Page 33 of The Hot Shot

“Oh, yeah, there is.” His expression is sin and promise. “Wonder Woman is scary hot. She can kick your ass, tie you up, and make you spill the truth. You know, beg for it.”

He says it with such zeal, my breasts grow heavy with the image of him tied to a chair, those firm muscles of his straining against the ropes. I suck in a breath, let it out nice and slow. “You’re into begging?”

“I’m into hot women who know their minds.” He gives me a cheeky grin. “And Wonder Woman. I’m definitely into her.”

“I used to have this fantasy that Spider-Man wrapped me in his web and had his way with me,” I confess in a stage whisper.

Finn looks delighted, which makes me feel better. I didn’t like seeing the happy light in his eyes dim or that I’d made him feel shitty. We’re probably flirting too much for supposed friends, but if feels light, fun. I am the first to admit I can be too serious.

“Saucy, Chess.” He leans close so we’re facing each other over the table. “So is it just the dates that suck? Or the sex, too?”

The fact that he has to ask puts us on totally separate planes. I don’t have sex with crappy dates. He clearly does. I give a little laugh and shake my head. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good sex, I swear I heard the mournful sound of ‘Taps’ coming from the vicinity of my vagina last night.”

He chokes on his beer, spewing a fine mist over the table. Coughing on the remnants, he wipes his mouth and then the mess, before glaring. “I can’t believe you said that to me.”

I sip my own beer, hiding a smile. “Did my use ofvaginaoffend you?”

“Yes,” he deadpans, then rolls his eyes. “I’m a guy. Now I want to fix the problem.”

The heat in his eyes has me squirming in my seat. Not that I show it. “We’re friends. You can’t fix it.”

Finn’s expression could only be described as a leer. “Oh, I could fix it, all right.”

I grin wide, pretend that my heart isn’t beating harder, that my nipples aren’t perking up with interest. “But you won’t because that would ruin this fragile and new friendship.”

He snorts, then takes a long drink of his beer. “Then don’t tempt me.”

Is that what I’m doing? Maybe I am. Maybe I need my head examined. Any time I get within sight of him everything grows warm and slow, swollen and tender. Except my heart and my breath, those quicken with impatience and greed. How would it be to fuck him? Would it be as combustible as my body believes? Would he wreck me for all others?

For one heady moment, I entertain the thought of giving in,of telling him,Fix me. Until it hurts to walk.But what if sleeping with him falls flat in the face of expectation?

And there is the unavoidable fact that he has plainly stated he doesn’t want to hook up with me. Despite his easy flirting, I know he was being honest. And, really, I don’t want a hookup either. So, I’ll treat him just as I treat James.

Under the table, I nudge his knee with mine. “Come on. You don’t talk about sex with your friends?”

He gives me the stink eye, but he’s clearly fighting a smile, too. “In general, guys never admit that their dicks are singing sad songs. Kind of messes with the rep.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“Seriously, though,” he says. “I’m having a hard time believing you don’t have guys lined up waiting for a chance with you.”

Warmth blooms in my chest. “Well, aren’t you the sweet talker?”

“I’m stating a simple fact.” His brows draw together. “You didn’t have a bad experience, did you?”

“Why do men always assume the worst?”

“You’re getting it wrong. Men assume that to every problem there is a solution. State your problem, and I’ll find a solution.”

The tilt of his chin is so imperious, I want to laugh. But the earnest concern in his eyes is kind of cute. With a sigh, I tell him the truth. “Sex for me is complicated.”

“You confused about what goes where, darlin’?”

“That was payback, wasn’t it?”

“A little bit.” He grows serious. “Why is sex complicated?”

I draw a fry through a puddle of ketchup. “I have a problem with latex.”