Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“I haven’t played in forever, either.”
Gio separates the yellow and red pieces into piles, his movements methodical. “Let’s do it.”
Click.
Click.
Click.
He stacks them neatly, sliding the yellow ones closer to my spot on the couch and I nod, moving to the edge of my seat.
“You’re on.”
“But let’s make it interesting.” He glances at me, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Strip Connect Four.”
I choke on the laugh that bursts out of me, shaking my head. “Will you stop at nothing to get me naked?”
His head shakes. “Obviously not. Any cheap way to get those pants off. Plus, it’s a chance for you to get me naked ‘cause I’m an equal opportunity streaker.”
I chew on my bottom lip, pretending to consider it, knowing I’m game. “Alright, fine. But I’m not going easy on you.”
Big words considering it’s mostly a game of chance.
And luck.
The first few moves are harmless enough, but it doesn’t take long before his strategy—or lack thereof—becomes apparent. He’s playing more to distract me than to win, making exaggerated moves and muttering fake strategies under his breath.
I roll my eyes.
Gio’s grin falters when I drop a piece into the perfect slot, blocking his next move.
“Boom,” I say, sitting back with a triumphant smile. “What was that about strategy?”
He mutters something under his breath, peeling off his hoodie to reveal a tightly fitted Baddies tee shirt.
I take a moment to admire his muscles, reaching over to squeeze one.
He flexes.
“So firm,” I compliment him. “You must work out.”
He flexes some more. “A little here and there. You know, just trying to stay in shape and impress the ladies.”
I smack him.
I laugh, sitting back and watching as he makes his move. His focus is clearly divided—half on the game, half on trying to impress me—and it’s almost too easy to block his next play.
When I drop my red piece into the grid, cutting off his carefully laid plans, he stares at the board for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to think of a way to recover.
“Wowza,” I say, smirking. “You’re not great at this.”
“This game requires zero talent,” he claims, though the sheepish grin on his face says otherwise. “I’m just distracted by the idea of getting you naked.”
“And how’s that going for you?” I drop my chip into another slot. “Boom, I win again.”
He peels off his tee shirt.
I blink, momentarily thrown off by the sight of his bare chest.
Smooth.
Fit.
“My turn since I just lost,” he tells me, resetting the board and leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “And don’t get cocky, you’ve only won twice. I’m just getting warmed up.”
“Sure you are,” I say, forcing myself to focus as I take my turn. But it’s harder than I expect with him sitting there, shirtless and smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
The game continues, and while I’m determined to keep my winning streak alive, Gio seems equally determined to make me lose my focus.
He leans closer every chance he gets, brushes his hand against mine when I reach for the next piece, and tosses compliments my way that are just distracting enough to make me hesitate.
“I have an idea,” he murmurs close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, straight to my vajajay—it knows what that mouth can do…
“Hmm?” I manage, the proximity of his lips to my ear is enough to short-circuit my brain.
He smells so good…
My mouth waters at the memory of how good his skin tastes.
“I think,” Gio murmurs, his voice low and teasing. Tongue flicks my ear. “You’re working so hard to win this game. And for what? A shirtless date? How about I reward you with a little...performance?”
A little performance?
What’s that supposed to mean?
He leans back against the couch, relaxed and confident, arms going behind his head. Gio has a tattoo on the underside of his bicep and I fixate on it before my eyes go back to his face.
I blink, pulling back slightly to look at him.
“Performance?”
He nods. “A lap dance. Think about it—what better way to celebrate your inevitable victory?”
“I…” I swallow nervously. “I’ve never had a lap dance.”
“Neither have I.”
I snort, shaking my head. “You’re so full of it. Do not sit there and tell me you haven’t been to a strip club.”
What a liar.
“Am I?” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to that low, teasing tone that always sends a shiver down my spine. “Come on, Austin—don’t tell me you’re not curious.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t curious.” My cheeks are on fire, heating under his penetrating gaze. “I just feel like this is one of those things that sounds better in theory.”
Before I can think too hard about it, he pushes himself off the couch and steps back, running a hand through his hair like he’s actually preparing for this. He’s shirtless and the dim light of my living room only makes the sharp lines of his chest and abs more noticeable.