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“Figures. You probably avoid them because you suck at them.” I don’t think that, but it’s fun to egg her on.
Predictably Mac sits up straight and glares. “I rock at video games. When I so choose to play them.”
“When you ‘so choose’?” I snicker. “The formality of your speech reveals the falsehood behind your claims, young Padawan.”
She turns in her seat, her knee knocking into my thigh. “You’re calling me a liar?”
Pink washes over her cheeks and her dark eyes shine.
God, she’s pretty. So pretty it hurts my heart. I want to haul her onto my lap, settle down, and kiss her sexy little mouth until I can’t move my lips anymore.
Since I can’t do that, I give her my best patronizing look. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just don’t have the reflexes necessary to compete.”
“I have the reflexes of a cat.”
I snort, totally enjoying myself now. “If you mean Garfield, then yeah.”
A couch pillow hits me in the face. I sputter and find myself nose to nose with Ivy, whose eyes spark with challenge.
“You better run, Grayson, because in about five seconds I’m gonna have you pinned and begging for mercy.”
Hell yes, please. Make me beg. Take my stiff cock out and ride it until I cry.
Because I’m in serious danger of tackling her, I jump up and back away as if it’s all a joke to me. “Bring it, Mackenzie.”
Ivy
I know Gray is teasing me. I accept the bait. He’s going down—hard. I get to my feet and raise my fists. “First hit wins bonus points.”
“You’re so cute when you’re delusional, Mac.” He gives me a little come-hither gesture with his hand.
That smug...
“Oh, it is on like Atari Pong!”
Gray halts midlunge, his mouth falling open as a laugh sputters out. “It’s supposed to be ‘on like Donkey Kong.’”
“You say what you want. I say what I want.” I swing, but he ducks, and my fingertips catch air. Damn it.
His blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Okay, but why ‘Atari’ Pong? Why not just ‘it is on like Pong’?”
“I like my descriptors.”
A full-bellied laugh erupts from him. Distraction enough that I bap the side of his big head.
“Point!”
That shuts him up. Narrowing his eyes, he circles closer. “Bring it, Special Sauce.”
“Oh, Cupcake, you are so dead.”
We dance around each other, lunging and feinting. When his hand throws a playful swat toward the crown of my head, I twist and duck.
“That’s right,” I say, doing my best Ali, feet moving in an intricate pattern. “Fear the wrath. Bob and weave. Bob and weave.”
Gray is cracking up now, red-faced and teary-eyed. He’s trying to concentrate but he’s laughing too hard. Which leaves him wide open on his left.
Unfortunately, I’m laughing too, and the rat fink keeps getting in taps on my head.
