Kiss and Don't Tell(35)

“Last time I checked,” I answer.

“Then, yes, I looked at your lips.”

I nod. “Checks out.” I stare down at the block, but I can feel his eyes on me, so I glance in his direction and ask, “What?”

“You have a nice smile, too. Posey’s is pretty damn good, but you give him a run for his money.”

I tilt my head to the side and realize my lips are feeling really loose because I ask, “Are you flirting with me, Pacey?”

“Has it not been obvious?” He pushes his hand through his unruly hair. “I need to work on my game.”

Oh God, he is flirting. Even with my brain feeling semi-foggy, I’m having a hard time believing it. I mean, I don’t feel like I lack self-confidence. I think in a real-life situation—not in a got-lost-in-the-woods-and-stumbled-into-a-house-full-of-hockey-players situation—I’m a solid seven. I have a nice face. I like my hair. I could benefit from working out some, but I haven’t had time the past two or so years. So, a seven seems like a good number. But insert me into the alternate reality I’m currently living in, a reality where I share a house with a bunch of men who don’t even fit on the ten-out-of-ten scale—they’re the men you make a new scale for—I’m easily a four.

I don’t stand a chance. And that’s not me being a Debbie Downer, that’s me speaking the cold, honest truth.

So I can’t imagine a time when someone like Pacey Lawes, a man with such corded forearms that it’s my new favorite pastime to watch them fire off while he grips his drink, would even consider flirting with me.

“I doubt you have to work on your flirting, Pacey.”

“Why?” he asks.

Is he really that oblivious?

“Uh, you know, because you’re this hot hockey player and I’m just a plain Jane that stumbled temporarily into your life.”

Pacey’s eyes narrow and the side of his jaw ticks. “You think you’re a plain Jane?”

I wave my hand at him. “Not looking for any half-hearted compliments, here. Just forget what I said. I have a question to answer.” I look down at the question and read it out loud. “‘Show your favorite sexual position with the person across from you . . .’” Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

When I peek up at Pacey, he still has that disgruntled look on his face but he’s setting down his almost empty bottle of cider.

“How do you want me?”

I hold the block up. “You think I’m going to do this?”

His eyes fall on the teetering tower and then back at me. “If you don’t answer, you have to go again, which will most likely guarantee you the loss. Are you willing to lose over a question?”

I’m not.

If anything, I’m competitive and I like knowing that I could be the Jenga Master, especially after the game I’ve had. There has been taunting, roadblock questions, and doubting of my abilities. He’s right, if I go again, there’s a high chance I won’t be able to make it through alive.

But perform my favorite sex position on Pacey? That takes the cake for embarrassing, because, well . . .

“I, uh, I only really know two,” I admit, wanting to be swallowed whole from the confession.

“What do you mean, you know two?”

“Two sex positions,” I say, and when my eyes meet his, I watch them turn soft with understanding.

Gently, he asks, “Well, then which was your favorite of the two?”

Confused, I ask, “You’re not going to make fun of me?”

“Why would I make fun of you for that? Everyone has a favorite or two, hence the question. But from the way your shoulders turned in, I’m guessing it’s a sensitive topic for you, so of course I won’t make fun of you.”

“I’ve only been with one guy,” I say. The cider really has loosened up my lips. “He was my first true love, just like Silas and his girl. We were each other’s firsts. I think he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me, so we only stuck to two things that worked for him.”

“Worked for him?” Pacey asks, brow lifted. “What do you mean worked for him?”

“That got him off.”

“And what about you?”

I shrug. “It didn’t matter. I just wanted to make sure he was happy.”

Pacey sits straight up now. “It sure as fuck does matter.” He must check himself because, he calms his voice and asks, “Have you ever had an orgasm?”

I think about it. “I mean . . . I think so.”

“Winnie, you’d know if you orgasmed, if it actually happened.”

“It didn’t really matter, because we were in love, so I just loved being with him, you know?”

I can see his mind racing in the way his eyes connect with mine. I wouldn’t say he’s judging me, because he’s proven to not be that kind of man, but I do believe he’s confused and doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Anyway,” I set the block on the tower and say, “I’m just going to lie down and you can lie on top of me, for missionary.”

I get down on the grass and lie stiff as a board, shocked that I’m actually doing this for the game. Do the guys do this when they play? Surely not . . . Pacey doesn’t move. He’s looking off into the woods, as if contemplating what he should do next.