Page 87 of How to Lose at Love

I’ll take her comment as a compliment.

I snatch a card from the truth pile.

“Have you ever stayed in the bathroom longer than forty minutes? If so, what were you doing?” I toss the card down. “Showering and jerking off.”

Boom.

Suck on that.

Ryann raises her brows. “Jerking off in the shower or showering and then jerking off?”

“Wanking in the shower, usually. Less mess.”

She nods.

Is there no tripping this girl up? Nothing I’ve said has shocked her and it’s grating on my nerves; not sure why I give a shit, but part of me wants to see that calm exterior crack.

Ryann chooses a dare.

“Demonstrate your favorite kind of PDA.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “My favorite kind of PDA…”

“You have to demonstrate,” I remind her gruffly, as if she didn’t just read that to me two seconds ago.

“This is a tough one because I haven’t been in a relationship long enough to show PDA.”

She was with Diego Lorenz for two months, which would have been considered the honeymoon phase—my ass that wasn’t long enough for him to be holding her hand, grabbing her ass, kissing her in public.

“The clock is ticking,” I tell her, impatient for her to involve me in whatever PDA she loves the most, manifesting some kind of shit—I don’t know, a blow job or a French kiss or whatever.

How gnarly would that be?

“I guess my favorite display of affection would be, um…someone holding my hand while we do something basic, like chilling on the couch watching TV. Or maybe just putting my hand on his thigh while we’re sitting there—or he’s driving. And vice versa.”

That sounds pretty fucking awesome to me, too.

“You’re not supposed to tell me, you’re supposed to show me.” I’m pressing her, damned if I’m not, suddenly desperate for Ryann to touch me.

Ever since I had my face between her legs, I can’t stop thinking about sex and blow jobs and sinking my cock into her pussy. She smelled so fucking good, felt so warm; I bet she was dripping wet.

I mentally force my eyes to stay trained on her face, their penchant for drifting down her body a battle I can’t seem to win.

Tits.

Pussy.

Tits…

Ryann moves on the bed, crawls to lie next to me, mirroring my pose: one hand behind the head, the other on a hip. Then, real slowly, that hand on her hip reaches across the comforter and makes contact with my thigh.

A smile forms on her lips.

My eyes move to her hand so close to mine, then go back to her face. Hand. Face. Hand.

It doesn’t move, does nothing, just sits there, branding heat through my boxer shorts and warming my skin.

“Your turn.”

Her smile doesn’t waver, and her hand doesn’t move from my thigh as I reach for a dare card, heart racing.

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