Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(27)

Eventually, he started watching it, too. Asking questions. We slid to the center of the futon, our shoulders touching as I caught him up on the various plot lines running through the movie.

“So they don’t even speak the same language at all?” he asked, pointing to the couple on the screen. “That’s just wacked.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s the beautiful thing about it. They fall in love anyway. They’re in sync without even knowing what the other one is saying.”

I glanced from the TV and back at him as I was explaining, freezing when I caught the curious way he was looking at me. “You’re a romantic.”

My cheeks flushed at the almost tender way he looked at me.

I shrugged. “Me and every other girl.”

He shook his head. “No. You’d be surprised how many girls don’t care about romance. Or love.” And then I remembered this was a guy who spent a lot of time at a kink club. I remembered his baseball game, too. The girls shrieking his name like he was some kind of teen heartthrob. Did they see him at all? Or just some hot jock with all the college scouts after him? A piece of meat they wanted to taste. Yeah, maybe Logan didn’t have a lot of experience with girls who believed in love and romance.

I turned back to the movie, uncomfortable with these thoughts and realizing I hadn’t been that different from those girls in the beginning either. I hadn’t seen beyond his good looks and reputation. “You want a drink? Snack?”

“I could eat.”

I went in the kitchen and popped some popcorn. Tucking a couple cans of soda under my arm, I returned with a big bowl.

We sat back on the couch and continued to watch the movie, munching on popcorn and chatting, covering a wide range of subjects. From why husbands always cheat with the secretary to why girls loved guys with British accents.

“It doesn’t matter,” I insisted.

“Oh. Come on. You can’t tell me that if I opened my mouth and started talking like Prince Harry girls wouldn’t drop—”

“You’re not a proper test case. Girls drop their panties now when you open your mouth,” I accused.

“Not every girl,” he shot back, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully at me.

“Oh!” I blew out an outraged breath and tossed a handful of popcorn in his face.

Chuckling, he grabbed a handful and hurled the stuff back at me. Buttery popcorn pelted me and my laugh twisted into a loud, indelicate pig snort.

At the sound, I clapped and hand over my mouth and nose.

“Oh, that’s nice.” He threw back his head, the tendons in his throat working as a deep belly laugh rumbled up from him.

I plucked a piece from my hair and flicked it at him.

His hand shot out and walked along my ribs. “C’mon. Do you always snort when you laugh. Let’s hear that again.”

I looked down at his hand and back at his face, arching an eyebrow. “Sorry. I’m not ticklish.”

“What?” He looked at me like I was crazy. “Everyone is ticklish.”

“Nope. Not me. I’m an anomaly. It’s a freak genetic trait. My mother isn’t ticklish either.”

“I bet you are,” he insisted, looking knowing and smug. And sexy as hell.

I shrugged and shook my head. “Nope.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Well, let’s see then.”

I held out my arms, inviting him to tickle me again. “Go ahead. I won’t laugh.”

He stroked his chin, considering me for a moment like he was trying to decide his strategy.

“Come on,” I taunted.

“What do I get if I make you laugh?”

“You can sleep in the bed.” His eyes darkened and a flock of butterflies took off in my belly. I quickly added, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Well, that would be kind of dick of me.”

“Chicken.”

“Ohh.” He shook his head. “It’s on. Prepare to laugh.”

His fingers started at my ribs again and then drifted under my arms. Nothing. Well, nothing except that flock of butterflies in my belly got so seriously out of hand that I suddenly thought I might puke.

His wide eyes fixed on me with awe. “You’re not human.”

A burst of laughter escaped me and I held up a finger. “That didn’t count.”

He moved his head side to side as if deciding. “Debatable, but okay.” His fingers hovered clawlike over me.

I clenched my teeth, waiting for his touch again.

“I’ve got a new tactic.” He gripped the hem of my shirt and tugged it up.

I squeaked and grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“C’mon. Don’t be a prude. I can’t really tickle you properly through your shirt. That’s an unfair advantage for you.”

“You sure you’re not trying to get me naked?”

It was his turn to look offended. “I don’t resort to manipulation to get girls naked.”

Sighing, I released my death grip on his hand. “Fine. It still won’t work though. You’ll see.”

He pushed my shirt up, stopping just below my bra. He stared at my bare stomach for a moment, holding one finger aloft.

“Go on,” I said tightly.

He flicked me an annoyed glance. “Patience. I’m trying a different approach.”