Baddest Bad Boys(8)

“I’ll do it.” He snatched the towel out of her hands and wiped the mess off himself. No way was he letting her kneel in front of him for a front-row view of his boner. He dropped the towel into the plastic bag designated as garbage, and triple checked that the shirt was closed over his crotch. “You haven’t answered my question,” he prompted.

Robin’s mouth tightened. She sliced a cucumber, tossed it in the bowl. “It just happened,” she said quietly. “In high school, it was mostly Max and Danny, and The Talk. And in college, I was super busy, with training, gymnastics competitions, clown gigs. There was never time for it to happen. And then…I guess I wanted…” Her voice trailed off.

“Yeah?” he prompted, relentless. “What did you want?”

“I didn’t want it to be just anyone,” she whispered.

“Right. You were hoping for someone special. Who’s crazy about you. And so you should,” he said vehemently. “So you should.”

She hacked a tomato in half. “Don’t start in on me again,” she said. “Believe me, I heard you. It was bad enough the first time around.”

“Hey. You’re the one who started this, birdie, and I—”

“Do. Not. Call. Me. That. Ever again, hear?”

He glanced at her, startled. Her face was hot pink, eyes sparkling with anger. “What? Why? Your brothers always used to—”

“Yeah. When I was a f*cking infant they did. Not anymore. They’ve learned. The hard way. I’ve got a name, Jon. Use it.”

He was a contrary, smart-ass bastard by nature, and saw no reason at all to downplay that quality, being as how he was not, repeat, not getting laid tonight. He gave her a toothy, in-your-face grin. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, birdie. I think it’s kind of cute.”

Thwanngggg. The chef’s knife she’d been chopping with quivered in the doorjamb, two feet from his head. He stared at it. His jaw sagged.

“Uh, Robin?” he said faintly. “You just threw a knife. At me.”

Robin’s hands were on her hips. Her eyes had a hot battle glow. “No, Jon,” she said sweetly. “If I had thrown a knife at you, it would be sticking out of you. It’s sticking out of the wall. Important distinction.”

“It’s two feet from my head!” he protested.

“Yes? And? Your point is?”

He took a deep breath, and shoved the words out from behind a wall of gritted teeth. “I don’t want you to do that. Ever again.”

She shrugged. “I’m sure that you don’t,” she said lightly.

The nerve of the chick was mind-boggling. He glared at her. “I do not like knives flying at my—”

“Of course you don’t. Duh. I grew up with a couple of big lunks like you and I found, by trial and error, that the most successful form of communication with them is non-verbal. Bet you’ll think before that nickname comes out of your mouth again, won’t you? Admit it.”

He yanked the knife out of the doorjamb, shoved her out of the way and proceeded to slice up the abused tomato himself. “Just shut up, Robin,” he muttered. “You’re bugging me.”

He loaded her up with fluffy, buttered rice, salad and a juicy chunk of seared sirloin, and slapped the plate down in front of her. Then he pulled the beer out of the bag, and gave her a doubtful glance.

She gave him a look. “Yes. In case you were wondering, twenty-five is definitely old enough to drink a beer. Thanks, yes. I’ll have one.”

He shrugged, popped the top, handed her the longnecked bottle.

“My turn to ask embarrassing provocative questions,” she said.

He sawed off a chunk of steak. “What do you want to know?”

“What have you got against virgins?”

He choked on the beer, and coughed. “Virgins are bad news. I don’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. I learned the hard way.”

“But everybody was a virgin, once,” she argued. “Even you!”

“Was I? Really? I barely remember,” he said blandly.

“But why?” she persisted. “If it’s just a matter of skill—”

“Nah.” He waved her words away with his beer bottle. “It’s not that. It’s that virgins are walking emotional bombs. They fall in love the first time you f*ck them, if you do it right. And then it’s a bad scene.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. That’s ridiculous.”

“And furthermore. If you’re stupid enough to actually give a shit about a chick that you’ve de-virginized, she’ll tear you to pieces the minute she starts wondering what she’s missing with other guys.”

“Well.” She harrumphed. “That’s hardly relevant in our case—”

“They can’t help it,” he went on. “And I don’t blame them for it, either. It’s just natural curiosity. Everybody needs a wide range of sexual experience to find out what they like. What works for them. But that’s when guy number one gets f*cked up the ass. Bummer for him.”

Robin left a delicate pause. “I have a feeling you could provide a pretty broad range of experience all by yourself,” she murmured.

He shook his head stubbornly. “If a guy is stupid enough to do a virgin, he has to be calculated about it. Cold. Pop ’em and drop ’em.”