For the millionth time tonight, I check my phone for a text from Chelsea. Nothing.

“Big plans?” Declan asks.

“Chelsea’s on a date. Just wondering when she’s going to get back.”

“A date?” Declan asks as Booker and Ethan both hoot and holler. It's game night, and we’re all situated around my living room. Booker and Ethan on the couch, me on the floor, and Declan in the recliner. They’re all testing my patience. All night the same thing: ‘Gonna kick your ass, Playboy.’ ‘Who’s going down tonight?’ And yes, so far, I’ve beaten everyone at each video game we’ve played.

I’ll let you in on a secret… I’m pretty fucking good. Call it good eye-hand coordination, or call it the art of knowing my opponent, but all night, I have been murdering these motherfuckers in Call Of Duty.

We usually get together every Friday night, play a few rounds, bet on who’s going to win, and every time I take their money with a smile.

You’d think they’d wise up, but they never do.

“Yeah, with Stan. I don’t know,” I say, pausing the game.

“Ah, fuck, Jonah. I was about to go all postal up on your shit,” Booker says, slamming his controller down.

“Dude, be careful with that. It’s an elite controller,” I say back.

He better not have broken it. That’s just shy of two hundred bucks right there.

“Who’s Stan?” Declan asks.

“We playin’? We not playin’?” Ethan smirks.

“Shut up, fucker,” Declan barks at him. “Turn the game back on.”

“Calm down, I was just checking the time.”

“Someone’s in love,” Booker says as I unpause the game.

“Shut up,” I tell him.

“Can we play before I get sick. Jonah knows better than to date my little sister. She’ll be home soon,” Declan adds.

“Yeah she’s probably just indisposed at the moment,” Booker jokes, using air quotes.

“Shut up, man. That’s my sister.” Declan focuses on me. “Can we just play already?”

We continue playing, and I don’t check my phone anymore. Although, I really want to. No way did Stan guess that movie line. No way in hell.

Not too long later, the front door opens.

“I’m home. Did you miss me?” Chelsea’s cheery voice fills the space.

Declan stands. “How was the date?” he asks, heading into the kitchen to grab another beer.

Obviously, I take Declan’s guy out in the game since he got up and left his man vulnerable.

She smiles as she drops her handbag on the bar. “Oh,” her eyes meet mine, “it was great.” She returns her attention to Declan. “How was your night?”

He mumbles ‘fine,’ while I watch her for any signs she had a great time. She’s not giving me anything.

Declan returns to his chair as Chelsea makes her way past us.

“Chelsea, you like this guy?” Declan calls out to her.

She smiles and it brightens up the place. Right before she heads down the hallway, she taunts, “Maybe.”

As soon as her door slams shut, Booker laughs. “Your sister is kind of hot.”

“Don’t even look at her,” I shoot off to him.

It pisses me off Booker would say that. I don’t know why, but it does. I mean, it’s Declan’s sister.

A while later, they leave, and I throw away the beer bottles and place the controllers in the drawer of the entertainment center.

“Did you guys have fun?” Chelsea asks, stepping into the living room, wearing pink sleep shorts and a white shirt.

“Yeah.” I put the last controller away, and head into the kitchen where she rummages through the fridge. “Didn’t your date feed you?”

She spins around and gives me a thumb down. “It was horrible.”

My chest warms seeing her reference Gladiator, and I grab a stool to sit on. “Tell me, did he get the quote?”

She grabs a pear from the fridge and chops it up. “No, he looked at me like I had two heads. I mean, he’s funny at work. But, he was kind of, how do I put this? An ass.”

“How?” I watch her chop and watch even closer as she brings a piece to her full lips. Not for nothing, but she does have a nice set of lips. Full and pink.

“Well, he’s a little self-centered. He kept bragging and bragging.”

“Oh, yeah. I hate when they brag,” I joke.

“I’m serious, Jonah.” She sits down next to me. “You’re a player so you wouldn’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raises a brow. “Do you even like the girls you go out with?”

“Sure, I do.” I chuckle.

She raises her brow higher. “Seriously. Do you even talk to the girls you go out with?”

Ouch. “Yes.”

She nibbles on a slice of pear. “Well, this guy had no clue. Then, as we were leaving the restaurant, he patted my butt. Like coaches do to their football players when they get off the field.”

I grin. “Maybe he thought you were a good player.” I laugh. “Or maybe he thought you played a good game.”

“Ha ha. I’m serious. He was a loser.”

“So, no second date?”

She shakes her head, her long blonde hair tumbling down her back. “No.”

I want to fist pump the air. “Sorry, that sucks.” I’m lying, it doesn’t suck. Part of me is thrilled she had a horrible time.

She shrugs. “Nah, I’m sure I’ll meet somebody new.”

And I don't know how I feel about that. She nibbles on another slice of pear, and all of a sudden, I want a piece. She makes the pear look so damn delicious. I grab a slice and pop it into my mouth.

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Are you always going to be a playboy?” She gives my knee a little nudge with hers and the contact sends my pulse racing.

“Yeah sure, ok.” For some reason, I don't like the nickname coming from Chelsea. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. I think it started when we were in high school. I got to first base with a girl…first.

So, the guys coined the nickname playboy, and it stuck.

She holds out a sliver of pear, offering it to me. Like Eve tempting Adam, except with a pear. Without thinking, I lean in and take it from her fingers with my mouth. My tongue grazes her fingertips. I'm not sure that was a slight gasp I heard from her, because my heartbeat is thundering in my ears, but I'm real sure I need to end this conversation and get out of here when she gives a little suck to her fingertip.

Her eyes drop to my mouth when I lick the pear juice from my lips. “Well, I'm tired.” She rises and cleans up her little pear mess. “See you in the morning,” she says, heading to her room.

When she’s out of sight, I let out a breath and make a mental note to never buy pears again.