I walk out into the bedroom, and the music changes to “We Are The Champions” by Queen. Jack grins at me when my face scrunches up in confusion.
He’s lazing on the bed with his arms behind his head, not dressed whatsoever for our date.
“Don’t you want to know why this song is on?”
I narrow my eyes. “Not particularly, no. Especially because it’s a terrible song.”
He scoffs. “The dance music you’ve been blasting for the last hour is terrible. This is a work of art.” He throws his hand up and points to the speaker.
“Okay, Jack. Why are you playing “We Are The Champions”?” I ask dryly, not really caring one way or the other.
I do like Queen, in moderation, but I like to get under his skin about it more… becausewho the hell cares about Queen as much as he does?
He turns up the volume and starts to sing the chorus and… yep. I’m pretty sure he just pointed to his dick.
Oh. My. God.
He did not.
My eyes widen in horror. I think I might die of secondhand embarrassment.
“Turn it off right now.” I cover my eyes. “If you ever want me to have sex with you again, stop it. Stop it right now. How you think this is normal is beyond me,” I cry from behind my hands.
I shake my head, trying to rid my brain of the last sixty seconds. “Tell me… Why? Actually, don’t tell me why. Please don’t ever do that again. That was beyond embarrassing. The fact that you just referred to you and your dick as ‘we’ is semi-alarming.”
There must be a handbook somewhere where they tell younotto date your best friend, because you skip right over the shy, get-to-know-you stage and start right in the comfortable, don’t-hold-back, stage.
If I’m being honest, it’s also one of the things I love about Jack. He can easily turn on and turn off the different aspects of his life.
From stoic, hardworking businessman to fun-loving jokester, not afraid to play tea party or get his nails painted with his nieces.
Newly a billionaire, yet doesn’t give a crap what anyone thinks, dancing around the room, singing along to 80s rock bands.
He shoots me a cheeky smirk, then slaps my arse. “Anything to do with Queen is not embarrassing. Now get dressed properly. We have a long day ahead of us.”
I stop and look down at my outfit. “First off, it’s not the song. It’s that you pointed at your dick, singing ‘we’are the champions.”
“Wegot the girl, didn’t we?”
My eyes widen in horror. “Stop talking right now. You’re digging your grave deeper and deeper as you go on. Secondly, Iamdressed properly. You said dress casually.”
He looks me up and down. “You’re wearing a shoe with a heel on it. How do you think that’s casual?”
I shrug. “It is for me. You should know this.”
He shakes his head, baffled.“Do you have any extra workout clothes?”
“You’re taking me to work out on our date?” I narrow my eyes, not liking the sound of that.
Our little session this morning was enough of a workout, especially after yesterday when he made me do some crazy boot camp in the gym. My body is still beyond sore.
“Can you stop asking so many questions and answer mine? Do you, yes or no?”
“Yes,” I huff.
I like the idea of surprises in theory, however in actuality, they stress me the hell out. I want to know what we’re doing at all times. Striding into the walk-in closet, I look to my right into the walled mirror and stop dead in my tracks when I see a mark on my neck.
How did I not see this before?
