Good Time(48)

I stop dead in my tracks because that’s a much better idea than the one I had.

“Wait, it that a real thing that we could do? Do you know someone?”

Vince is staring back at me with a very odd expression on his face and I realize he was kidding. Like super kidding.

“I was kidding, Payton. You can’t test-drive a baby, Jesus. How much more insane can any of this get?”

“I know that! I was kidding too. Haha.”

He stares.

“Anyway, while the baby-sampling sounds like a great idea, I had something else in mind.”

“Baby-sampling,” he mutters to himself like I’m the crazy person who brought it up to begin with. That was him, to be clear. In case anyone forgot.

“Whoever wins mini-golf gets to tie the other person up.” I wink dramatically so he gets my drift. My drift is sex. Someone’s hands tied to the headboard, is what I’m envisioning.

Vince takes his first shot on hole three and then looks me over, head to toe and back again, as if he’s mentally undressing me.

“So if I win, I can tie you up?”

“Yes!” I grin big.

“I can do that anyway,” he finally says.

This guy. I sigh and resist flipping him off because we’re in public and children are present.

“Listen, buzzkill, it’s still a real good offer.”

“I’m not sure that you understand the concept of negotiating.”

“Fine. What do I have that you want?”

“Everything,” he replies. His voice is low and husky, the word spoken softly, and he’s looking me right in the eye when he says it. The swans in my stomach just found a water park that has water bumper cars. You know the ones? They look like giant inner tubes but they have a seat and they’re motorized and you use them to float around the lake banging into each other. My stomach swans are definitely banging. Spinning in circles and banging into everything in their path.

“Okay,” I reply, not quite trusting my voice to speak. Wondering if I’m reading too much into this. “If I win, I get to tie you up and if you win, you can have whatever you want.”

“Deal.” He sticks out his hand so we can shake on it. It’s oddly funny yet sexual at the same time. I slip my hand into his and we shake. I’ve felt his hands in mine and on various parts of my body too many times to count this past week, but it still affects me. The spark. The current between us. He winks and I nearly come on the spot. Well, not really. But I am extremely turned on and needy and would not say no if he wanted to abandon this game of mini-golf right now in favor of a hotel room and some kinky good times.

But I can be patient.

More patient than you’d think a girl who elopes on the first date would be.

So I remain confident in my certain victory for the next three holes, but by the tenth, we’re tied again. He pulls ahead on the twelfth. We’re tied again on the thirtieth. And then it’s all downhill. I lose by eight strokes. But let’s face it, this was a win for me either way.

I’m practically vibrating with excitement over what he might want to do tonight, with his win. Butt stuff? Nipple clamps? Fuck without a condom? Film a homemade sex tape?

Confess that he’s crazy in love with me?





Chapter Twenty-Five





He wants to have dinner at the Cheesecake Factory.

Yup. The Cheesecake Factory.

On a Saturday night.

His choice.

It took forty-seven minutes to get a table. I counted every one of them.

Then he didn’t order cheesecake.

He ordered salmon. With broccoli. No dessert. It was very nearly our first fight.

I had a barbecue chicken pizza without the onions because I still intended to have sex with him even though he purposely picked a restaurant with a long wait for no other reason than to amuse himself at my expense. I also ordered two slices of cheesecake to go. They were both for me.

After dinner things finally started looking up.

“I need to stop at Target,” he tells me as he makes a left out of the Cheesecake Factory instead of a right which would bring us back to the Beltway and my apartment.

Fuck, yes.

“Do you need to pick up a few supplies for your win, sir?” I ask it in my best sex kitten voice, running a fingertip up his forearm, my imagination already racing with ideas.

“Exactly.” He picks up my hand and kisses my palm before placing my hand onto the console between us, with a smile shot in my direction, then focuses on the road again.

Oh, yeah. Kink city. It’s happening.

“Stay here,” he instructs as he puts the car into park. “I’ll be quick.” Another sly grin, with a lingering glance at my lips, and he’s gone. The car is still running, and my pulse is racing in overtime.

What could he possibly get in a Target? Nipple clamps are out. Unless he’s going to buy a box of binder clips. I cringe at the very idea. That cannot be safe so that’s out.

Duct tape? The thing is, I cannot imagine how that wouldn’t hurt coming off and I’m not looking for real pain, just a bit of fun pain. Like maybe a light rope burn at worst.

Lube? They sell lube, right?

This is torture. How long has he been gone? I eye the clock on the dashboard, wishing I’d thought to check it when he got out of the car. What’s it been? Three minutes? Ten minutes? I’ve no idea.