Page 23 of Hating On Riot

“Arie?”

“Yes?” I lick my lips, wondering what it would be like to taste Riot after one of his matches or to lick the rivulets of water from his body in the shower.

“You gotta stop staring at me with such heat in your eyes. The air is already charged, if you know what I mean.”

I do. I shift in my seat. My heart pitter-patters out of control. “Um, okay, we can play the game.” I clear my throat. “Tiebreaker, here we come.”

The words come out before I realize how dirty they sound. I glance up. Riot’s green eyes seem to glow. He’s looking at me that intensely.

“Ready?” I ask.

“To come, yeah.”

“For the final rocks, papers, scissors,” I say, biting back a smile.

He is so dirty-minded, it’s sexy.

“And here I thought we would bypass the games and get down to circling the bases.”

“Isn’t your sport of choice rugby and not baseball?” I quip.

“I’d play any damn sport with you, Arie, baby.”

Wow, he tagged "baby" onto my name, and I have to admit, I like it a lot.

“Okay, Champ, rocks, papers, scissors, shoot.”

His paper covers my rock. Darn.

I grab the first playing card and set it face up. Two of hearts.

“Two songs you have on repeat?” I ask.

“‘Let You Down” and “The Way I Am.’”

NF, and Gavin Haley and Ella Voss, respectively. Good choices, but is there a hidden message behind his selection?

“Your turn.”

He flips his card. Two of spades.

“Two qualities you like in Wilder.”

Seriously? “Patience. Good listener.”

“Do I lack those things?”

We are not going there. “Stick with the game, Riot. Remember, it was your idea to show me how private you’d like to get.”

We go through the last three cards, each taking a turn.

Three of spades. “Three words to describe your dream girl?” What the hell?

He smirks. “Arie. Kim. Mine.”

I narrow my eyes. “Those are not descriptions.”

He winks. “They are to me.”