The Dating Proposal(41)

As if she’s worshipping the console, she runs a hand across the control panel, stroking the joystick against her palm. Her fingers trace the name in its big balloon-y print. Resting her cheek against the screen, she sighs contentedly.

“You sure you don’t want me to leave you alone with it?” I tease.

“Yes, please. I need several moments,” she says then jerks her head up, clearly distracted by the Galaga machine to the right and the Donkey Kong next to that.

“My God, you have your own arcade, Chris.”

I park my hands behind my head. “Would you be impressed if I told you I built them all myself?”

Her eyes pop. “You built all these arcade games?”

“You make it sound like I made a time machine out of a DeLorean. It wasn’t that hard.”

“Wasn’t that hard?” she parrots back. “How do you make an arcade game?”

“I dusted off a computer, found some source code from a non-profit development project that preserves old arcade games, tweaked it up a bit, and then built the cabinet.”

“This is amazing. You can fix and you can build. You have some serious skills.”

“That is true. I’ve already introduced you to some of my finest ones tonight. Now get playing, woman, so I can give you another orgasm.”

A wicked smile stretches across her gorgeous face. “This is the first time I’ve ever played it wanting to get killed, but with you dangling that kind of prize . . .”

“The way I see it is you win either way—you get the high score or you score again.”

“That’s definitely what I call a win/win.” She winks, spins back around, feeds the machine a quarter from a stack on the console, and goes to town, jamming on the joystick.

Gamer that she is, she doesn’t just roll over. She plays hard, and it’s hot as hell watching her.

So hot that by the time she finally plummets off the side of the pyramid, I’m good and ready for another round in bed, and she is too.

This time, we’re slower. We take our time, kissing as we go, exploring each other. She’s warm and pliant, and as she lifts her knees higher and pulls me in deeper, it feels like she’s giving herself to me. It feels like I could do this with her for many, many nights. Nights I don’t want to end.

After we finish, I ask her to stay over.

“I was hoping you’d extend an invitation,” she says, then hums a happy sound.

She stretches out under the sheets, arranging herself for sleep, and I bring her against me, sighing at the feel of her warm skin against mine. She curls against me as moonlight sneaks through the blinds, casting a silver glow over her arms and shoulders.

“I like you, Chris,” she says, her voice sleepy.

I kiss the back of her neck. “I like you too. A lot.”

“I’m glad you made me your mission tonight.”

“I’m going to make you my mission on our next date too.”

“I like the sound of that.”

I do too.

I like the sound of all of this.

As she falls asleep, I’m struck with the realization that we’re quickly zooming past no-strings-attached dating.

And I don’t seem to mind the strings.





The preliminary numbers are in. The segments are a hit. Viewers love the chemistry between McKenna and me. And more than that—they love her.

That’s what Bruce tells us the next time we’re in the studio, ready to shoot again.

“They’re going to want you to do a show all by yourself,” I tell her.

She pokes my chest. “Don’t be silly. They’ll want me to take over for you.”

“You know, Needle Arms, she has a darn good idea,” Bruce says with a glint in his eyes.

“I’m cool with that. I can surf all day and eat my avocado toast with smashed beets anytime I want.”

He cringes. “Ah, why do you do this to me? I’m going to have to eat some bacon to make up for hearing about your health food.”

McKenna shoots me a curious look. “I take it he doesn't know about your penchant for orgasmic ketchup on your succulent fries?”

Bruce’s eyes widen. “You’re secretly eating my kind of food?”

I press a finger to my lips. “Shh. Don’t tell my boss.”

Bruce stage-whispers, “He already knows.” In his normal voice, he tells us the first question from viewers.

I gulp.

McKenna blushes.

The question hits close to home.

“You good with that?” Bruce inquires.

I meet McKenna’s eyes. She nods her assent.

“Yes,” I tell him.

A little later, we record.

“And on today’s What to Do on a Date segment, Denny from St. Louis wants to know: When is it a good idea to sleep together on the first date?”

The faint blush of pink on her cheeks delights me, and feels like both a secret and a statement. She looks to the camera as she answers the question we both have recent firsthand experience with. “I would say it’s a good idea if you’re two adults who communicate clearly about expectations. That’s the key—to talk. To be clear with each other.” She turns to me. “Don’t you think, Chris?”

I rein in the grin, the ridiculous, oversized one threatening to occupy all the square footage of my face. “I do, McKenna. There’s never a guarantee as to what happens next, but as long as you can be straight from the get-go, that’s the best path. So each person knows the score.”