Ryder

I slam the white plastic ball across the table, imagining it’s Cal, it’s Maggie, it’s the institution of marriage.

What it is, though, is a perfect shot.

However, our opponents are tough as nails, even with Steve’s crazy-ass swing.

It’s down to the final serve. Do or die. The wiry guy is a determined mofo. He extends his left arm so far to the middle of the table that his teammate actually jumps out of the line of fire, like a frog skittering away from the street. But Steve’s backhand is so vicious he grunts as he returns the ball with astonishing power, sending it screaming in Nicole’s direction.

Tension threads through me. No way can she get this. No way anyone can dive the way she needs to. But somehow, the woman stretches across the corner of the table and saves the ball before it rattles to the floor. In a split second, she hits it with a perfect return.

Perfect because Steve’s teammate misses, since he’s still scrambling to get back into position.

I thrust my arms in the air. Nicole hoots.

“We are the champions,” she says, and that calls for scooping her up. I lift her in my arms. “We absolutely are.”

Buoyed by the thrill of victory, I squeeze her tight, and for a second her breasts are pressed flush to my pecs. Naturally, I have no choice but to swing my eyes downward, and hot damn. They are highly bitable. But then, this isn’t the first time I’ve noticed Nicole’s rocking body. She’s lush. Curvy hips, a delicious ass, lean legs. On top of that, she has that long red hair, those fantastic lips, and these light blue eyes that make you do a double take and wonder if they’re contacts, because how can anyone have eyes that shade of blue? I even asked her once, and she got in my face, opened her eyes wide, and said, “See anything less than real?”

“Nothing but blue skies ahead,” I’d said.

Also, it should be mentioned her ass is something I’d like to worship. I’ve checked out her backside pretty much every time she’s ever bent down to pick up a Ping-Pong ball from the floor. If I ever strip her to nothing, I’ll spend ample time nibbling it, no doubt. Then I remind myself to stop objectifying her. Besides, I need her advice and input. I’ve got to sell her on helping me with Cal’s do-or-die project. She’s the perfect companion to test these dates with me, and I need to find the right moment tonight to ask for her help.

“Hey, superstar, want to get a glass of champagne and toast to our victory?” I say as we break the embrace.

“I would love nothing more,” she says brightly, since the bar that hosts our games—the Lucky Spot—is known for its champagne and Ping-Pong nights.

We shake hands with Wide Swing Steve as well as his teammate, congratulating them on a game well played.

“Good job, guys,” I say.

“You, too.” Steve shakes his head in frustration. “You two are a tough team to beat.”

“Why, thank you,” Nicole says. “So are you.”

When we reach the counter, I ask the bartender for the bubbly special—since, when in Rome—but Nicole declines and says she’ll have an iced tea instead.

I arch a brow. She’s not a lush by any means, but we’ve had plenty of happy hours and Ping-Pong tournaments where we’ve toasted with wine, beer, or cocktails. A mojito is usually her poison. I’m about to ask why she’s going virgin, when she says, “What’s the strangest thing someone has ever asked you to do?”

I blink but quickly find the answer. “A girl once asked me to meow till she came.”

Nicole laughs. “I didn’t actually mean in bed.”

“Ah, my misunderstanding. I took that as a natural baseline with you when you asked for strange.” I flash her my trademark grin. “Pillow talk and all.”

She shrugs in a way that says natural mistake. “But did you turn on the pussycat charm?”

“I’m all for making the woman happy. If she’d asked me to purr I’d have done that, too,” I say, as the bartender sets our drinks on the counter.

Nicole strokes my hair. “Good, kitty-boy.”

I reward her with a purr. Because her hand in my hair is purr-worthy.

Her blue eyes sparkle in excitement. She lowers her hand to my ear, dragging her fingertip over the earlobe. Damn, this woman. One peek at the swell of her breasts, and I’m thinking of her sexually. “Can I scratch your ears, too?” she asks in a sexy, smoky voice.

I lean into her touch, pretending to be a cat rubbing up against her, then laugh. “You’re right. This is getting strange.”

She laughs, too. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think we’ve even skirted the surface of weird.” She reaches for her iced tea. After she takes a drink, she raises her chin and clears her throat. “What I meant is what’s the strangest thing someone’s asked you to do outside of the bedroom?”

Her voice is different, more serious than usual.

I stare at the ceiling for a moment. “I suppose it would be the time one of my clients wanted me to help him find a double-jointed woman.”

Her eyes pop. “Did you?”

“Nope. I wasn’t a matchmaker. I was always the lubricant,” I say, as music from the bar’s sound system switches to a pop tune.

“Was being the operative word?”

We don’t talk much about my fall from grace, but it’s no secret. “Was indeed. I suppose my days as romance K-Y are behind me,” I say curtly, then finish the champagne and set it down. “All right. Time to switch to something stronger.”

I signal the bartender and order a Jack Daniels. When he leaves, I meet Nicole’s gaze. “It’s my turn now.”

“Ooh, are you going to ask me a weirdest-thing type question?”

“Not entirely. Mine is simpler,” I say, using this as a chance to feel her out about my ten-dates-to-love mission. “Would you be happy if a man took you on a trapeze-lesson date?”

She smiles widely. “If I liked him, yes. I actually think it’s a great idea for a date. It’s fun, and it’s different. It’s daring, and it’s challenging.”

“What else?”

Her brows knit. “My ideal dates?”

“Yes. What would float your boat after a trapeze lesson? A night at the museum? A boat ride around the city? A tour of cupcake shops?” I ask as the bartender returns with my glass of whiskey. I swallow some of it.

“Tell me yours, and then I’ll tell you mine.”

“Fair enough. I’d like to go to a Knicks game. Maybe a barbecue on a rooftop. She could hijack me and take me to a hotel.”

She mimes writing in a notebook. “Taking this all down for posterity. Also, major points for hotel hijacking. That’s awesome.”

“Your turn now.”

“I do love cupcakes. Being female and all.” She taps her chin then snaps her fingers. “Geocaching,” she says, her eyes lighting up as she mentions the GPS-led outdoor treasure hunts. “I love big old scavenger hunts. I’m quite good at finding things, too.”

I hold up a hand and count off on my fingers. “We have trapeze lessons, cupcake tasting, and a scavenger hunt. What else do you think a man could do to facilitate a woman falling in love with him?”

“Besides not being boring? Not being an asshole? Not sticking his dick elsewhere? And not being totally focused on himself, but instead making her the center of his world because she drives him as wild as he drives her, leaving her weak in the knees from his kisses and vice versa?”

I whistle, impressed. “Damn, woman. You just laid it all out.”

She takes a deep breath and straightens her spine. “Speaking of laying it out, there’s something I would like to ask you. And this might qualify as the new strangest thing you’ve heard.”

Her tone is stripped free of teasing and flirting. It’s earnest and honest, as if she’s about to ask me something serious, not something of the can you make me meow variety.

“Hit me up,” I say.

She glances around. Her voice is thin and nervous. “Mind if we go someplace quieter?”

I’ve never heard Nicole speak with anything but brass-balls confidence. The sound concerns me, makes me want to ensure she’s okay. “Sure thing,” I say, as I set a hand on her lower back and guide her through the crowds at the Lucky Spot. “And wouldn’t you know, I’ve got something to ask you, too.”

“You do?”

“I sure do.”

We leave the bar and head to the diner around the corner.

She slides into a booth. “Do you want to go first?”

I shake my head as I sit across from her. “Ladies first.”

“You’re such a gentleman.” She places her shaking hands on the table.

Before she can speak the waitress arrives. I order a burger and fries, and expect her to do the same, but Nicole opts for a salad and water.

“Salad, water, iced tea?” I point at her, making a circle with my index finger. “Are you on a diet? Because you don’t need to be. You know that, right? Your body is spectacular.”

She blushes then shakes her head. “Thank you,” she says, and I’ve never known her to be shy about a compliment. But then, I suppose I’ve never blurted out precisely what I think of her physical appearance. For a second, I hope I haven’t said something inappropriate. But then, this is Nicole. I told her the meow tale. We’ve long since done away with pretenses.

“But I’m not on a diet.”

“Good. Because the burgers want you to eat them, and you’d look sexy eating a burger,” I add, since evidently I’ve become a fire hose of compliments now that I’ve unleashed the spectacular body one.

She tells me she’s trying to eat healthier. When she tells me why, I freeze.