I was in a sex competition with Jamie McCade.

Son of a … bitch.

“I’m not playing,” I quickly announced, shaking my head. “No way. No way.”

This was absurd.

Jamie looked back down at his slice. “You’re playin’,” he said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, babe, you are.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m doing, Jamie.”

His eyes cut to mine again, only now they were filled with heat and a desire to challenge. Then I watched as he placed the slice back in the dish, shoved the coffee table away, sucked the juices off his fingertips while coming to his feet, and once they were clean, reached down with both hands to work at his belt.

My eyes jumped between his hands and his face as my heart went from racing to runaway, threatening to break free from my chest. Why is he working at his belt? He’s supposed to be eating pie and then leaving. What is going on?

“What are you doing?” I asked. My voice shook with anxiousness.

His belt whipped lose, startling me. Then he popped the button on his shorts while sharing, “Bet already started, Legs, so if you’re tellin’ me you ain’t playin’, that means you’re throwin’ in the towel and admittin’ this is what you want. And if that’s the case, I’ll take my pie after I’m done takin’ you.”

What?

WHAT?

His eyes darkened. “Time to find out how greedy that pussy really is,” he growled, unzipping his shorts.

I inhaled sharply through my nose. The sound from his throat and the slide of his zipper rolled up my spine.

“Wait!” I pleaded, holding up my hand while his reached inside his shorts.

Jamie froze. He cocked an eyebrow. And he waited.

I was on the verge of throwing up. I’d never felt panic like this. Not just because of what I’d prevented, but because of what I knew to be fact; there was only one way I could play this out.

“Fine, okay? I’ll play your stupid game,” I told him. “Just please don’t … take out your penis.”

I turned my head away and winced.

Good God. What was happening? I almost saw it.

I almost saw Jamie McCade’s penis.

That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I’d seen ugly penises before, but knowing my luck, there would be nothing ugly about what Jamie was packing and no amount of lying on my part would convince that loser of my disinterest.

He’d most likely won trophies for that thing, too.

A chuckle drew my attention back around.

“Why, Legs? What’s your problem? Once you see it, you know it’s game over for you?” Jamie questioned with all the arrogance in the world while zipping and rebuttoning his shorts.

Probably.

What? No! I pinched my eyes shut.

God, I was going to kill Syd. She was basically dead to me.

“Just sit down and eat your stupid pie,” I ordered, stepping between the couch and the coffee table and huffing in annoyance.

I wanted to get back to my food while it was still warm, and maybe if I let Jamie eat, he’d leave sooner rather than later.

Maybe …

I was clinging to that hope, as weak as it was. I wanted him gone.

No. I needed him gone.

So I picked up my bowl of barely touched pasta and resumed my position on the couch, only now I was sitting smashed up against the armrest instead of in the middle of the cushion.

Distance was my friend. I’d given up on comfort.

Laughing under his breath, Jamie took a seat and scooted the coffee table closer again, causing my knees to bend since my bare feet were propped up on the edge.

I twirled noodles around my fork and started eating.

He started eating, too.

Not that I was watching, because I wasn’t. I kept my eyes on the muted TV and took up lip-reading a repeat episode of Law & Order: SVU.

When Mariska kneed a perp in the balls, I smiled and imagined he had ocean-salty hair and a surfer’s build.

He didn’t. He was old and bald and looked like a retired bus driver. But in my head, I was watching someone different drop to the floor.

This was the best show ever.

I was on my third bite of pasta and engrossed in the storyline when Jamie finally spoke.

“Damn. What kind of pie is this?” he asked, smacking his lips loudly and humming in delight.

“Strawberry rhubarb,” I answered.

“Strawberry what?”

“Rhubarb.”

“What the fuck is a rhubarb?”

I slurped some noodles into my mouth before turning my head.

“It’s what you’re eating,” I said around my bite, delivering some sass with my answer. “If you’re curious about it, you can go home and google ‘what is a rhubarb.’ ”

He sucked on his index finger while staring back at me.

I watched his lips, fully capable of doing a lot of things, remove the juicy goodness of my pie from his fingertip for a full second before realizing what I was doing and lifting my gaze.

Rookie.

Should’ve gone with the macaroon recipe. No juice, meaning no sucking on anything.

Live and learn, Tori.

“Ease up on the attitude, babe. You’re gettin’ me hard,” Jamie shared. Then he leaned a little closer and added, “Unless that’s your goal, then by all means. Keep throwin’ it.”

I sucked in a breath, quickly cut my eyes away, pressed my back firm against the couch cushion, and resumed eating my pasta.