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He looks down at his pants, then back up at me. His eyes widen as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. "I'll let you see Michael Jordan."
His penis. He means his penis. He nicknamed it MJ in middle school when he started having wet dreams. Our parents stopped letting us have sleepovers after that. They claimed we had reached an age in our formidable prepubescent years where members of the opposite sex could no longer sleep on the floor in matching sleeping bags.
If I'm being honest, I really wasn't interested in Michael Jordan back then.
But now...
"Do I get to touch it?" I ask, my tone innocent, light, teasing. I think I kind of want to.
Touch it, that is.
Matt looks down and we both notice the sudden bulge in his black Adidas pants.
"Um..."
"Are you scared you'll choke?" I goad him, knowing his competitive nature makes it impossible for him to back down from a challenge.
He gulps nervously. "I never choke."
"I guess we'll find out," I quip as I step aside to give him a clear shot of the hoop.
Matt's coppery brown eyes focus on the net while his tongue darts out, settles on his lower lip. He bends his knees a little, grips the basketball in his hands, and angles it towards the basket. A few heavy moments pass before his feet push off the court and he releases the ball, both of us watching as it sails through the air.
I know that shot. I've seen him take it a thousand times. It's going in. And, by the victorious look on his face, he knows it, too.
Great.
Now I have to take off my bra and let him see what's...underneath.
The ball effortlessly glides into the net before falling to the ground, bouncing to the rhythm of my heart pounding wildly in my ears.
"Grab your stuff, Jen. You lost and I'm eager to get my hands on those," Matt grins as he points to my boobs. Breasts? I'm not even sure what to call them.
I let out a deep breath. "Best two out of three?"
Matt shakes his head, his sweaty brown hair sticking to his forehead. "That wasn't the deal."
He grabs a white T-shirt from his bag, slides it over his head. I can't help but watch as his stomach muscles flex while he guides the cotton material down his long torso, hiding his six-pack from view.
God, I really want to run my fingers over those hard abs.
I walk over to my sweaty tank top, pick it up off the ground and tug it on. It smells horrible.
"I want to take a shower first," I tell him as I grab my bag off the court.
"Fine by me," he flashes his dark eyebrows, his eyes glued to my chest.
"Matt," I say breathier than I intend to, my ocean blue eyes piercing into his warm brown ones.
"Yes?"
I move closer so our chests are almost flush against each other and peer up at him through a curtain of lashes. "Don't get too excited. I'd hate for you to... embarrass yourself." My eyes trail down his face, over his covered chest and stomach, down to his pants.
He shifts uncomfortably. "Whatever, Jen. I've touched a boob before."
"Your cousin doesn't count," I smirk.
He purses his lips. "That was an accident. You know what? I'm going to let that go because I won."
