Page 63 of Inferno

Prissy sucked her teeth, glaring at him. “Can I have my lollipop back?”

“Nah,” he drawled. “It’s mine now.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

As he prepared to take his turn, she sidled over to him in flagrant disregard of bowling etiquette. Just as he was about to release the ball, she leaned close and whispered in his ear, “That’s okay. I’ll find something better to suck on later.”

He jerked and lost his aim, pitching the ball down the gutter.

Prissy threw back her head and laughed.

Stan scowled, snatching the lollipop out of his mouth and jabbing it at her. “That was real dirty.”

She shrugged, grinning impenitently as she sashayed back to her chair. “It’s not my fault you have lousy concentration.”

“Lousy concentration?”

“Yup.”

Chuckling and shaking his head, Stan picked up his ball and returned to his starting position on the lane. “I got your lousy concentrationrighthere.”

Of course he retaliated with—what else?—a strike.

Prissy glared at him as he made an exaggerated show of buffing his nails on his shirtfront as he swaggered over to her and sat down.

“You know,” she said imperiously, “it’s rather ungentlemanly of you to gloat while beating me with absolutely no regard for my feelings.”

“Oh?” His eyes glinted with amused challenge. “And is it unladylike ofyouto gloat for days whenever you beat me at tennis?”

That shut her up.

“That’s what I thought,” Stan said with a laugh, polishing off the lollipop and discarding the stick.“Your turn, woman.”

When Prissy’s next roll resulted in a split, she groaned loudly with frustration. “Aw, man, I canneverget those.”

Stan tsk-tsked.“Not with that attitude,” he chided, recording her score on the card.

Prissy eyed him plaintively. “Can you help me, baby?”

“What?” He laughed. “Hell, nah, I can’t help you.”

She pouted.“Why not?”

“Because you’re my opponent.Why would I help you improve your score and cut into my lead, especially after you just tried to sabotage me?” He shook his head, a broad grin sweeping across his handsome face. “Sorry. No can do.”

“Come on, Stanny,” she wheedled, using her pet nickname for him. “Just show me how to pick up the spare.”

Leaning back against his chair, Stan deliberately folded his arms across his broad chest, stretched out his long legs and crossed his booted feet at the ankles.“Nope.”

Prissy batted her lashes and pouted her lips, doing her best impersonation of a temptress in distress. “Pretty please?” she cooed. “With lots of sugar and chocolate drizzled on top?”

Stan looked at her, lips quirking as he valiantly fought the tug of a grin.

“Please, baby?Pleeeaaase?”

Heaving an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, he stood and sauntered over to her.

Prissy smiled at him as he positioned himself behind her, the heat of his big body instantly penetrating hers.