She tilts her head and looks me over. “I bet we could get over that.”
I remember my strange reaction to a drunken Parker taking her shirt off a couple weeks ago and realize she’s right. I could get over the It’s just Parker thing real fast if I saw her in that sexy little red bra again. Or a black bra. Or no bra. Or…
“No,” I say tersely. “Not happening.”
“It wouldn’t have to be weird,” she says. “We’ve managed to avoid all the other clichés of guys and girls being friends, so what makes you think we can’t also avoid the cliché of sex ruining the friendship?”
“Not happening,” I say, finishing my water glass in two gulps and moving toward the fridge. Except not for more water. Beer. I’ve definitely earned one.
I feel her studying me as I dig around for the bottle opener. Feel her gaze as I take a long, much-needed pull on the IPA.
“You’re probably right,” she says finally.
Oh thank God.
“Glad to see you’ve seen the light,” I say dryly.
She moves to the fridge to get herself a beer. “Right.” Then she groans. “Ugh. That was…embarrassing. Sorry to put you through that. I just…I was discouraged and started thinking crazy.”
“You think?”
She picks up the bottle top I left on the counter and drops that and her own into the trash. “I just kept trying to envision us kissing, and—”
/>
Parker breaks off midsentence and gives a dramatic shudder. “Gross.”
I pause with the bottle halfway to my mouth. Gross? Awkward, sure. Insane, yes. But gross?
“It wouldn’t be that bad,” I grumble before I can stop myself.
She looks at my mouth and then makes a face before turning away, giggling. “It would be! You know it would.”
Okay, I’m not proud of this, but…her laughter stings. Not in the I’m going to need to go to therapy kind of way, but my ego is definitely hurting, just a little.
I point my beer in her direction. “I’ll have you know that I’m a damn good kisser.”
“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I bet you are, but I just can’t picture it.”
I stand up straighter as a thought jumps into my head. “Hold the fuck up. Is this some girly reverse psychology bullshit? You’re trying to get your way by goading me into proving that I’m a good kisser?”
“Awww,” she says in a teasing voice. “You’re upset! Did I insult your manhood?”
Yes.
“No,” I mutter.
“I’m sure you’re very good at what you do,” she says, heading toward the living room and patting my arm as she passes. “I just…”
She breaks off giggling again, and something inside me snaps at her laughter.
I grab her arm and pull her back around. “It wouldn’t be gross.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Okay.”
I can tell she doesn’t believe me, and my competitive juices boil over. I set my beer behind me on the counter. “Care to make a bet?”
“Like what, a kissing bet?” She looks at me like I’m crazy. And gross.