Page 133 of Scoring the Player
“Yeah. Why?”
“No reason.”
He faces me. “You don’t think I can do it?”
I shake my head. “Never said that.”
“Why, ’cause I can’t cook?”
Where’d that come from?
“I’m serious.” He glares at me. “You don’t think I’m man enough to survive out here?”
“What are you talking about?” I step toward him. “Of course you’re man enough. What’s up?”
“I can learn how to cook,” he says, pushing past me.
“It’s all good. I’ll buy the cabin next to yours. You can come over when you’re hungry.”
He turns. “And who will you be living with?”
“I don’t know.” I catch up to him, slinging my arm around his neck, ignoring the daggers in his gaze. “I’ll probably shoot my shot with the hot city boy next door.”
“You don’t have a shot.”
“Oh.” I tilt my head back. “Word?”
He almost grins.
“Well, guess I’ll just scrounge up a husband somewhere. Just walk on by if you see me giving it to him good against a tree or in the mud.”
I rip my arm free as he tries to bite off a chunk. “Ay!”
I laugh, backing away as he grits his teeth and lunges for me.
“Don’t be jealous of Mr. Jones!” I jump back as he swipes the air, then turn on my heels and book it.
“Run all you want,” he calls out.
I kick up to full speed as I hear him gaining on me.
“You’re already dead.”
“Okay.” I gasp for a breath as my laughter turns into a cackle. “But wait until after our wedding. Mr. Jones has been planning?—”
Oof!I’m rammed from behind and taken down.
“Say it again,” he snarls near my ear.
I’m wheezing with laughter as I’m bracketed by his thighs.
It doesn’t take much to buck him off and flip over to my back. He quickly recovers and reclaims his position on top of me.
“Fuck Mr. Jones,” he growls in my face.
I nibble on the bruise on his lower lip and clasp his hips, then grind up into him.
“Don’t touch me,” he sneers, crawling to a stand. I pull him back down and wrap him up in my arms.
