The Dating Proposal(21)

She opens her eyes. “Ohhhhhh.”

And I’ve got a screwdriver right here. With a hard drive. “Good?” It sounds like I’m talking through sandpaper.

“That is indeed orgasmic ketchup. You better have some.”

“Bring it.” I’m like a moth to a flame. I can’t resist flirting with her. I part my lips as she swipes the fry in ketchup and feeds it to me. I don’t think I can top her sensual fry-eating finesse, so I simply chew and declare it delicious.

She adopts a skeptical frown. “I don’t know. I don’t think that fry did it for you, Chris.” Somehow she says my name like it has five syllables and is the sexiest name that’s ever fallen from her lips.

“Fine, give me another.” She dips one more in a wasabi-style sauce and offers it. I lean in closer and groan as I take it. Her eyes widen at the sound I make, at the rumble in my throat.

Holy shit. Am I affecting her? By French-fry-eating? I’ll stuff them all in my mouth if that turns her on.

She swallows a little roughly, as if she’s catching her breath. Maybe I am getting under her skin.

Which is exactly what I shouldn’t try to do. But hell, it’s too fun.

I finish chewing. “Pleased now?”

“Seems like you were.”

“I was indeed quite pleased.”

“I think we just turned this meal into a hands-on session in foreplay with French fries.”

“Foreplay is my favorite game.”

She laughs, then waves her hand. “Time to behave. And this now concludes today’s edition of Chronicles in Stimulating Fry-Eating.”

I laugh, take a bite of the chicken sandwich, and return to business. “What do you think? Are you game? I think you’d be awesome at it. And obviously, we’d strike some sort of deal so it’s beneficial for you as well.”

“Actually . . .” A glint of an idea seems to cross her eyes. “I’ve been weighing this as we eat.”

“Whoa, you’re a multitasker.”

“Yes, I can think and eat and talk all at once. And I think we can do this as a promotional deal.”

She’s piqued my curiosity even more. “How so?”

“Why don’t we cross-promote? It can be more of a marketing or promo partnership. I’m trying to expand and reach guys. This could be a good chance to reach some male viewers about the fashion looks I’m curating for young men.”

I beam, loving the way this is coming together. “That’s perfect. We want to reach the young female market. You want to connect with young men. Boom. We both get something out of this. Why don’t we do it for a few segments and see how it goes?”

“I’d love to. And maybe you’ll find some of my audience likes to play games.”

“A lot of young women do. The female gamer is one of the fastest-growing demographics in the whole video-game business, and of course, women are avid consumers of tech in general. And you’re clearly into games, since I met you when you were debating which new one to buy.”

“I blame Q*bert.”

“That wily guy is responsible for your love of games?”

“He’s completely the culprit. I kicked ass at Q*bert when I was a kid. My parents were totally into this retro bowling alley near our house, and it had all the classic arcade games.”

I reach for a fry and dip it into a lime-ginger sauce and listen to her talk.

“I used to play for hours, bouncing from square to square, level to level. The noises, the snakes, the green magic balls . . . I miss Q*bert. And I mean the real Q*bert, with the diagonal joystick, the pixelated graphics, the funky sounds.”

Like I have an ace up my sleeve, I grin at her. “How badly do you miss it?”

“A ton.” She tips her chin at me in question. “What’s the devilish little smile about?”

I lean back, all casual and cool as I drop news I think she’ll love. “I have Q*bert.”

“For the PlayStation, you mean?”

I shake my head. “I have the real Q*bert.”

“The arcade one?”

“The real deal. In my living room.”

She practically does a jig in her chair. “I’m so jealous right now. I’m having visions of eighth grade, me acing the round, punching my initials in for all the world to see.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “Bet you can’t beat my high score.”

“Oh, you think you can take me on in Q*bert?”

“I do.”

“You’re on. Someday I will take you down. Wait.” She slaps a palm on the table. “That might be a fun thing to do on a date—play video games. I could do a bit on what to wear on a gaming date.”

“See? It’s already coming together. You have to do that as a video blog for your site—a gaming date. And then when you come on my show, the guys will have tons of questions about gaming dates.”

We make plans for her to come to the studio. I hold out a hand to shake, and from the French-fry-feeding to the orgasm talk to the way I stare at her lips, I wonder what I just got myself into.

I’ve just signed her on to be a part of my show when I want to get my hands on her.

Except that’s a limited assessment of the broad range of McKenna and the way I’m starting to feel for her. There’s more to it than wanting to touch her. I want to get to know her better too.