Page 38 of Billionaire’s Game

“You don’t watch movies, but you have an old fashion popcorn machine.”

“I guess popcorn is my vice and I love theatre popcorn, nothing else comes close to it. So I bought this one at an auction. The entire theatre was being sold and the agent thought I wanted to buy the building. I was like nope, just the popcorn machine.”

“You’re eccentric… like someone else I know,” I said, thinking of Oliver.

“Not really. I’m just a sucker for a good bowl of popcorn.” He spent the next fifteen minutes showing me how to work it and before I knew it there was a big bowl of deliciousness in my hands. He excused himself to go find a shirt and I plopped down on the couch while I waited for him.

He came back a few minutes later a little less naked. I missed looking at his chest already. He sat down next to me. His knee pressed against mine as we snacked loudly.

“This is really great popcorn,” I commented in between bites. I figured if my mouth and hands had something to do, I would be less inclined to get in trouble by touching him.

He was sitting so close, if I just leaned a little to the left I would find myself in his lap again. I briefly thought about moving to sit in the loveseat across from us but thought better of it. I didn’t want it to be too obvious that his presence unnerved me.

He reached for popcorn too and his hand brushed mine. I pretended to not notice how our brief touch radiated heat up my entire arm.

He sat back suddenly, reached for the remote and turned on the Brain Pain. I watched half-heartedly as one commercial after another played.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question was that?”

“What are you into if not sports or movies?”

“Intelligent women with beautiful legs.”

I blushed and shifted a little. I nervously pushed a few hairs out of my face. “You’re trying to distract me.”

He gave me a long look and reached out to touch my cheek. He stroked it gently and I sighed as I leaned forward, hoping to get closer. “Is it working?”

“Is what working?” I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I could barely breathe.

“That’s the only answer I need—”

He moved in then. I was sure to kiss me when suddenly the TV volume shot up to a deafening roar.

We sprung apart, me covering my ears and him cursing as he reached for the remote control which had somehow become wedged between us. My knee had pressed against the remote, sending the volume to deafening decibels.

Ooops. But honestly, if not for that issue I probably would have my mouth on him right now.

“So what type of men do you like, Lesli?” he said as he turned the television’s volume down.

That question totally caught me off guard. I looked at him strangely. “What type of question is that?”

“I’m just curious. If you won’t go out with me, then tell me who you’d normally go out with.”

So we were back to that topic. I wanted to roll my eyes, but thought better of it.

“I don’t really have a type and it’s not that it matters anyway.”

“It matters to me.” We were now not even pretending to be interested in watching Brain Pain reruns.

“Well, if you’re not my type there’s really no reason to discuss it. It’s not like you can become my type overnight.” I hoped my logic wasn’t as screwy as it sounded.

“Come on. Humor me.”

I didn’t know what to make of this conversation and I wasn’t sure where it was going. “I guess I want what most other women want. Someone nice with a sense of humor. Reliable. Punctual...”

“Punctual. That’s hilarious.”