I run both hands through my hair and pull back painfully. Lola is going to drive me insane for the next two months.
At least she’ll be here, spending time with me.
I huff as I retake my seat on the sofa. “Fine. How do I win this fucking game?”
Lola smiles. “You have to get a row of four, vertical, horizontal, or diagonal. But to win, when you get to four, you must yell outLotería.”
“Why?”
“Because if we both get to four with the same image, whoever yells out the name of the game first, wins.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this. “What’s the word again?”
“Lotería,” Lola mouths slowly. The way her tongue rolls over the roof of her mouth as she shows me how my mouth should move to pronounce it sends goosebumps up my arm. There’s no way I’m surviving this night.
“Lotería,” I try the word.
Lola only scrunches her nose. “Nope.” “Lo. Te. Rí. A.” she says, breaking down the word for me.
“Lotería,” I try again. She looks proud when I can pronounce the ‘r’ like she did.
Lola laughs. “Close enough.”
“You won’t disqualify me if I mispronounce it when I win?” I ask, joking to get the playful mood back.
“No, I wouldn’t. But you won’t get the chance, Karl Sommer. I’m going to kick your ass atLotería.”
“I need a drink for this,” I say, standing to go to the kitchen. “You want a beer?”
“Please!”
When I get back, I hand Lola hers and drain half of mine in one gulp. Lola giggles, probably at how nervous I’m acting.
“You ready?” she asks.
I nod and pull the first card from the deck. Lola peers at it and calls out, “El Gallo.”
Neither one of us has the rooster on our game card, and she pulls the next card as she sips her beer. “Fuck yes!” she squeals. “El Gorrito! I haveEl Gorrito!” She lands a bean on top of the hat image on her card, and I roll my eyes. I don’t have the hat, which means . . . “Strip!” she orders, finishing my thought.
With trepidation, I peel the shirt over my head. Thank god I wore socks. This gives me two more beans before I have to take my sweats—or worse—my underwear off.
We pull several cards from the deck, taking turns, and I swallow hard. I have to win this game but winning also means that Lola will be either naked or nearly naked by the end of it. What a fucking mess.
And what a fucking temptress. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
The following several cards aren’t on either of our play cards until she pulls the image of a frog, and with shaky hands, I place a bean over my game card.
Lola smiles darkly at me, and her eyes lock with mine as she slowly takes her top off. My mouth falls open. Underneath, she’s wearing a bright, flaming hot-pink bra. It has lace at the edges of the cup and darker pink dots on the mesh of the cup. And it’s fucking see through. I can clearly make out the large areolas and pebbled nipples straining against the mesh material. Fucking hell.
When I have to grab a cushion to cover my lap, Lola doesn’t miss it, and she chuckles. As if nothing has happened, she pulls another card, and we keep playing. My jaw sets tight for the rest of the game because all I want to do is to lunge up and over her body and take her—claim her.
Mine.
She gets two more on her game card but is nowhere near connecting a line of four. Still, it means I’m down to my sweats and underwear. She calls the boot, and that’s another point for me, and one of Lola’s socks comes off. A few more cards, and again, the point goes to me—another sock, revealing hot-pink toenails that match her bra.
My heart races. This was the worst fucking idea ever.
When I get the next point and she unbuttons her jeans to shimmy out of them, I groan. Out loud. I finally have to say something. I lean sideways and bite the sofa cushion. “Lola,” I groan again. “You’re killing me here.”