Page 37 of Playing Games

Even though my hands are sweating and my lips feel dry, I force myself to go through with the plan. This is my chance to put myself out there, like I told my family I would, and if I don’t have the courage to do it now, I’m never going to find it.

“Well…I kind of thought, maybe, we should…have sex.”

Blake chokes a little on his own saliva—at least, as far as I can tell—and comes toward me, effectively tossing his phone back to the surface of the coffee table like it’s a worthless brick.

I swallow thickly as he adjusts himself to sit directly in front of me, his ass on the coffee table, and I struggle to keep eye contact as he presses me. “You think that you, Lexi Winslow, and I, Blake Boden, should have sex?”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Say it like what? I’m just trying to make sure I’m hearing you correctly and not having a stroke.”

“You don’t have to make fun of me.”

He reaches out for my hand, snagging it fiercely and clutching it to his chest with both of his own. “I’m not. Swear, Lex. I would never make fun of you for putting yourself out there like that. I’m just…surprised. You have to understand why. It’s not like you’ve given me more than a passing glance and a flick of your fingers for many, many weeks leading up to this moment, so this is a turnaround. I’m just trying to understand and make sure you’re not asking for something you’ll regret and be angry at me for later on.”

“I’m not totally socially naïve, Blake. I know you don’t just tell men you want to have sex and then take it back.”

“Yeah, yes. I’d say, generally speaking, that’s true. But what I’m trying to say is that you can take it back, with me, if you want to.”

“I…I don’t want to.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to take it back.”

In fact, to my own shock and horror, when it comes to having sex with Blake, there’s nothing I want more.

Blake

Lexi’s eyes are wide and challenging as she stares at me from her spot on my couch, the remnants of her words lying between us.

I think we should have sex.

My heart beats fast as she intertwines the fingers on one of her hands with the other and squeezes so hard the skin turns stark white. The idea of this brilliant, beautiful woman wanting to sleep with me is exciting enough that I could pounce on it right this second and never look back.

But something tells me that would send her running for the lab, never to be seen again, and that’s…not what I want at all.

“Listen, I think this is one of the best things to come out of your brain, and let’s be honest, we both know it produces a hell of a lot of good. But I don’t want to jump headfirst into this without exploring it first.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Cautiously, I wade into much more dangerous waters. “Are you…a virgin? Have you slept with someone before?”

She rolls her eyes, her patience with me just slightly tried. “I know what a virgin is, Blake. And yes, I’ve slept with someone before.”

A pang of jealousy hits my chest like a baseball bat, but seeing as I’m the one who started the trajectory of this conversation and it’s already tenuous at best, I make the decision to ignore it. I can tackle her horizontal scoreboard at a later date and time, when we’re so in love she finds my raging envy cute.

“Okay. And what about orgasming? Have you done that before?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant right now,” she sidesteps, her beautiful skin mottling with an embarrassed red. “Why does that matter?”

“Oh, Lex,” I counter gently, reaching a hand to her thigh and scooting it upwardoh-so slowly. She jerks her gaze to my hand and watches with avid interest, her chest rising and falling faster with each inch it travels. “It’s important because if we’re going to have sex, you and I…I want there to be a connection. I want lust and hearts pounding and soul-touching intimacy. I want blinding, bonding pleasure for both of us, but more than anything in this world, I want it foryou. And if I rush this or make assumptions or pretend it’ll all come together, no matter what I do, that won’t happen.”

“What are you talking about, Blake?” she asks, seemingly frustrated that I’m making this more complicated. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a dog of Pavlov’s that doesn’t learn lessons. Just last night, I left her longing for more…and tonight, she’s here asking for sex. There’s no way in hell, heaven, or on this big ball of earth I’m going to rush this process. I’m going tomove one step at a time until she’s so hooked to me, it’ll take surgery to separate us.

“I mean that there’s more to sex thansex.”

“Are you drunk?” she questions, narrowing her pretty blue eyes at me. “Because you’re making no sense.”

“No. I’m not drunk. And I’m only not making sense because you’re not paying attention. The act of sex itself is a culmination of other things. Of touch and taste and exploration and foreplay and closeness. It’s afinale, not an opener.”

“What does thatmean, though? Are you saying no?”

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