorite pizza. That stupid pizza had my stomach doing flips.
But I worry I’ll get too used to him being around, his help around the house—which I’m slowly, reluctantly starting to let him do—or just his presence in a room. I push those thoughts aside for tonight. He’s here now. I can worry about those thoughts tomorrow.
He knocks on the next hand, but I’ve been waiting, biding my time. I lay my cards down, showing him I undercut him.
“What the shit? You did that on purpose!” he accuses.
I shrug, happy to have gotten the best of him. Me and my one sock.
“Read ‘em and weep, bull rider. Now strip.” I snap my fingers.
Grumbling, he undoes his belt and pulls it from the loops.
I don’t have a therapist. Based on my life choices and childhood, I probably need one. But right now, it’s a good thing I don’t, because I can’t imagine they’d enjoy spending an hour each week listening to me detail all the dirty thoughts I have about my roommate.
I’m down both socks, and Trey is in nothing but his dark-red boxers as he lays his cards down. “Gin.”
