Page 110 of And Then Came You

Talk about terrible timing, lady. I was firing on all cylinders. Clearing my throat, I offer a smile.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted your date, but I’m such a big fan.”

“You’re fine,” Sam assures her, taking the paper and pen offered and sliding next to me again. “We were just discussing—”

“The game,” I interject, my eyes flashing a non-verbal warning at Sam.

“I’m rooting for the Giants,” the woman adds with a smile, earning a thumbs up from me and a grunt from Sam. “Is it weird for you?”

With a start, I realize she’s talking to me. “You asking for an autograph? Not at all.”

“I meant dating him. You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you?”

I slug back some more beer, desperate for a refill. Hell, just bring over the keg. “I’m not his girlfriend.”

“Nope, I’m not her type.” Sam steals a glance in my direction, challenging me to disagree.

“She didn’t say that,” the woman argues on Sam’s behalf.

“She did.”

“I’m not his type, either.” Time to put some skin in the game. Especially since it’s total bullshit that he’s not my type.

Sam pivots, locking me down with that heady gaze. “Actually, you’re totally my type.”

“Well, I like you two together. I was watching you and you seem so happy.”

“Try to convince her of that. She’s a stubborn one. Can’t see reason.” Now his legendary smirk jumps across his face.

The bastard.

The woman waves goodbye and I glare at Sam, trying desperately not to smile. “You’re such a dick.”

“And just like that, we’re back to talking about my cock. Maybe I am your type, and you just won’t admit it.”

With a shrug, I focus on my beer and the screen. “Think what you like.”

Sam’s body pushes against mine, a look of mischief on his face. “Admit it. Admit that you were wrong and that I’m your type.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll get it out of you, one way or another.” His fingers trace along my ribs, making me jump. “Am I tickling you? Too damn bad. All you have to do is admit the truth, and I’ll stop.”

Grasping his chin, I pull his face toward mine. “It’s the best kind of tickle, so have at it, Mr. Bernard.”

Sam slants his mouth over mine, sweeping me into an urgent kiss, as I lift my body closer to him. He tastes so good, his tongue sliding against mine as the smoldering fire in my core blazes to life.

His fingers tangle in my hair, as his mouth demands my body to admit what my lips won’t say. And I know he feels it as his kiss possesses me.

Another cheer erupts through the bar, but Sam is slow to break the kiss, stealing a look at the television before returning his gaze to me, a wicked smile on those delicious lips. “Guess who just scored again.”

“I’m so screwed.”

“Not yet. Maybe later, if you’re lucky.”

“Maybe ifyou’relucky,” I retort, although it’s not one of my finer comebacks. To be honest, I’m not sure what Sam’s terms are, but it looks like I’m losing this bet. Knowing my luck, I won’t be the recipient of Sam’s tongue on my pussy but rather schlepping his luggage through the desert with the help of a yak.

When the Patriots succeed with the two point conversion, I know my team is a lost cause. Thumping the table with my fist, I accidentally upend my remaining beer. Right onto the seat. “Crap. Sorry.”

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