The Idea of You (10 page)

“And that's why he committed suicide?”

“He was tired of being sick, I guess. I don't really understand it, to be honest. But I also don't spend a ton of time thinking about it.”

She marveled at that. Not obsessing over something like that. But really, what would be the point? It's not as if he could change anything. “You sound so well-adjusted.”

He smiled. “I'm not. I'm just blissfully unaware, as Liam would put it.”

“Liam sounds like a jerk.” She took another drink of beer.

“He's not. Just blunt to a fault—that's my dad's description—but he'd do anything for any of us. The truth is, I
am
blissfully unaware. I can't change that, and I'm okay with it.”

“Argue all you like, but that right there is well-adjusted.”

“Do you want to play foosball?” he asked.

She blinked at him as her mind pivoted to catch up. She'd get used to his non sequiturs, but right now they still jarred her. “Foosball?”

“We have a table downstairs.”

“Sure, why not?” She picked up her beer and headed out of the kitchen toward the stairs. “I haven't played in years and years.”

He followed close behind her. “You're in trouble, then.”

“Probably.” In
so
many ways.

E
VAN TRAILED HER
down the stairs. She wore red plaid pajama bottoms and a light gray sweatshirt with some sort of logo on the front. “Do you want an Archer sweatshirt?”

She turned to look at him as she moved into the game room, a faint smile lifting her lips. “Why do you ask?”

“Your sweatshirt made me think of it. We have a lot of cool swag. We have the basic logo.” He pointed to the
A
in the shape of a bow and arrow made from iron that hung on the wall. “Plus we have a lot of different art—each beer has its own icon, for lack of a better word.”

He went to the bar and pulled out some pint glasses. “This is the Longbow.” The glass had an imprint of a longbow resting against a tall standing rock. “And this is the Crossbow.” It bore a picture of a crossbow held by an anthropomorphized rabbit. “And this is my favorite.” He set out the Nock, which was a full moon with the Archer logo set against it over a moor.

She picked up the glass. “Very atmospheric. This is cool. You said Alex used to be the creative director. Did he design these?”

He nodded. “Come on, let's go play.”

She touched his arm, stopping him cold as heat snaked through him. “Wait. Why don't you tell your family that you can do this? That you
are
doing this?”

“Before Alex died, I didn't want to. It was his thing. And now . . . I don't know. It feels weird. Like I'm somehow taking something away from him, I guess.”

“For someone who's ‘blissfully unaware,' you're incredibly thoughtful. That said, I hope you'll tell them soon. They seem like a really supportive and caring family. I think they'd be thrilled to know that you're continuing Alex's legacy.”

“I guess.” He finished his beer and pulled a sample from the tap at the bar to see what it was. Something dark. He tasted it. A porter, and delicious. He filled the glass maybe two-thirds. “You ready to play?”

Her gaze was on his hand that held his pint glass. “You have another beer tap down here?”

“We have one outside on the patio, too, but we only hook it up in the summer. We're a beer family, what can I say?”

She laughed. “I can't even begin to imagine growing up the way you did. I lived in a two-bedroom mobile home with hideous wallpaper peeling off my walls and a window that barely closed.”

Sounded awful. “Why?”

“You heard what I said upstairs, right?”

That her parents were losers. “Yes, but you didn't say you were poor.”

“Welfare all the way, baby. My mom always had some sort of injury or illness. She'd get a job and then find a reason to quit or get fired, which meant unemployment.” She rolled her eyes.

“Sounds really disruptive. I would've hated the uncertainty.” He crossed the game room to the foosball table. “Ready?”

“Why do I think this is going to be really unfair?” she asked, trailing behind him.

“Probably because it is. I'll give you a handicap.”

She laughed. “Well, then I might stand a chance.”

He sensed she was being sarcastic. She was fun. Funny. And totally at ease with him, which was more than he could say for most people. He was still shocked at the events of the afternoon. All of his previous sexual interactions had been calculated and planned, like most of his life. Even now, he had a condom in his pocket. He wasn't going to be caught unaware again.

He went to the table and twirled one of the handles. “We usually play for something.”

She moved to the other side of the table. “Like what?”

“Who has to empty the dishwasher or blow the leaves off the driveway. But the dishwasher doesn't need emptying, and we have a guy who takes care of the yard now.”

“I see. I suppose we could play strip foosball.”

His mind worked, but he came up blank. “Strip foosball?”

“For every point we get, the other person has to remove an item of clothing.” She shook her head. “No, that's a terrible idea. I'll be naked, and you'll be fully clothed.”

He eyed her breasts, which were completely indiscernible beneath the bulk of her sweatshirt. “Sounds
awesome
.”

She laughed. “Sounds totally unfair!”

“You're wearing more than me. I have a shirt, these pants, and underwear. You've got a bra and shoes, and probably socks.”

“Yes on everything you said except the bra. Although I
am
wearing a pajama shirt under this sweatshirt.”

He lost track of what she said after hearing she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were magnificent. So smooth and soft and round. He was a tactile guy, and he could've played with them all day. And night.

His cock grew stiff just thinking about it. He picked up a ball from the table. “Ready?”

“No, wait. Since you're totally going to cream me, I should get something out of this. If I have to take off an item of clothing, you have to . . . I don't know, let me think of something.”

His fingers closed around the plastic ball. “That's dumb. I score a point, I get the advantage. If you get something, too, why play the game at all?”

“Has anyone ever told you you're too logical?”

“All the time.” He glanced at her and noted the sparkle in her eyes. She was teasing him. He smiled. “I score a point, you remove a piece of clothing. You score a point, I'll remove something. Tell you what, since you're so convinced you'll lose, I'll give you a head start.” He took off his shirt and threw it behind him.

Her gaze riveted to his bare chest. “That's not fair either. Now I'm completely distracted.”

“Is that my problem?”

She laughed. “You
can
be sarcastic. I love it. No, it's not your problem. It's entirely my wonderful, delicious, please-don't-ever-solve-yourself problem. Drop the ball. I'm ready.” She grasped the handles on her side and dipped her hips as she fixed her eyes on the table.

“Are we playing to a specific point?” he asked.

She sent him a hot glance. “No, we're playing until someone's buck naked. Probably me.”

He could hardly wait. He hadn't seen her completely nude and very much wanted to.

He slipped the ball through the hole in the side, and she immediately spun one of her rods. “Hey, no three-sixty spinning. It's illegal.”

“Says who?”

“Archer rules. And honestly, nearly everyone else's, too.”

“Damn it,” she muttered as she tried to flick the ball. She finally gave it a good whack, but Evan positioned his man and tapped it, sending the ball directly into her goal. “Crap! I told you I sucked.”

“Then why are we playing?”

“Because I get to look at your naked chest.”

He grabbed the ball from her goal. “You could've just asked to see it.”

“Okay, take off the rest of your clothes.” She smiled broadly, her gaze dipping to his crotch. “Please.”

“No, we're playing to nude, and that would mean you'd won.” He shook his head. “Too late to change things up now.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that another Archer rule?”

“Sure. Why not? We make shit up all the time. It's sort of our thing.”

She laughed again. “Maybe I didn't miss having a family.”

“Do I get to pick what you take off?”

“Nope. I took off my boots, satisfied?”

“Not yet.” He darted a quick look at her face. She was watching him, her pupils just a bit dilated, just as they'd been that afternoon in the cabin after he'd kissed her.

“You're a very naughty boy, Evan Archer. Let's go.”

He pushed the ball through again and scored almost instantly.

She laid her forearm on the edge of the table and rested her forehead on it. “This is worse than I thought.” She threw a sock at him, but it landed on the table. The next one hit him in the chest and floated to his feet.

He plucked the one from the table and dropped it. “You're crying over lost footwear. I'm the one without a shirt on.”

She lifted her head and stood up straight, her gaze raking over his chest. She didn't bother masking her appreciation. “Yes, you are.” And then she licked her lips.

His cock, still at half-mast, hardened completely. “You did that on purpose.”

“Yep.”

He grabbed the ball from her goal again and slipped it through the hole. He took a shot, but she managed to deflect it.

“Hey! You didn't tell me we were starting!” she cried.

“Sorry. Did I neglect to mention Archers are rather ruthless?” He tried another shot at her goal, but again she deflected it.

“Yeah, you did. Though I shouldn't be surprised. I'm beginning to see how your family works.” She twirled a rod again. “Sorry! Accident! I refuse to accept a penalty, and don't say you weren't going to assign me one, because I think that's exactly what you Archers would do.”

He laughed, amazed at how comfortable and relaxed he felt with her even though they'd only met, what, four days ago? He flicked his wrist and sent the ball sailing into her goal. “I'll take a point instead.”

She made a low, guttural sound of frustration in her throat. “I'd call you a cheater, but clearly you're not.” She tugged her sweatshirt off, and a wave of disappointment crested over him. He'd forgotten she'd said she had a top on underneath.

“I think you are. You're wearing like twice as many clothes as me.”

“That's not cheating.” She batted her eyelashes at him, and her lips curved into a provocative smile he recognized from one of her romantic comedies. For the first time, he acknowledged it was a bit strange to be playing foosball with this person he'd seen from afar for years. “That's luck of the draw.”

With difficulty, he jerked his attention back to the game. Thankfully he'd taken a booster pill for his ADHD late that afternoon to retain focus. “Ready? Heaven forbid I don't give you a warning.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear before assuming her hip-drop position. “Ready.”

He dropped the ball through the hole and decided to let her play for a bit. Maybe he'd even let her score. But then he'd be in nothing but his underwear, and she'd see the blatant proof of his arousal.

Since she was the one who'd suggested strip foosball in the first place, he decided she wouldn't care. Especially given the way she kept staring at his abs.

They knocked the ball back and forth for a bit. “Why aren't you scoring on me?” she asked. “I'm not a charity case. Do your worst.”

“I was trying to be nice.”

She lifted her gaze from the game—mistake—and delivered him her sauciest look yet. “Nice guys finish last.”

He slammed the ball into her goal. “So do hot movie stars, apparently. Strip.” He stood back from the table and crossed his arms, anxious to see what she'd reveal. Bare chest or underwear? He hoped for the former. “And make it good.”

She arched a brow at him. “Oh, you want a striptease, do you? I think I need music for that.” She bent down and came up with her sweatshirt, then pulled her phone from the front pocket. She slid her fingers over the screen, then set it on the edge of the table as a guitar strummed followed by a beat and then a man singing.

“I don't know this song,” he said.

“ ‘Stripped' by Depeche Mode. I used to take a fitness class that included pole dancing, and this was one of the teacher's favorite songs.” She reached for the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up, baring her smooth belly. Then she stopped, leaving her midriff exposed. “Maybe I should do the pants first.”

“No, finish the shirt.” He'd practically growled the request. No, it had sounded more like a command. His body was on fire. For her.

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you changing the rules on me again?”

Fuck yes, he was. He rounded the table, desperate to see her, to touch her, to taste her. “I think I'm done playing foosball.”

She let her shirt fall, covering her abdomen. “Bummer.”

“No. You misunderstand me.” He clasped her waist and pulled her closer. Then he pushed the shirt back up and didn't stop, unlike her, until her breasts were exposed in all of their glory. “I want the stripping.”

“Just the stripping?” she asked. “I've decided I like some of your rules, especially the one about speaking explicitly.”

“I want to have sex with you. I have a condom in my pocket. Are you interested?” He flicked her a glance—longer than a glance, really, but it was all he could manage. She was so beautiful. And right now she was his. If she said yes.

She twined her arms around his neck. “Hell yes. Couch or bed?”