We stare at one another for a moment, my appetite for the lasagna long gone.
“You were right,” I say, my voice a little deeper than it was moments ago.
She lifts her chin, but she still seems a bit disconcerted from my confession. “Of course I was.”
I laugh. “Don’t you want to know what I’m talking about?”
She looks a bit hesitant, then she takes the fork from me and digs into the lasagna. “Okay, enlighten me.”
What I’m about to say isn’t smart, and I’m probably going to lose my left nut—and my best friend—but with my blood rushing south, I’m not sure I can stop myself. “You were right about boobs being my thing.”
My gaze drops, and hers follows, to take in the twin peaks on her shirt. Since the house is warm—I jacked the heat to inferno for Daisy’s sake—there can be only one thing making her nipples that hard.
She fucking wants me as much as I want her.
Her hand quivers slightly as she sets the fork back into the lasagna tray. “Yeah, most guys are boob men,” she says, her voice hitching a little.
I’m pretty sure she has no idea where this is going, but I sure as fuck do…and if I knew what was good for me, I’d end this right now. Just go back to bed and rub one out already.
“Since we’re being honest, what part of a guy do you like best?” I ask, in a calm manner that belies the storm going on inside of me.
So much for doing what’s good for me.
Her gaze drops quickly, zeroes in on my abs.
“Ah, an abs girl.”
Her gaze flickers back to me, and her cheeks are pink, like she’s given away too much. “No. I mean…yes.”
“Which is it, Quinn? Are you an abs girl or not?”
“I like abs but that’s not it. I actually don’t know what you call it.”
“Show me.” I step around the counter until I’m beside her. I grip her chair and spin her until she’s facing me.
She lifts her hand, tentative at first, like she might be afraid to touch me, but then her hand goes to my oblique muscles, and she runs the soft pad of her index finger along the length of one.
“Right here,” she says.
“Oblique muscles,” I tell her.
She chuckles, but it’s full of unease and desire.
“Something funny?” I ask.
“No. Well…it’s just they almost look like an arrow, guiding the eyes…or hands,” she says, as her fingers go lower, linger over the band of my boxers. “Down there.”
“Down there?” I tease. “Down where, Quinn?”
She pulls her hand back like I’d just slapped it. “You know where.”
I angle my head and grin at her. “You can’t say it.”
She lifts her chin in a defiant manner, and I have to say, it’s a look that turns me on. Always has. Weird fuck that I am. “I can say it. I’ve said it tons of times.”
She’s lying, and we both know it.
“Are you saying you like to talk dirty?”