Reese
“Remember that stupid quiz you gave me the first time you came over here?”
We were sprawled in a satisfied heap on his bed on a lazy springtime Saturday morning, our limbs tangled together, my head pillowed on his chest.
“Vaguely.”
“Look it up. Ask me again. I’m pretty sure I’d pass this time.”
I squinted up at him. “Like… now?”
“Yes.” He swatted my ass and handed me my phone from the nightstand.
Humoring him, I opened up my browser and typed RELATIONSHIP QUIZ, and scrolled down until I saw the familiar Cosmo quiz. It would be kind of interesting to know how his answers had changed from before.
“Okay, ready?” I squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Question one, her idea of a perfect date is A. Getting dressed up and—”
“I don’t need multiple choices,” he interrupted.
I poked my tongue in the side of my cheek. “That’s kind of how these things work.”
“You’ll know if I pass, won’t you?”
“I guess,” I conceded.
“All right. Your perfect date. Something that challenges you. Something outdoors. Something that gives you a chance to show a bunch of guys you can hold your own. And then a giant picnic afterward, naked, right here in this bed.”
I paused, contemplating his answer. “Not bad.”
“Maybe something like the Tough Mudder 5K obstacle course I signed us up for next weekend.”
“I—wait, you did what?”
“Planned our perfect date.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head, and I could hear the smile in the cocky, pleased tone of his voice. “Next question.”
“Oh my God, really? I’ve always wanted to do one of those!”
“And next week, you will. You’re going to conquer it, and then you’re going to help me deal with my wounded pride when your time is better than mine by letting me conquer you that night. All night. Until my fragile male ego is fully restored. Keep reading.”
A little dazed, because that actually did sound like a perfect date, I read, “Question two. She hates it when her man…”
“Tells her what to do. Unless we’re in the bedroom, where she not-so-secretly loves it.”
I tipped my head to the side in thought. “Valid. Question three. When it comes to your friends…”
“She prefers I disappear with them when that time of the month rolls around, so she can deprive me of her extra swollen, extra sensitive boobs, which I think is just bullshit, but I love her, so I’ll go with it.”
Another bullseye for him, although I giggled at the exaggerated pout curving his lips.
“Question four. You want to go to the big party on Saturday but she isn’t feeling well. You—”
“Call Smith to come deal with your moody ass.”
My shocked gaze flew to his, my mouth dropping open a little in disapproval.
He smirked. “Just kidding. You know I live for the times when you actually let me pamper you the way you deserve.”
I flushed. My insistence on my independence was a long-standing source of frustration for him, although, to his credit, he always supported what I wanted to do, even if I wouldn’t allow him to help me most of the time.
“Moving on. Question five. When it comes to living together…”
“The sooner the better, considering I don’t think you’ve spent more than half a dozen nights at your dorm since New Year’s.”
My heart fluttered. He’d hinted at that before, but I’d worried he’d start to feel trapped.
“Yeah?”
“Of course. Haven’t I made it obvious by now how much I like waking up next to you? Have you already forgotten the last three hours?” He shrugged, the movement making his chest rise and fall beneath me. “Plus, Oscar pouts when you’re not here. You know how I feel about having a sad wiener.”
“There’s nothing worse than a sad wiener,” I mocked him, rolling my eyes.
“There’s really not. Good thing you know how to keep mine so happy.” And he flexed his hips, showing me just how happy I made his.
“My ideal anniversary gift is…”
“Sausage. Lots and lots of sausage.”
“I’m starting to sense a trend with your answers here, Laird.”
He stretched, his sculpted muscles bunching and shifting, and I stopped myself from running a palm over the ridges of his abdomen.
“Not my fault you can’t get enough of me. Keeping you happy is damn near a full-time job. Not that I’m complaining. I’d happily clock forty hours a week between those long legs of yours.”
I blushed, and felt a familiar tingle start between my thighs.
“Question six. Does she—”
“You know what? Let’s save the rest for another time. I’ve got a multiple-choice question of my own to ask you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“How do you want to come in the next twenty minutes? A. In the shower. B. Against the wall. C. In the bed. D. All of the above.” His voice was low and husky, the sound vibrating through my chest.
I licked my lips, dropped my phone on the bed and turned over so I could see him.
“Have I mentioned how much I love your penchant for being an overachiever?” I threw one thigh over his hips, straddling him. “Start the clock.”
Did you like Drumline? Keep reading for an excerpt from Stacy Kestwick’s first book, Wet.