Page 71 of The Forever Play

I laugh and peek at him between my fingers.

“I never understood why you didn’t just say you didn’t like them.”

“Because you’d already paid for it, and I felt bad.”

“Miss Honesty.” He shakes his head with a sexy little smirk. “That was the only time I can think of when you didn’t tell me the truth.”

I shrug, my blush still hot and no doubt obvious.

“I guess I should have asked if you wanted a hot dog before just buying you one.” He gives me a little side-eye. “But what true-blooded American doesn’t like hot dogs?”

“Oh stop.” I lightly whack his arm. “No one even knows what hot dogs are made of. For a guy with a body as perfect as yours, I’m surprised you’re willing to put that stuff in your mouth.”

He tips his head back with a soft laugh, and I study the line of his throat, wishing I could trail my tongue over his Adam’s apple and just keep heading south. I loved exploring his body with my lips and tongue.

Okay, stop it. Be sensible!

Squeezing my legs together, I force my eyes back to the TV. “Are you still eating a super-strict diet?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Gotta be in top shape.”

“You’re going for the NFL, aren’t you?”

He nods. “I’m gonna try.”

“Wow.” I look back and smile at him, trying to ignore the burning sensation in my eyes. “You’re making your dreams come true. Just the way you wanted.”

“Not exactly the way I wanted,” he murmurs, and I can feel the shift.

He’s about to get all serious on me, and as sensible as that would be—you know, to talk about all those things we need to talk about—I just can’t do it.

I don’t want serious tonight. I want to go back to playful memories and light, fluffy times that don’t hurt.

“Wanna play a game?” I quickly ask before he can say anything else.

He gives me an intrigued look, his lips fighting a grin.

“So, I’m gonna say a word, and you have to come up with a song lyric or movie line related to it. For example, if I say sunshine, you might say…”

“I’ve got sunshiiiine.” He sings the first line of “My Girl” by The Temptations, and I bob in my seat, nodding with a happy grin.

“Okay, your turn.”

“All right.” He tips his head back into the sofa cushions again, and my eyes tracks his perfect lines, scanning down to his collarbone and beyond.

Avert your gaze! Control yourself, woman!

I quickly look at the TV once more and refuse to glance his way, even when he says his word.

“Blue.”

I immediately spit out the line Dad always used to sing to me. “Blue eyes. Baby’s got blue eyes.”

“Yes.” He claps. “I was thinking of that old song with all the ‘blue da ba dee’ bits. You know the one?”

I laugh and sing the chorus of Eiffel 65’s song, totally screwing up the lyrics. It came out before we were born, but we both still know it.

“Monica used to play that all the time when we were kids. She loves that song.”

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