Page 54 of In Love and War
I tried again, knowing he wouldn’t want the glass to fall, but he still managed to grab a hold of my leg and pull me back.
“Nice try.” He actually laughed. Like his entire face brightened up, his eyes crinkled in the corners, and his dimple came out to say hi.
My rib cage immediately became home to a bouncy ball.
He reached for my hand, but I quickly put them both behind my back, clinging onto his phone as if my life depended on it.
“Okay, Miss Bloom, we can do this one of two ways. You can either play nice and give me back my phone, or I cantake itfrom you. Which one would you prefer? Because either way, I have it back in my hands in about ten seconds,” he promised.
“How about option number three: I’ll trade you your phone for my underwear,” I offered.
“No, thanks.”
“Why the hell not? It’s a fair trade,” I argued.
“Five seconds,” he noted.
“Okay, fine. What else do you want?” I resorted to negotiating. Worth a try.
He actually considered me for a second, and I felt the need to clarify one thing.
“And don’t say to quit my job and leave, because I won’t.”
“You really think that’s what I would ask for?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“Youdidalready, at dinner, remember?” I reminded him.
“Time’s up,” he said and reached for my arms.
“Okay, waitwaitwaitwait,” I said quickly, shuffling farther away from him. “Whatdoyou want, then?”
“Three questions,” he said. “I get to ask three questions, and you have to give me entirely honest answers to all of them.”
Definitely not what I was expecting.
“Three is excessive. You get one,” I said. One I could deal with.
“No deal.” He moved again.
“Two!” I bargained, my back now against the armrest of the love seat. I had no more room to move back.
“Three.” His voice was firm. “And I get my phone back.”
“You’re a terrible negotiator.”
“Am I? Because it kinda sounds like I’m about to get exactly what I want,” he said, a cocky grin pulling at the corners of his lips.
Damn it.
“Fine,” I caved, throwing his phone back toward him and reaching for the wine. I’d need it for this one.
He watched as I took a large sip of my glass, and then another one. And another.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you yet,” he reasoned.
“Don’t need to. Knowing you, I’m going to need it.”
“If you pass out, I’m not carrying you to your room. You’ll have to sleep here.” He got up, grabbed the bottle, and brought it to the table.
