Another few pathetic jumps. Another few pathetic scores.

“I think we need some kind of incentive,” Molly suggests as she squeezes onto the arm of the couch with me. I inch over to make room, but she continues nudging me until I have to grab on to Shawn to keep from tumbling into his lap. I catch myself just in time—

And squeal when he tugs me the rest of the way.

“The winner should get to spend the night with Mike,” Nikki suggests with a mischievous undertone to her voice, and Mike’s protests are lost under the volume of Van’s megaphone. I might have been able to help back him up if I wasn’t so busy trying to act normal, like being on Shawn’s lap in front of everyone isn’t making my heart want to explode.

“Highest score gets a night with Mike!” Van shouts, laughing when Mike makes a play for the megaphone.

I laugh too, quieting when I realize how much it makes me wiggle on Shawn’s lap. Adam and Joel don’t even seem to notice us, but when I glance up at Molly, I can tell she knocked me off the arm of the couch on purpose. She winks at me, and Shawn’s middle fingers thread through my belt loops, his thumbs caressing the sensitive skin under my top.

“NEXT!” Van shouts again, and I take the drink his groupie finally brings me, sucking it down to calm my nerves. I’m on Shawn’s lap, struggling to breathe evenly as he touches me like he doesn’t even care who sees us.

The next few girls to compete are all just as pathetic as the first—some in bikinis, some in skimpy underwear. One falls. One suddenly realizes she can’t swim—after she jumps in the water. And the rest barely manage a splash because they probably don’t even break a hundred pounds.

“NEXT!” Van shouts once again, and a girl in a blue bikini, with implants bigger than my head, climbs out of the hot tub. She makes a show of rubbing the suds from her body in the brightest spot of the room.

“Oooh, she’s pretty,” Molly says. “What about her, Mike? I think she’s winning.”

“She’ll probably float,” he argues, and I chuckle against Shawn. He pulls me tighter against the ridges of his body, giving me one big reason to bite my tongue—and my bottom lip. It’s all I can do to not beg him to take me somewhere private so we can finish what we’ve started.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Van asks the G-cup groupie, and she nods her tiny head.

“GO!”

I expect her to rush, and hopefully fall, but instead, she’s unhurried and confident. She walks to the edge of the pool, curls her fingers under her bikini top, and lifts it up over her designer breasts. At least ten jaws fall to the floor, including mine, and then earsplitting cheers and hollers fill the room. Dry-erase boards start flying up, all with giant tens on them, and while everyone is distracted, Shawn’s fingers slide up and trace the underwire of my bra. When I gaze down at him, his molten green eyes are only for me, and my heart skips into my throat.

“We have a winner!” Van shouts, and Shawn’s thumbs swipe delicately over my pert nipples, once, twice—

Oh God. I’m so hot, I’m squirming. Every inch of me is arching into his hands as he teases my primed, eager nipples. My eyes close, and his thumbs continue torturing me until they slide back down to my waist. Both of us are breathing heavy, and every muscle in my body is coiling, squeezing, demanding I get the hell out of this room and drag Shawn along with me.

I finish off my drink in one big swallow.

“Van,” I say in a voice I’m hoping doesn’t sound as breathless as I feel. He turns his head toward me. “I think we need more drinks.”

He gazes down at his full glass, grins, and calls a random girl over, ordering her to bring us something. The remainder of his tequila is gone in two or three big gulps, and then he sets his glass on the floor and we all watch attentively as Mike’s winner circles the pool to stand in front of him.

“Uh, I’m Bob,” Mike lies as he stares up at her. “You’re looking for Mike. I think he’s at the bar. Skinny guy, lots of curly orange hair.” He finishes describing our bus driver and points to the other room. “Have fun.”

The girl looks doubtful, but she follows his finger anyway, and I’m smiling like a lunatic when Nikki pouts, her face twisting with disappointment.

“Boo. Why’d you do that?”

When he doesn’t answer, Molly teases, “Maybe he’s not into chicks.”

It’s a bitch thing to say, and I get nasty right back—throwing out the equivalent of a bitch slap to Molly’s face. “Maybe he’s just not into groupie whores.”

“Hey,” she rushes to say, “I mean, that’s cool if he isn’t . . . ”

My teeth are grinding, but Mike doesn’t sound angry at all when he says, “Look . . . when I meet my wife, I don’t want to have to explain to her why I slept with a hundred chicks before I met her, okay?”

Every single person within earshot shuts up and stares at him, with every single girl melting for his words. Even Molly and Nikki are looking at him like they wish they were that girl he’s waiting for: because Mike could be Van—he could have taken that implant connoisseur somewhere private and had her do anything he asked—but he’s staying loyal . . . loyal to a girl he hasn’t even met yet. And that’s so much more than Molly or Nikki can ever hope for.

“More for me,” Van chides, jostling Nikki when he reaches over to clap Mike on the back. He shuffles her off his lap and stands up, stretching his arms out before heading for the hot tub.