Page 39 of VOGUEish

“You know, like a homemade meal.”

He stuck his other hand in his other pocket. “Can you cook?”

“It doesn’t matter if I can or can’t because you’re going to lose,” she said saucily.

“In that case, you won’t mind changing my reward to a kiss should I come out the victor?”

“A kiss. Oh my.” Her tongue darted out, and she licked her plump bottom lip. “So we were both lying when we told Nonna there were no sparks.”

“Busted.”

“In that case,” she said, mimicking his own turn of phrase, “let’s return to my New Year’s resolution.”

“What about it?”

“Are you interested in playing strip-shot ping-pong?” She gave him a huge smile. One that hinted seduction, whispered temptation, and foreshadowed ruination.

His cock nudged his zipper, short circuiting the common-sense thoughts he was trying to formulate. He walked over to the table and picked up a paddle, slapped it against his palm. Told himself no, he could not spank her with it later.

She raised her brows. “How long does it take a man to say yes to that kind of offer?”

“Strip-shot ping-pong.” He looked her slowly up and down. “How does this game work?” If she had made a resolution to make more fun choices, who was he to rain on her parade?

She took her glasses off and cleaned them. “If I score a point, I get to decide if you lose an article of clothing or take a shot. And vice versa.”

Fuck yes, he wanted to play this game. “Has any hot-blooded male ever chosen a shot over loss of clothing when they scored?” All the blood in his body headed south.

“The ping-pong table was a Christmas gift. You’re the first man I’ve chosen to try this game…this resolution out on.”

Fuck. He was a goner. For whatever reason, Isabella had changed her mind about him. He’d love to know why, but not enough to bring it up. There would be time for that later. “Isabella P. Chance, prepare to get naked.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Isabella couldn’t believe she’d just challenged Chandler to a game of strip-shot ping-pong. A game she’d totally made up while in the kitchen snagging a couple of beers and realizing they were the last two. In search of other booze, she’d discovered a bottle of tequila. Which of course produced thoughts of shots—

She blamed him. Something about the guy made her want to not worry so much about being accepted at Naked Runway and instead get to know him better. Scratch that. She had a desire to have her cake, eat it, and not get caught. Chloe called that the trifecta desire.

Chloe’s clients often went for their trifecta desires. Their ensuing crashes and burns were the reason Chloe had a career. The thing about Chloe’s clients, though, was that they seldom regretted trying. They believed the consequences were worth it.

Tonight, Isabella would go for the trifecta. What good were New Year’s resolutions if you don’t keep them? And it wasn’t like anyone at Naked Runway would catch the two of them here in her home. Tomorrow, she’d reevaluate.

“You may want to put your tie and jacket back on. I’m pretty good at ping-pong.” God, it felt good to let loose. For the last ten years, every decision she’d made had tied her gut in knots. A month in Costa Rica had helped her understand the why of that.

In its most simple of explanations: Life had taught Isabella to distrust how things looked on the surface.

Life had taught her just because someone smiled, did not mean they were nice, or okay, or your friend. As a result, she’d been living her life not trusting others or herself to have fully learned her lesson. Costa Rica had taught her it was okay—once in a while—to set fear aside and live on the edge. Not all the time. Occasionally. Tonight was a good night to test out occasionally.

“Talk is pennies. Action is bills,” Chandler said, sounding just like the stuffy fixer she’d met in the taxi. “Get the shot glasses and the liquor; let’s get this party on the train.”

When she came back into the living area, she abruptly stopped and laughed. “You can’t add my scarf to your wardrobe.”

“No?” He fingered the material. “I thought it went well with my coat.”

She shook her head. The man was adorable when he wasn’t being an uptight ass. “It does bring out the blue in your eyes, though.”

“You think?” He held one knitted end up next to his eyes.

“If you want to borrow it some time, that could be arranged.” She set two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila on a nearby desk.

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