Page 29 of Playing to Win
His gaze fixed on my lips wrapped around the straw.
Releasing the straw, I lean back against the booth, knocking my knee into his, slightly taken aback by how warm he is. The man is a furnace. “You’re staring.”
“You’re hot.”
I’m taken aback by his blatant statement. “Seriously?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?” His brows shoot up. “Come on, Red. You have to know you’re sexy as fuck.”
Ummm…I wasn’t expecting that. “I’m definitely not fishing for compliments.”
“Right. You just want to hear me call you hot again.” He leans in a little closer, his gaze lingering on my lips once more. “You’re pretty fucking hot, Red.”
“That is a dumb nickname,” I murmur, refusing to let his words make me feel a certain way. “People won’t get it.”
“We don’t need anyone else to get it.” His smile is small and a little sneaky and a lot sexy. Ugh. “It’ll be our little secret.”
Oh. He has no right being this attractive. And he’s so flirty. How many other girls does he flirt with like this?
I bet the number is shockingly large.
“I don’t date football players.” I sniff, tilting my chin up.
“I’m not looking for a date.”
I roll my eyes. “And I’m definitely not looking to hook up with a football player either.”
“That’s too bad.” He shifts away from me, reaching for his beer, his fingers curling around the glass. “I have a feeling we’d be really good together.”
I hate how rattled his words leave me. How intrigued I am by him. Maybe we would be good together. In fact, we might even be freakingfantastictogether. I get the sense Ace knows exactly what he’s doing sexually. He’s in peak athletic form. I saw the way he moved out on that field earlier.
If I let him, I’d bet he could fuck me into oblivion and I’d die happily satisfied.
But it’s never going to happen. That’s not what I’m looking for. He’s the type of guy who pulls you into his orbit, makes you feel like no one else matters but you, and then promptly dumps you without warning when someone else catches his attention.
I’ve dealt with this sort of thing—this sort of guy—before. I’m not interested in putting myself through that again.
“Well, you’re never going to find out,” I chirp, taking another fortifying sip of my margarita. “We’re probably better off as…friends.”
“Friends, huh?” He rubs his chin, which of course is a complete distraction and I become fixated on his hand and his fingers and I wonder what it would feel like, having that wide palm smacking my bare ass? Would he be into that sort of thing? I’m not talking full-blown kink here, but I do think the occasional butt slap is kind of hot.
“Friends,” I say firmly, shoving all thoughts of ass slapping out of my mind.
“How’s the drink?” he asks, changing the subject.
Frowning, I stir the slushy concoction with my straw before I take another sip. “Delicious.”
“You get drunk off tequila?”
“Well, duh.” I sit up straighter. “Not like I’m looking to get drunk tonight though.”
“You’re not?” He leans in, nudging my shoulder with his. “That’s too bad. I bet you’re a lot of fun when you loosen up.”
Okay that was the wrong thing to say. “Are you implying I’m uptight?”
“Around me? Ever since New Year’s Eve?” His gaze locks with mine and he nods. “Definitely.”
“Ace! Ace!”
