The Consequence of Loving Colton
“Four, five, and six,” I added.
Jason whistled under his breath. “Tough terms. Tough terms.”
“I accept.” Colton shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Bastard. “I’m not worried, been training, lifting weights . . .”
Yeah, I’d noticed. Not that he’d needed to before, but damn, now the man was cut.
“Milo?” Jason asked. “You accept Colton’s terms?”
“Absolutely.” I smiled sweetly. “I always accept his terms—probably because I’ve never had to worry about following through on them. Once a loser”—I pulled the Ping-Pong ball from the basket—“always a loser.”
CHAPTER FOUR
MILO
In my mind the Ping-Pong game looked a heck of a lot like the movie 300, you know, without the swords, blood, and capes.
Grunts and curses cut through the tense air like fireworks. I’d serve, Colton would return, and so the game went, back and forth, back and forth.
A few times I sacrificed my body to gain a point. But my small scratches were nothing next to his war wounds.
Colton struck his head against the table trying to perform a low hit, and I’m pretty sure Jason was going to have a black eye after I accidently slammed the ball in the wrong direction.
“Foul!” Colton shouted.
“No fouls in Ping-Pong, bitch,” I yelled.
“Whoa!” Colton held up his hands. “Got a fire under your ass there, squirt? Pulling out the big-girl words?”
“I know big-girl words and I can do big-girl things.” I inwardly cringed. Yeah, I should have left that second part out.
He smirked and leaned forward so his hands were pressed against the table as sweat poured from his face. We’d been at it for at least three hours.
Each game had ended in a tie.
“What kind of big-girl things?” He licked his lips.
“Just . . .” My throat went completely dry. “Things.”
“Tiebreaker!” Jason removed the ice pack from his eye and set it on the desk behind him.
“Next point wins?” I offered.
“I have a better idea.” Colton set his paddle on the table and walked around until he was on my side. “Slap game.”
“Are you ten?” I narrowed my eyes¸ not trusting him for a second.
Colton looked himself up and down and then shrugged. “Do I look ten?”
No. Hell, no. He looked . . . well, I wasn’t sure, but I needed to snap my mouth shut before I started panting. Sweat soaked through his shirt, and his shirt clung to his abs, which in turn made me want to both cry and thank God that his shirt was tight.
“Slap game.” Jason laughed, jolting me out of my stare-down with Colt’s abs. “Classic.”
Colton held out his hands, pressing them together in front of his body. “Ladies first.”
“What a gentleman,” I mumbled, holding my hands on either side of his in the air.
“I’m ready when you are,” he whispered.
I stole a look at his face; his eyes drank me in.
Crap.
He was messing with me.
“Stop it.” My jaw clenched.
“What?” He licked his lips again, this time taking extra care to bite down on his bottom lip in such a way that it was impossible not to imagine what it would feel like to have his teeth on my body.
“That.” I looked away. “And I’m ready.”
“Ladies, we gonna play or we gonna talk?” Jason stepped up beside us and grinned.
“Play,” we said in unison.
I flinched. Colton moved his hands, I flinched again and slapped with my right, then my left, but missed on the third time around.
“My turn.”
Colton got me once. Twice . . . three times. We usually went three rounds, and Jason decided who won based on how many slaps we got in within the first ten seconds.
“Missed,” I taunted, jumping up and down.
A few minutes later, Jason sighed. “Sorry, bro, she’s got six slaps to your four, one more round and I’ll declare the winner.”
With a triumphant grin, I began again. I should have realized my lucky streak wouldn’t continue.
I went for his hands and made the mistake of looking at his face, just as his lips formed a mocking air kiss.
I missed.
“WHOA!” Jason shouted. “Missed on the first round, sorry, little sis, but you lost.”
“He cheated!” I wailed.
“Don’t be a sore loser,” Colton scolded, putting his hands down. I didn’t even realize I had that much pent-up anger until my hand went flying across his cheek.
“Damn it!” He stumbled to the side.
Jason’s mouth dropped open. I covered mine with my hands.
“What the hell, Milo!” Colton kept swearing.
“I, uh . . .”
Jason covered his face with his hands as if I were a supreme embarrassment to the family name and chuckled. “I’ll go get you some ice, bro.”
“Thanks,” he snapped, then looked at me. “Well? Care explaining, Rocky?”
“You made me mad?” I scrunched up my nose and then burst out laughing. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just, you have a me-size handprint right here.” I reached out and touched his cheek. He placed his hand over mine, sealing it against his skin.
“You branded me,” he joked, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah, well, now there’s no escaping me.” I tried to keep my voice light—tried and failed. I really needed to stop staring at his lips. Bad things were going to happen. A girl could only last so long without the opposite sex before she just jumped whoever was in front of her.