Page 23 of The Right Player
And on this particular dirty trivia night, Makoa and I were in dead last place.
“I thought you were the king of trivia?” I teased as he marked down our score from the last round — which was a measly two points.
“Well, I’m used to answering questions about pop culture,” he volleyed, arching a brow at me. “Not questions like what’s the slang term most often used for a woman’s labia or what sexual fantasy is the most popular in the United States?”
I chuckled, lifting my cosmo. “Well, you know what the end of another round means. Bottoms up.”
“You trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
Makoa’s smirk was sexy as hell, and he shook his head at me before taking three big gulps of his beer. My sip of cosmo went down smooth, warming my chest as the DJ announced the next question.
“What percentage of people like dirty talk during sex? Is it thirty-two percent, fifty-eight percent, or seventy-one percent?”
“Seventy-one,” I whispered, tapping the paper for Makoa to write it down.
He screwed up his face. “What? No way. I think it’s thirty-two.”
“Thirty-two? Are you kidding? Who doesn’t love to talk dirty during sex?”
Makoa chuckled. “How about we compromise and go with fifty-eight?”
I waved him off in a sign of concession, and once our answer was on the sheet, he popped up to hand it in to the DJ.
“So, have you been to a show yet since you moved to Chicago?” I asked when he was sitting again.
“I haven’t. I saw Moulin Rouge! is playing at the James M. Nederlander Theatre right now, though, and I’d love to see that one.”
“Oh! I’m dying to see that!”
“Maybe we could go together,” Makoa offered, and my cheeks heated as I sipped on my cosmo.
“Maybe. Depends on how the rest of tonight goes, though.” I wrinkled my nose. “Can’t be seen with a trivia loser.”
Makoa acted like a dagger had been stuck in his chest, and I laughed him off just as the DJ announced the answer. We’d decided right by compromising, and seemed to be the only team who answered correctly. And just like that, we went from last place to fourth.
“Next question. What popular TV character must have sex every seven years?”
Makoa threw his hands up so suddenly that I balked in surprise, and then I couldn’t keep my laughter in at the genuine excitement on his face.
“Finally, a question I know!” He jotted down Spock and didn’t even ask if I thought the same before he handed it into the DJ.
“God, I love a confident man,” I said on an exaggerated sigh, leaning toward him with my lashes a flutter.
“Hey, I’ve been waiting to impress you with my vast knowledge of useless information all night. Let me have this.”
I bit my lip, both loving and hating that I was completely enamored with this man. I mean, he had the body of an Olympian and the game of a high school freshman. Why was I so turned on by a hot, muscular man tripping over himself to make me dinner and nerding out at trivia night?
“Did you grow up in Chicago?” he asked while we waited for the other teams to submit their answers.
I usually hated these kinds of questions — the getting to know you questions that dating was full of. In fact, I hated them so much that I skipped them altogether. Every other man would happily let me distract them with a kiss or a moan or a fistful of their shirt as I dragged them back to my bedroom.
But not Makoa.
For some reason — a reason I refused to spend too much time digesting — I didn’t mind answering his questions. I wanted him to know more about me.
And I wanted to know everything about him.
“Kind of. I grew up a little of everywhere until I hit high school. That was the only time I convinced my hippie parents to settle down for four years so I could have some actual friends.”
“Hippie parents?”
“Total hippies. I’m talking marijuana smoking, peace-sign throwing, Fleetwood Mac junkies.”
Makoa smiled. “They sound awesome.”
“They really are. They’re big into traveling and missionary work, so when I was younger, we moved around a lot. I even lived in Africa for a year when I was ten, but I don’t remember much of it, other than the animals and the music. God, they had the best music. We would just sit around a fire at night and listen to the locals play for hours. Everyone would dance and laugh…” I smiled at the memory. “It was amazing.”
“That sounds incredible.”
I closed my eyes, remembering the big fires, the drums, the smiles of the locals as they danced and sang. “That was the first place that inspired me. I remember coming back to America and begging my mom to let me redo my entire bedroom with African-inspired design.”
