“Wow. I’m not sure that comparing yourself to my ex is something you really want to do. That’s a really low bar of measure.” She tapped a finger to her lower lip. “How about this? When you figure out how to be a good friend, come back and find me?”
What the fuck? She wanted me to be her friend before I could fuck her? That’s ridiculous. Men and women couldn’t be friends. Not really. “What?” I couldn’t have heard her right.
She sighed, dropped her arms. “Look, Ryker, I like you. I think you’re fun—when you’re not being an asshole. But I don’t need any more greedy people in my life. Been there, lived that, some bastard stole the t-shirt. So, if you ever want this to work out,” she flicked her finger between our bodies a couple times, “then you need to figure out how to be a good friend. I’m not giving up my celibacy just so you can get your rocks off. You’ve got a hand or bevy of beauties panting at your feet, I’m sure.”
I was dumbstruck. That was the biggest load of shit I’d ever heard. No. Not just no—fuck no. I didn’t dance to anyone’s tune. Nor was I anyone’s puppet. I was the master who danced those strings around.
“What about my helping you lately? Does that earn me any friend points?” The words popped out of my mouth before my brain could erase them.
Her eyes widened. “You want a points system for friendship?”
Hey, I might be able to get that to work. How hard would it be to pretend? Hell, the last couple of days certainly hadn’t been a huge hardship. If I could get under her skin enough to make her slide more to my end, maybe I could get her under me faster.
I slapped a look of chagrined embarrassment on my face, bumped a shoulder in the air. “Sure. I’ve already told you I’m not anyone’s friend. I honestly don’t know how to be one. So the points would be an objective measure that I could use to see if I’m going in the right direction.” I had no idea the shit that was falling from my mouth, but I could only hope she bought it. Otherwise, I was out. And I knew, deep down, that I would regret not sampling her.
She crossed her arms again, looked up at me. Judging, weighing, thinking. “Who would give you the points?”
“You. Or your brothers.”
She smiled at that comment. “If you’re a shitty friend?”
“Then I lose some.” Yes. Keep following whatever track that is, cupcake. I can play along with the best Oscar winner.
She tipped her head to the side. “How many points do you think would make you a good friend?”
“Ten.”
Cupcake’s head tipped all the way back as she laughed. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she bent forward.
I narrowed my eyes at her as she grabbed her belly. The little jerk. “I don’t know that that kind of laughter is very friendly.”
She waved that comment away, tried to get her laughter under control. “Ten.” She blew out a breath. Tried to pinch the corners of her mouth together. “I was thinking either fifty or a good, solid hundred.”
“What the fuck? How good of friends are you expecting us to be? I refuse to buy you tampons or listen to you rattle on about your period. I’ve got to draw the line somewhere.” I slashed my hand through the air.
Her face turned beet red as it scrunched up. Once again, a huge belly laugh exploded from her.
This time, when she tipped her head back, I put two fingers against her sternum and gave her a little push. She toppled over onto the bed. Her laughter cut off super quick. Like she’d been electrocuted, or her throat had been cut.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she glared up at me. All traces of humor gone.
“When this shitshow of an evening started, I promised to make your legs feel better. Since I’m trying to be a good friend, I figured I might as well keep that promise.” I helped her get straight on the bed.
She scowled at me. “Literally pushing me around isn’t going to get you any points, Ten.”
I shook my head. “No. You are not calling me that.”
A smirk lit up her face.
Damn it. I should have just left it alone. “Where’s your lotion or oil or whatever?”
She blinked at me like she didn’t speak English.
I waved my hand in front of