“Don’t watch sports,” he repeats slowly, looking shaken. Disbelief clouds his entire face. “What do you do during Super Bowl season?”
I shrug. “Nothing. Decorate for Valentine’s Day?” And since we’re on the subject… “I have a tree that I put in the living room—it’s so cute. White. I had my students make a pink and red paper chain and big red cutout hearts, and each of them wrote me a cute little message…” My sentence trails off when I notice how bored he looks.
“It’s a year-round tree, but I didn’t put one up for summer.”
“Yeah,” he drawls. “I think I would have noticed a Christmas tree in your living room.”
“You would love one of my holiday trees,” I boast. “They’re magical.”
“Magical,” he deadpans. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Duke peels his eyes away from me and picks up the remote, finally clicking onDouche Boy Island, the preview beginning immediately.
I already know it’s going to be good.
“Ever thought about being on one of these shows?” I tease.
“No.” He snorts. “I have arealjob.”
“If you consider throwing a ball around some grass as a real job.”
Duke hits pause. “I’m going to forgive you for sayin’ that since you’re not a fan and just tryin’ to push my buttons.”
Ha. I was actually just trying to push his buttons.
“It’s not hard.” Um. “To push your buttons.”
I clarify, fully aware he’s on my bed half clothed with bulging muscles and a dick that’s only concealed by those flimsy navy boxing shorts.
Duke hits play.
The guys on the show are being introduced—there are twenty-five of them—the whole setup a strange,Bachelor-style dating show but with five eligible ladies rather than only one. Which is no doubt going to make for a drama-filled season.
One at a time, the guys come out of the pool house, twirl, and do tricks. They flex their muscles and peel off their shirts.
I groan loudly.
Duke hits pause. “What?”
“Nothing. All I did was,” I groan again.
“Oh.”
He hits play.
A guy comes out wearing chaps and a cowboy hat, and a plaid shirt that’s torn to shreds. He shouts, “Yeehaw!” before diving into the pool.
The five young women clap as if he’s the funniest, most clever man they’ve ever seen.
“Dear God, he’s awful,” I comment.
Duke hits pause. “Who’s awful?”
“Would you stop hitting pause!” I motion toward the remote. “I swear to God, I’m going to take that away from you.”
“I want to hear what you’re saying!” he argues.
“It’s going to take hours to watch one episode at the rate we’re going. It’s only been ten minutes, and we’ve seen three minutes of this stupid show!”