Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“I feel like I’m at a spa.”
I close my bedroom door behind me and lock it for good measure, not that I think anyone is going to come busting in.
“If you want an face mask or cucumbers for your eyes, let me know.” I set the game down on the bed, and he scoots, making room for me.
I climb on, tapping the box. “Found this in the cabinet.”
“Connect Four?” He’s already taking the box top off. “Haven’t played this since I was a kid.”
“Me either.”
Brodie goes about setting the game board up, putting the brackets on the yellow plastic grid and separating the blue and red checkers.
“How good are you?” I ask him.
“No idea. But since I’m good at most things, I’ll probably be good at this too.”
I gaze at him. “You’re being serious right now.”
“Well, yeah. I’m good at everything.”
My head tilts back as I laugh. “Oh my god—you should hear yourself.” I’m actually stunned at how cocky he sounds when he’s usually so quiet and unassuming. And nice. “Are you this competitive that you think you’re going to win at a game you just admitted you haven’t played since you were a kid?”
Brodie nods. “Yup.”
“Wow.” I am shook. “You cocky shithead.”
He shrugs, his gray T-shirt is snug across his shoulders the way I’ve come to appreciate his clothes fitting.
“Should we switch up how it’s played?” He wants to know as he continues to organize the pieces.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know?” His low chuckle sounds delicious. “To play your piece, you should have to answer a question.”
I nod immediately. “Ohhhh, I like that. But that’s also not what I thought you were going to say.”
Brodie is done stacking his blue checkers. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“I don’t know. That we should play Strip Connect Four to make it interesting?”
“You want to take an innocent childhood game and make it naked?”
I move my shoulders into a shrug. “Yes? And I might point out that it’s not a childhood game. It’s for ages four to one hundred.”
“Do you know I’ve never played strip anything before?”
“Based on what I know about you, Brodie, that does not surprise me.”
He studies my face. “Have you?”
“Almost went skinny-dipping once but chickened out.”
He leans back on the bed, resting his chin in his hand. “Why did you chicken out?”
“We were in high school, and I’m from a small town where there isn’t much to do besides have bonfires in the cornfield or jump off a cold pier into the lake. And one night, my friends were drinking beer and thought skinny dipping would be fun—but I wasn’t into it.”
No towels.
Too cold.
I didn’t want the guys to see that I didn’t shave down below.
And when I think about it now, I want to tell that seventeen-year-old girl that it shouldn’t have mattered what those idiots thought and that she never should have started shaving her business because some guys thought it was gross to have pubic hair.
But anywayyyy…..
“Are you brave enough to play Strip Connect Four?” Brodie asks.
“Are you?”
“Sure. Today is a day of firsts.”
“A day of firsts?” I repeat. “What kind of firsts?”
He shakes his head as if he doesn’t want to say.
“Oh come on—you have to tell me. You wouldn’t have said that otherwise.”
He has the entire stack of blue chips in his hands. “That can be the first question you ask me before I can take my turn.”
“You are such a brat.”
Brodie shrugs, nonplussed. “Or don’t.”
“Fine.” I sigh loudly and dramatically as if he’s putting me out. “Who goes first?”
“Rock, paper, scissors and the loser of this game removes an article of clothing.”
I shiver with excitement.
Hold my hand and we count to three, rock, paper, scissors, shoot. I hold my hand flat because I heard somewhere that statistically, people are more apt to do rock first, and I’m not wrong.
Brodie has his fist clenched in the shape of a ‘rock’, and I cover it with my ‘paper’ and stare at him so I can take my turn.
“When was your last relationship?” That’s his first question, and I can’t say I’m not surprised it’s a personal one. I would have expected his first question to be something lame, like what’s your favorite color?
“I can’t even remember. Five, six, eight months ago? Clearly, it wasn’t that serious.” I laugh and take my red checker, placing it into the grid and watching it fall into place. “Your turn.”
I consider what question I want to ask, skipping the question I’d asked him earlier about firsts, instead asking him, “When was your first kiss?”
“When I was sixteen, in the back seat of my friend Weston’s car. I used too much tongue, and the girl got pissed.” He places his blue checker in the grid so it falls and lands beside mine.
I laugh at his blunt answer, ready for my turn. “Go.”