“Okay…” She’s skeptical but she’s willing. I’m down with that. I may not get laid tonight but I am going to have some fun. This girl intrigues me and I’m enjoying just hanging with her, to be honest. “You go first.”
I smile. “I once got caught having sex by my coach. I have a pierced cock. I once turned orange.”
She blinks those deep, delicious brown eyes before letting them drop directly to my cock. I wiggle my eyebrows when she looks back up. “You… pierced it?”
“Is that your guess?”
“Umm… yeah. Sure.”
I hand her the Fireball. “Drink.”
She looks so relieved I laugh. “I thought about getting it pierced. They say the pleasure is off-the-charts, even made an appointment once but chickened out because my brother Nash kept sending me stories about infections and one dude had to have his penis amputated.”
“One dude out of millions has an extreme issue and you chicken out?” She looks adorably judgy right now.
“One amputated dick is one too many, Fireball,” I say in a deadly serious tone that has her bursting into giggles. The sound makes my cock jump. It’s hot. She is hot. So fucking hot. “The truth is my skin once turned a very pale orange color because of a natural supplement I was taking. It lasted over a month and I was only fifteen and wanted to die.”
Her giggles subside. “Fifteen is a tough time to be orange. I’m sorry.”
“Your turn,” I say and wait as she thinks way too hard about what she’s going to say. “How about throwing some names out?”
I don't know why I want to know her name so badly. I've slept with people whose names I never got before. It's not ideal but it's not a deal breaker. She stares at the half-empty mini bottle of booze in her hand. Her nails aren't painted, which is different. They're perfectly shaped and glossy like they have clear polish on them, but most girls I pick up in bars have brightly painted nails. Some of the dudes too. Her fingers are long and narrow like a piano player and she doesn't have a single visible tattoo—even in the short dress she's got on. I'm still hoping I get to discover if there are hidden ones.
She nibbles her bottom lip again, but then tucks her dark silky hair behind her ears and steadies her gaze on me. “My name is Olivia. My name is JoAnne. My name is Callie.”
I study her. What does she look like? I rule out JoAnne almost immediately. It’s too old soul for her. She’s too skittish to be an old soul. Callie is nice and more modern but… she doesn’t feel like a Callie.
“This is doing nothing to curb my anxiety,” she whispers, and I see her cheeks are pink under my scrutinizing gaze. It is a bit ridiculous I’m putting this much effort into it. There are no real clues.
“Olivia.”
Her startled expression morphs into a pout. “No fair. You got it right. How did you know?”
“Shot in the dark,” I tell her with a cheeky grin. “I have a lot of dumb luck.”
She makes an incoherent noise and flops backward on the bed. "So now what? I lost so do I have to drink again? Fair warning I am not a big drinker. Already had more than my fair share tonight so I'm going to have to forfeit the game."
“That isn’t what happens when you lose a round.” I slide back, lowering myself and turning so I’m beside her on the bed, elbow bent, head resting on my hand as I stare at her. “If you lose a round, I get to kiss you.”
Her eyelashes flutter as I lean in, and she wraps an arm around my neck, which I take as the go-ahead. The kiss is heavy and hot, right out of the gate. She’s kissing me back with the same horny energy I am kissing her with and so I slide over, moving my body so a leg is over hers and my torso is pressed into her side. She keeps kissing me, her tongue dancing with mine. I slide the rest of my body on top of hers, and she doesn't stop me. In fact, she loops her other arm around my neck and keeps me in place.
“Well that hardly feels like losing,” she whispers when our lips finally break apart.
I wink at her. “I’m glad I know your name.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what to moan later.”
“Oh god would’ve done just fine.”
“Goddess,” I correct.
“Sexist,” she all but pants as I nip at her earlobe and brazenly grab a handful of her perfect ass in my palm.
“Nah. I’m okay with gods too,” I reply and wait… for the muscle tension of shock I expect that announcement to bring.
But there isn’t any. I watch her face. She’s focused on the tip of my only chest tattoo. I have the first two buttons of my shirt undone and gravity must have it gaping so she can see that over my heart are two crossed hockey sticks with initials in each quarter made by the crossed sticks. Well, except for one.
