“Rock, Paper, Scissors for it?” She tilted her head. I couldn’t refuse that pout, those eyes. Damn it, a freaking gunfight wouldn’t be able to distract me from that face. Since when did I decide to even share the bed?
She smiled again.
Right, since she started holding my sanity captive.
“Ready?” I lifted my hands.
Her eyes scanned my abs and chest before she lifted her hands and said, “Rock, Paper, Scissors.”
We both hit paper and went again. I won rocking her scissors.
The next round she won because she cheated, but whatever, I hesitated and she used that to her advantage, covering my rock with her paper.
“Ooh, final round.” I teased.
“Ready?” She moved to her knees so she was as close to me as she could get without falling off the bed.
“Ready.” I walked towards her, careful not to let my towel drop, and held out my hands in front of me.
“Paper.” Me.
“Rock.” Her.
“Scissors.” Us.
“Huh?” She pointed at my hand. “What the heck is that?”
“Oh, right.” I had my finger pointing at her and sliced her paper in half. “It’s a knife, I’m mafia. We don’t play by the rules.”
Amy scowled, her cute little eyebrows knitting together in frustration. “You can’t just make up rules.”
“I believe—” I leaned forward. “—I just did, now are you going to be a sore loser or let me have the middle?”
“Sore loser.”
“You’ve always been fair,” I teased. “You gonna start changing my opinion of you?”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms and huffed “But I’m asking people when I get back if that’s something you guys do.”
“Us guys?” I repeated.
“You know.” She waved me off. “The mafia.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh we have tons of rules, special codes, bad ass hand shakes, seriously takes me like ten whole minutes to even meet up with someone at the bar because I have to go through so many movements. One of them involves a spin, just in case you were wondering.”
Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “You’re lying.”
I shrugged. “I’m mafia sweetheart.”
“And Sicilian.” She rolled her eyes. “Double X.”
“And Sicilians are liars?”
She grabbed a pillow and held it to her chest. “My dad was.”
“Your dad is a piece of shit,” I spat. “He doesn’t even deserve the title of dad and when I see him I’m going to cut off his hands for ever laying a finger on you.”
Amy hissed out a breath.
“Sorry.” I looked quickly down at my feet, semi-embarrassed that I’d just gone all killer on her. “It’s only fair though. Why should he deserve the honor having hands when he doesn’t even know how to use them properly?”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Use yours properly?”
Load my gun and tickle the trigger why don’t you? Did she even realize what she was asking? The connotation behind it? The absolute restraint it took for me not to throw my towel to the ground and pin her arms against the mattress until she screamed out in pleasure?
With a practiced grin, one I knew made girls stutter — only because it pissed Sergio off to no end whenever I did it — I leaned forward and tilted my head, flashing my smile. “Honey, I use all things properly… especially my hands, wanna see?”
“Even if I said yes…” Amy’s eyes narrowed again. “You’d still chicken out.”
“Chicken out? What is this?” I laughed. “We play paper, rock, scissors for real estate on the bed and now you’re calling me a chicken?”
“Fine.” Amy licked her lips. “Then touch me… with your hands.”
I froze.
My hands clenched at my sides, unwilling to follow through with what she asked and pissed off that I had to keep them there lest I lose all self-control and ruin everything. “I can’t.”
“Because?”
“It isn’t right.”
“Because?”
“Damn it, Amy.” I turned around and put my hands on my hips. “I can’t just touch you and not do more. One touch is worse than a tease, it’s like giving me a crumb of bread after I’ve been starving in the jungle for weeks. I’m just going to eat the whole thing and do whatever I can to get more.”
She was silent. When I turned back around she had a satisfied grin on her face, like I’d just made this huge confession. Panicked, I retraced what I said. She kept smiling.
Scowling, I asked, “What?”