“Yeah . . .” Rhodes answers rough and low before clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at us girls, his eyes locking on mine. “If we didn't need to win before, we need to now. I’m finding myself somewhat . . . motivated.”
I can’t help but snicker.
“Now I need to know,” Renee says, leaning onto the table and turning her body toward me. “Because I was already thinking of making this interesting. I mean, girls versus boys seems fair. Unless you want to pair up with Rhodes. it is a date, after all.”
“Oh no. It definitely needs to be a battle of the sexes.”
“Awesome. At least then I can have a little fun with Marco. They may be the boss men at work but believe me. You’ve gotta make sure things are equal at home.” Renee waggles her eyebrows.
“I can hear you, princess,” Marco says, not looking back.
She winks at me. “I know, Lieutenant. Why do you think I said it?”
Rhodes grips the handle, one hand slightly higher than the other, planting his left foot in front of his right in the ‘expert’ stance our games ax coach showed us. Then he lifts the ax and throws it at the target, a sigh escaping my lips as I admire his flexing arm muscles
“Girl . . .” Renee says, holding her fist out in front of me and bumping her knuckles with mine. “You get your eye candy, and I get mine. This double date thing is the best. Idea. Ever.”
Between rounds two and three—with the score being one win apiece, girls vs boys—Marco and Renee head over to ‘Food Truck Alley’ on the far side of the warehouse to get us some snacks, leaving Rhodes and I alone with newly fetched drinks in hand.
“Having fun?” he asks.
My mind is a little distracted by his leg brushing against mine. So far, this game of ours has morphed into a challenge to see who can drive their date crazier. Accidental touches, soft hands resting on arms, shoulders, hips, the small of my back—anything and everything decently possible to distract one another.
And by god is Rhodes good at the art of distraction.
“Yeah, I am. It helps that Renee’s damn good at this ax-throwing thing. Otherwise, it would’ve been a thrashing by now.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You seem to be getting better.”
I snort at his massive overstatement. “If by getting better you mean hitting the target once in that last round.”
“Definitely better,” he says, his lips curving up into a wicked grin.
“At least I don’t mind being beaten when I like the view of my opponent.”
Rhodes chuckles. “I’ll make sure to tell Marco you think so.”
Rolling my eyes, I giggle and nudge him with my elbow. “Take a compliment, Rhodes.”
“I’ll take anything from you, sweet cheeks.”
“How about dinner this week then? I still owe you that thank-you meal, and I’d love to cook for you.”
His gaze goes soft. “And a restaurant full of other diners?”
I lean in and drop my voice to a whisper. “You see, the perks of being the boss is that I can delegate and use the kitchen I have for filming in for private guests.”
Rhodes’s brow arches. “You entertain a lot of private guests?”
“Not so far. Only Harvey and my parents, and now, hopefully, you . . .”
“I’d be honored then,” he replies, reaching over and placing his hand in mine. “My shifts probably don’t fit in well with you this week though. I’m working tomorrow, then Tuesday and Wednesday I’m off. Thursday—work, and Friday and Saturday I’m free.”
I purse my lips. “Why wouldn’t they work for me? I have staff. My kitchen runs like a well-oiled machine. I’ll let my restaurant manager, Suzy, know that I’ll be there but not be there. I’ve been looking forward to feeding you since we first met.”
His brows jump up. “You have?”
“Oh yeah. I use my food to express myself.”
Rhodes leans in, his leg pressing firmly against the length of mine now. “I think you’re expressing yourself just fine so far. It helps that you uploaded a new video today with ‘How to Win Your Date Over One Meal at a Time.’”
I wink at him, my smile widening. “Glad you liked it. Let’s say dinner next Monday, that would be your day off, right?”
The smile he gifts me is so big it’s blinding. “I’d love to.”
“Now. . .” My lips twitch. “We haven’t discussed what the prize is when I beat you at this game.”
Rhodes’s eyes roam my face, pausing on my lips before lifting to mine. He shoots me a slow-growing smirk. “Winner’s choice,” he murmurs, and the rough rasp of his tone has my thighs clenching together out of instinct alone.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“I’ve got my eyes on the prize, sweet cheeks,” he says, not looking away from me—even when Marco and Renee slide a couple’s platter of bar snacks on the table in front of us.
Rhodes proves his point by stepping up for his final throw, and with his eyes locked on mine, he heaves the ax over his shoulder, scoring a bullseye and making my heart race and soar simultaneously.
After a great evening, we bid farewell to Marco and Renee. And with Rhodes’s hand in mine—something I find he likes to do a lot—we make our way into the parking lot.
When we reach his car, he unlocks the doors and lets me go. Then without a word, he’s facing me and slowly pressing my back against the car.
I slide my arms around his waist and rest my palms on his shoulder blades. “You finally going to claim your prize?” I whisper, sounding like a wanton woman ready to mount her man. It’s not like I’d say no, but nothing between us feels the slightest bit casual. And at this stage in both of our lives, I’d hazard a guess that after waiting this long, Rhodes isn’t about to screw around just to get laid. Lord knows it’s not worth adding sex onto my already full plate unless it comes with all the benefits of a committed relationship as well.
He braces his forearm on the door above my head, bringing every inch of his hard body flush against mine. He’s toned, but he’s also got shape. Fit, but without angles that’ll poke an eye out.
“If I had my way, I would’ve been kissing you all night. Every time you licked your lips or smirked at me, I wanted to sink my teeth in and steal a taste.”
As if punctuating his point—or simply taking his time to play with his winnings—he runs his palm up my side, grazing the side of my bust, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His hand slides to my neck before cradling my jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing the edge of my mouth.
A whimper escapes my lips, and his eyes flash molten and hot, ready to burn me alive.
Holy God. Bucket needed in the parking lot. A woman is about to spontaneously combust here.
We stay there staring, our breaths shallow and fast, our hearts racing in sync with the other, our bodies touching chest to thigh and every delicious inch throbbing incessantly between us. It’s like time stands still. The world is revolving around us, yet we’re still here stuck in an augmented reality, waiting for that final push to take what we want.
“Please,” I whisper, and his resistance snaps. He gives me his weight, his hands clutching my head, holding me in place, tilt my chin up. Locking our eyes together, he ever so slowly lowers his mouth toward mine—the wait to feel his lips on mine so exquisitely painful. I can’t take it anymore, and I grip the back of his head at the same time I surge forward, and we crash together in a tangle of mouths and lips and tongues and teeth.