“You’re one of those weirdos who plays chess against himself, and lays awake at night thinking through strategy, and has a first edition ofThe Art of Waron his bookshelf, aren’t you?” I shake my head in faux-exasperation. “I have a strict rule against dating men like that. I don’t want to be the Luke to anyone’s Yoda, you know what I’m saying?”
He grins wider. “Was that aStar Warsreference?”
“Absolutely not,” I lie.
“Uh huh.” He totally knows I’m full of shit. “And, anyway, you don’t have to worry.”
“Because you don’t have a first edition Sun Tzu?”
“Because I don’t date. I already told you that.” A funny look flashes in his eyes — I’d say it’s almostembarrassed, but men like him surely don’t get embarrassed. When he continues, his voice has lost a bit of its polished composure. “I’ll have you know,The Art of Waris one of the best works ever written.”
“HA!” I snort. “You totally have a copy! You’re so predictable.”
His eyes narrow on mine, but there’s a smile still tugging at his lips. “I’ve never been accused of that before.”
“Oh! I just thought of what I want.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Really?”
“From thegame.”
“Oh,” he murmurs, eyes still on my lips.
I ignore the squirmy feeling in my stomach and press on. “If I win, you go on a date with me.”
His eyes flash up to mine, suddenly serious. “And if I win?”
“You won’t.”
He stares at me skeptically, his gaze unrelenting, until I give in.
“Oh, fine.” I heave a martyred sigh, as though he’s done something utterly unreasonable, like ask me to stop watching HBO on Sunday nights whenGame of Thronesis on. “If you win…I’llgo on a date withyou.”
I expect him to laugh at my smooth negotiation tactics, but he doesn’t. When I look up at him, the gloating smile falls off my lips faster than Ned Stark’s head hit the ground — sorry,spoiler alert— because there’s a look on his face I can’t quite describe.
Actually, Icandescribe it; I’m choosing not to.
Because, if I described it, I’d have to say it looks a lot like pure, unadulterated lust. And that would be bad.
“Um,” I breathe, my eyes locking with his. They’re liquid with heat, burning into mine across the space between us.
“If I win,” he says gruffly, leaning closer. “We go back to my place.”
“Like… for coffee?” I ask hopefully. “Or snacks? I could totally go for a midnight slice of pizza or three.”
He shakes his head. “No, Gemma.”
I gulp.
“One night. No strings.” His words match the intensity of his stare. “That’s all I can offer. That’s all I need.”
“N-need?”
Great. I’m so nervous, I’m stuttering.
He nods slowly, his eyes on my lips. “I don’t do long term. Not ever. But there’s something about you…” His eyes lift to mine. “Just one night. No expectations. No morning afters. No wantingmore.”
“Who says I’d even want more?” I struggle to make my voice offended, but my fast-beating heart and sweaty palms are evidence of some very different emotions coursing through my veins at the moment. Like fear. And lust. And maybe a little bit of excitement.