Page 6 of The Game Plan

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Fine. Assumption.”

His lips quirk. “You should find out if your assumption is true before you condemn the beard.”

“Is this some sort of creepy way to get me to touch your beard?”

A challenge flashes in his eyes. “There are a few guys at the bar sporting beards. You could go ask them. But I figure sincewe know each other...”

“Notthatwell.”

“You’d rather ask a stranger?”

“You’re assuming I care enough to ask, Slick.”

His teeth shine white in the shadows of the club. “I know you’re curious. You’re fairly twitching with wanting to know.”

I flatten my hands against the table and glare. Is it just me, or is he closer? Close enough that I can see his eyes are hazel,lighter around his iris with a starburst pattern. I wish I could see the colors, but he’s painted in shades of blue and grayright now.

And he’s watching me. Patient. Calculating. Tempting.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” I mutter before taking a breath. “Okay, I’ll pet your fuzzy face.”

“Hold up.” Without hesitation, he reaches for my drink and takes a sip. “Liquid courage.”

A strangled laugh leaves me. “Because I’msoooscary.”

“You have no idea, Cherry.”

I think I growl at him. I definitely want to give his precious beard a good, hard tug.

He simply lifts his brows at me. “Get on with it, then.”

This cheeky bastard is totally playing me. And here I am falling into his trap.

Because I cannot look away from his beard now. More specifically, his lips, which are parted just slightly. An invitation.A dare.

Shit. I’ve never been very good at ignoring a dare.

I hate that my hand trembles as I reach up to touch him. He stays perfectly still, his arm casually slung on the edge of thebooth behind me, his body turned toward mine. But I don’t miss the way his breathing has kicked up just slightly.

I hesitate, shy almost. Hells bells, I’m only going to touch a bit of facial hair. Why does it feel like we’re two kids tuckedin a dark corner, playing a game of “I’ll show you mine”?

Annoyed with myself, I close the distance between us. Soft. His beard is soft. And springy. I didn’t expect that.

Gently, I press my fingertips into all that springy-soft mass, stroke it a little. His nostrils flare on an indrawn breath.

I glance at him, search his eyes. He gives me nothing back. I keep going, running my fingers up his jaw, against the grain.There’s the prickle I expected. Only it feels good, sending little tingles of awareness over my skin, up my thighs.

I swallow hard, press my legs together. Can he tell? I’m too chicken to check. I keep my focus on his face, on his lips, whichlook so smooth in comparison to his beard.

My own lips part, suddenly sensitive. Somehow, I’ve moved closer. I can’t help myself. I trace the bottom edge of his lowerlip with my thumb.

Sweet Mary Jane Watson, that was a mistake. The contrast between his soft yet firm mouth and the thick, crinkly beard sendsa bolt of sheer, shockingwantstraight to my clit.

In a daze, I stroke his lips again, following the gentle upper curve, keeping contact with his beard while I do. Fuck, butI can’t stop imagining his mouth moving over my skin. Would I feel his beard when he sucked my nipples?

I’m throbbing now. Said nipples aching for relief. Dex’s warmth is a wall against my chest. I’ve moved onto my knees beforehim without realizing it, my free hand clutching his shoulder as if I’m afraid he’ll back away.

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