“The performance or today’s class?”
“Both.”
He seems somewhat soothed by that answer if the slightly less-gray color of his face is anything to go by. “What is this game anyway?”
“It’s called Questions Only. It’s pretty simple. You have to carry on a conversation using only questions. The first person to break and answer with a statement is out. We keep going until there’s only one person left standing.”
“Oh, so that’s what you guys were doing with that whole syllabus thing.”
“Yep.”
His eyebrows draw together in adorable concentration. “I think I saw something like that on a TV show. The one with the tall guy and the dude my grandmother loves onLet’s Make A Deal.”
“You meanWhose Line Is It Anyway?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Color me shocked. I didn’t take Puck Boy for aWhose Linefan. I mean, he didn’t even know what improv was when I met him. “You watchWhose Line?”
He winces, and two spots of color rise in his cheeks. Even offended, he’s stunning. Maybe even more so. I mentally kick myself for lusting after him. I’m no better than the circling vultures, for Christmas sake.
“You don’t have to look so surprised,” he says, folding his arms across his broad chest, which only serves to make his biceps flex. I give myself another mental kick for noticing and try to focus on the words coming out of his mouth. “Once I realized I was stuck in this class, I figured I’d better get with the program. I’ve got to keep my GPA up if I want to stay on the team. And I can Google as well as anyone.”
I’ve got to admit, that’s a smart move. And now I feel like a heel for reducing him to a pretty face and a smoking hot body. He’s obviously got a lot going on upstairs, too. But before I can apologize for jumping to conclusions, Quinn slides into the seat on the other side of him.
“Hey, Adam.” She bats her eyelashes so hard I swear I can feel the draft all the way over here. “I’m Quinn. If Kolby’s being a butthead, I can work with you.”
“Yeah, right,” I mumble. I can just imagine Quinn’s idea of “working with” Adam. And it doesn’t involve a hell of a lot of improvisation. Unless you count being spontaneous in bed.
“Kolby’s doing great,” Adam says. “He was explaining the game to me.”
I’d like to believe he means it. Then again, he could just want to give Quinn the brush-off. Maybe he doesn’t like overly aggressive girls. Assuming he likes girls at all.
Quinn puts a possessive, perfectly manicured hand on Adam’s thigh. It may be my imagination—or wishful thinking—but I could swear he flinches ever so slightly.
“I’ll bet he was,” she says, her nails digging into his thigh. This time he definitely flinches, but she either ignores or is oblivious to his discomfort. My money’s on door number two. “Just remember, if things go south with you two, or if you feel like you need some extra attention, my offer still stands. Anytime, day or night.”
She squeezes his thigh and sashays away like she’s a contestant onRu Paul’s Drag Race, leaving Adam shaking his head. “What’s her deal?”
“Quinn’s harmless. Mostly. She just knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. And what she wants is apparently you.”
“Not gonna happen,” he mumbles.
“Not your type?” Fishing for information isn’t usually my style. But I’ll make an exception in this case. I have to know if I’m imagining the spark between us.
“You could say that.”
His answer is vague and noncommittal, but I lose my shot to follow up courtesy of Professor Frost, who’s standing in front of the room clapping his hands to get our attention.
“All right, class,” he says, doing that evil villain hand-rubbing thing again. “Let the games begin.”
5
Adam
Let the games begin.
The professor’s words are like nails in my improv coffin. Aside from Kolby’s brief description of Questions Only and a handful ofWhose Lineepisodes, I’m completely clueless as to what we’re doing here.
