Matthew tries it, but the highlighter goes flying out of his fingers and skitters across the table. “Shit.”
I cover my laugh as he scoots over to pick up the marker. He tries again and the highlighter zips two tables over.
“Maybe not as much force next time. You aren’t launching a rocket into space,” I advise.
“I think you’ve made a deal with the devil,” he says after trying again.
“If I were to make a deal with the devil, do you really think this is the gift I’d ask for?” I spin the pen. “There are at least a million better things than a pen-spinning trick.”
“Good point. What would you ask for?” He lifts my mug and takes a sniff, making a face when the coffee scent hits his nose. He doesn’t even like the smell of coffee? I guess he has to have some flaws.
“Is this a straight trade, so I get eternal life in hell in exchange for something great on earth?”
“I suppose so. Are there other trades the devil will make?” He reaches back to grab his Gatorade off the floor next to the chair he’s no longer sitting in. His arms are so long he doesn’t even have to rise from his seat. His shirt pulls out of his jeans, and I catch a glimpse of well-defined abs.
I avert my eyes when he swings around so he doesn’t find me staring at his body like a creepster. One look is okay, two and I’ve definitely crossed over into bad behavior. “I don’t have any direct experience with the devil, but I’d try to make a bargain that does not include eternal hell. I’m not made for that kind of punishment.”
His lips quirk up. “Yeah, you do seem...sweet.”
“The devil doesn’t like sweet things?” The words pop out before my brain catches up with my mouth.
Matthew’s lips go from half-mast to full-out grin. “He might. But I think if he had the choice, he’d pick hot over sweet.” Sultry blue eyes rake over me. “Don’t worry, you’ve got the hot part covered, too.”
This time it’s my pen that flies across the table. Chuckling, Matthew snatches it out of the air.
“Nice reflexes,” I mutter. My cheeks feel like they’re flaming. I haven’t engaged in this kind of flirting since…well, I can’t remember the last time. And with this guy? It’s totally out of character.
“I’m good for something.” He winks and hands me the pen.
Our eyes meet, and the connection between us pings and arcs, warming me as surely as the flame of the fire five feet away. The register rings behind me, reminding me why I haven’t had sex in so long. Keith, my co-worker at the Brew House, was the last person I had sex with. It was uninspired sex—so boring that I think we both fell asleep before the deed was even done. I couldn’t really blame it on him either.
We were both distracted—him by some serious bio project and me by the mock trial case. Keith made out better than I did. He got an “A” on his bio project whereas my team didn’t make it out of regionals for the second year in a row. That time it wasn’t entirely my fault. We were just uninspiring, which is why Heather Bell is now part of the Western State team. She nearly brought everyone in the room to tears with her prepared closing statement during tryouts. The problem is that she doesn’t know a thing about how an actual trial works despite being the daughter of a superstar trial attorney.
As gorgeous as this Matthew guy is and as flattering as it is to have his attention, my priority is making it out of semi-finals this year. Two years of being beat down at something I’m supposed to be good at is wearing at my confidence. Giving up would be something my mom would do. Giving up and trotting off with the cute guy is her go-to plan. She’s done it my entire life.
Winning at mock trial doesn’t guarantee that I’m not going to end up like my mom, living from one boyfriend to the next, cutting out when there’s the least bit of tribulation on the horizon, but success would prove to myself that I’m her polar opposite.
I take my comforts where I can find them. And besides, I really enjoy mock trial. Not every aspect. Who loves everything about anything? But for the most part, I get off on crafting the questions, the courtroom atmosphere—all of it.
With school, work, and mock trial, I don’t have a lot of time for outside activities. Besides, I’m not sure how I’d even handle a guy like him. The sexual energy he radiates is thrilling, but I can’t deny it’s also a tad terrifying. I don’t have a type, exactly, but if I had to lump the guys I’ve dated in the past into one category, I guess I’d say…safe? Serious? Definitely not in-your-face sexual, that’s for sure. More like…well, Keith. Not too tall, not too short. Not too attractive, not unattractive. I fit with those guys. I’m comfortable with them. Nothing about this delicious male makes me comfortable.
“You’re sighing again,” Matthew cuts in.
“I’m not.” If I was, I didn’t mean to.
“Okay, you’re breathing heavily.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Or your asthma is acting up.”
“Fortunately, asthma is one ailment I don’t have. But sighing is clearly a problem. Does your mom do house calls?”
“Nope. But I can prescribe you the perfect thing for stress.”
I raise my palm. “Don’t say sex.”
He snickers. “I was going to say exercise, but sex is good, too.” Those blue eyes conduct another sweep of my face, then linger briefly on my chest. I’m wearing a plain black, long-sleeved, crew neck sweater, but the way his gaze smolders, you’d think I was topless.