Abby Ryan has her whole life planned out, up until graduation that is. As a journalism student at the University of Southern Washington, she has one goal in mind for her last semester of senior year: secure a scholarship for graduate school. But whe...
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"Don't be a drama queen," I tease. "Eat it."
He looks at me with mock horror as he brings the pineapple-covered pizza slice to his lips, and with the most dramatic groan I've ever heard, he takes a bite. I lean forward on the bed and pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I wait for him to un-scrunch his eyes and swallow the bite. When his emerald eyes finally open, they meet mine, and he considers me for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly.
"Okay, so it's not terrible."
"What was that?" I lean toward him and cup my hand behind my ear, a smug smile growing on my lips.
He rolls his eyes, but his dimple betrays him, followed by the smile he was trying to hold back.
I sit back on the mattress and close the nearly empty box of pineapple pizza. There are a few pieces left, which I'd be willing to bet he's going to eat tomorrow now that he's had a taste of the pineapple heaven.
Wiping my hands clean on a napkin, I glance down at the notebook in front of me. Half of the questions have already been filled out since we did a quick-fire question-and-answer during dinner. I look up as he pops off the top of one of the beers he brought from the kitchen. I opted for a water bottle, which I have capped and resting on my lap, but when his eyes drift up to mine, he raises a brow and extends the bottle in his hand.
The last thing I should be doing right now is drinking with Tristan, but every time I look at him, a flash of our bathroom encounter plays in my mind. Honestly, I could use the buzz to relax.
Taking the beer, I bring it to my lips and take a small pull of it. It's definitely better than whatever we were drinking at the bar last week, but it's still beer, so I take a few more sips and try not to focus on the terrible aftertaste.
The sound of another bottle cap popping off pulls my attention back to see him taking a long pull from his own beer. His eyes seem to have lost some of the humor, and I can tell the taste of the beer has brought back his own bathroom memories because he's now clearing his throat as he rubs the back of his neck.
This is what I didn't want—the awkward after.
I can't seem to process the fact that the man sitting across from me has not only seen me naked but has touched, kissed, and explored me in ways that no one else has before. The thought makes my cheeks burn, and I look away, allowing my hair to fall from behind my ear, shading my face slightly from his gaze.
He clears his throat, and I glance back over at him. "Why don't we make the rest of this a less formal interview," he offers with a reassuring smile. "We could make it into a sort of game—more laid back and fun."
I raise a brow and smile at his clear attempt to make me feel more comfortable. "What kind of game?"
"It'll be a question game, so you can get the rest of your interview done," he explains as he leans back in his chair and picks up the miniature-sized basketball from his desk. He tosses it into the air a few times, catching it easily as he keeps his eyes on me. "You ask a question, and if I don't want to answer, I drink." He holds up his beer bottle and grins. "And the same for you."
