Game Changer by Kelly Jamieson Page 0,60
can’t fucking believe this,” Jax says as he reads the next card. “I’m taking another card.”
“No!” I sit forward, grinning. “You can’t do that. We have to play by the rules.”
“Babe. When it comes to getting you naked, I’m not gonna play fair.”
“Yes, you are. What’s the question?”
He sighs. “Who declared ‘As long as I am mayor, there will be law and order in Chicago?’ ”
I laugh delightedly. “I see why you’re annoyed. Richard Daley.”
“Yes.” He tosses the card down with disgust.
My luck runs out, however, with the next question. “What two cities usually mark the extremes of English Channel swims?”
“Dover and…um…” I rack my brain for a French coastal city. Damn. “Uh…” I’m coming up blank, but finally say, “Bordeaux.”
“Wrong. Calais.”
“Shit! I knew that!”
He gestures at me, reminding me to take something off. I look down at myself. I’m not wearing a lot of clothes. I stand up and step out of my shorts.
Jax’s smile turns carnal and he nods approvingly.
Now it’s his turn. “You’re going down,” I say, pulling a card from the box.
He lands on Arts & Literature, which I happen to know is not his strongest category.
“Who’s the clown in Shakespeare’s Henry IV and The Merry Wives of Windsor?”
“Fuck.” His lips curve down in disgust. “I have no clue.” He peels his shirt off.
My mouth drops open. “You didn’t even try.” Then I smirk. “You just want to get naked.”
He smirks back at me. “True. But remember, I’m very competitive.”
“You could have at least guessed.”
“I couldn’t even come up with a guess.”
“Hmmm.”
“Why are you complaining?” He sticks out his chest.
“Solid point. I like your abs. Okay. My turn.”
“What metal makes up to ten percent of yellow gold?” he reads.
“Copper.”
He nods. “Yes.”
Then it’s, “What’s the only U.S. state that borders a Canadian territory?”
“Maine.”
“Wrong.”
“What?”
“Territory.” He taps the card on my nose. “It’s Alaska. It borders the Yukon, which is a territory.”
“Ohhhh.” I’m annoyed at my careless mistake. “Shit, I answered too fast. If it was a province, it would be a lot of states.” I sigh and pull off my T-shirt. I am now sitting on the couch in my pink lace demi bra and matching thong.
“This is getting good.” Jax rubs his hands together.
“Sports and Leisure. Okay. What makes a Black Russian black?” I pause. “Wait, this is a sports question?”
“I guess booze is leisure. Too easy. Kahlua.”
“Yes.”
He keeps getting questions right, and I’m tempted to cheat and make up something I know he can’t answer. But that would be unsportsmanlike. Finally, I get him with, “What’s a California long white?”
He gazes blankly at me. Finally, he says, “A coffee.”
“Ha! It’s a potato. Finally, those jeans are coming off.”
“Nope.” He toes off one sandal.
“What!” I stare at him. “That’s not fair! I was barefoot.”
He smiles. “You should have thought of that.”
I narrow my eyes at him and pick up the die. I keep my underwear on a little longer, then have to decide whether it’s the bra or thong that goes. I decide on the bra.
“Good choice.” Jax leers at my boobs.
My nipples have tightened, not only due to being exposed to the air but responding to Jax’s lascivious stare. I’ve never been an exhibitionist, but this is turning me on. And Jax too, judging from the bulge in his jeans. I squeeze my thighs together.
“Are we going to finish this game?” I ask breathlessly.
“Hell yeah. I have to beat you.”
I suck briefly on my bottom lip, and his eyes darken. “Okay.” I pluck a card from the box. “What is the rain’s name in ‘They Call the Wind Mariah’?”
“Whut?”
I smile. “It’s a song.”
“The rain’s name,” he repeats.
“Right.”
“Rain…Rachel.”
“Wrong. The rain’s name is Tess.”
“Did you know that?” he demands.
“Nope.” I beam at him. “Wasn’t my question though.” I gesture at him, and he takes off his other sandal.
I’m losing badly at the strip aspect of this game, although I do have more game pies than him. “I have to keep my panties on.”
“That’s what she said.”
I laugh.
“Why?” he challenges. “Can’t you think when you’re naked?”
“I can think, but it’s about…sex.”
“Is there a sex edition of Trivial Pursuit?”
“I have no idea.”
“There should be. You were a star that night at the bar in California for Carnal Knowledge.”
Well, I have to lose my panties for the game to continue far enough for him to get naked, and soon he’s sitting there in his boxer briefs, me naked, and I ask, “Who won the 1942 Nobel Peace Price?”
His forehead creases up and his eyes narrow. “Hmm. 1942…I’d say…Albert Schweitzer.”
“Wrong. Nobody won