“No,” I say tersely. “Not happening.”

“It wouldn’t have to be weird,” she says. “We’ve managed to avoid all the other clichés of guys and girls being friends, so what makes you think we can’t also avoid the cliché of sex ruining the friendship?”

“Not happening,” I say, finishing my water glass in two gulps and moving toward the fridge. Except not for more water. Beer. I’ve definitely earned one.

I feel her studying me as I dig around for the bottle opener. Feel her gaze as I take a long, much-needed pull on the IPA.

“You’re probably right,” she says finally.

Oh thank God.

“Glad to see you’ve seen the light,” I say dryly.

She moves to the fridge to get herself a beer. “Right.” Then she groans. “Ugh. That was…embarrassing. Sorry to put you through that. I just…I was discouraged and started thinking crazy.”

“You think?”

She picks up the bottle top I left on the counter and drops that and her own into the trash. “I just kept trying to envision us kissing, and—”

Parker breaks off midsentence and gives a dramatic shudder. “Gross.”

I pause with the bottle halfway to my mouth. Gross? Awkward, sure. Insane, yes. But gross?

“It wouldn’t be that bad,” I grumble before I can stop myself.

She looks at my mouth and then makes a face before turning away, giggling. “It would be! You know it would.”

Okay, I’m not proud of this, but…her laughter stings. Not in the I’m going to need to go to therapy kind of way, but my ego is definitely hurting, just a little.

I point my beer in her direction. “I’ll have you know that I’m a damn good kisser.”

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I bet you are, but I just can’t picture it.”

I stand up straighter as a thought jumps into my head. “Hold the fuck up. Is this some girly reverse psychology bullshit? You’re trying to get your way by goading me into proving that I’m a good kisser?”

“Awww,” she says in a teasing voice. “You’re upset! Did I insult your manhood?”

Yes.

“No,” I mutter.

“I’m sure you’re very good at what you do,” she says, heading toward the living room and patting my arm as she passes. “I just…”

She breaks off giggling again, and something inside me snaps at her laughter.

I grab her arm and pull her back around. “It wouldn’t be gross.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Okay.”

I can tell she doesn’t believe me, and my competitive juices boil over. I set my beer behind me on the counter. “Care to make a bet?”

“Like what, a kissing bet?” She looks at me like I’m crazy. And gross.

My eyes flick to her lips just for a second, and, strangely enough, it’s temporarily really easy to forget that she’s Parker because her mouth is…appealing.

“Scared?” I ask.

Parker rolls her eyes. “Oh, now who’s playing games?”

But she’s not scampering away, and I lean forward. “One kiss. If you still think it’s gross, I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

“Like I’d let you touch my laundry.”

“Fine, then first dibs on the shower for a week,” I counter. “And I won’t even complain if there’s no hot water left.”

Her eyes light with interest. Parker does like herself a long hot shower. “How about a month?”

“Done.” I say. “But if you like the kiss…even a little…I get control of the remote for a month. No Bachelor unless I approve it. No watching that boring home-makeover show, and no damn cooking shows.”

She bites her lip, and I know she’s nervous, because this girl could happily spend hours watching people on TV make cupcakes.

The stakes are high.

But she must be pretty damn confident that kissing me will be a disaster, because she finally shrugs. “All right. I guess if you’re really sure you won’t mind the ice-cold showers for a month.”

I cross my arms. “You’re that sure I’m a bad kisser.”

“No, I’m sure you’re fine,” she says, with a little wave of her hand. “It’s just that I can’t…I don’t think I’ll like it. You’re too much like a brother.”

Brother?

Brother?

What. The. Fuck.

Yes, Parker and I are platonic, and, yes, I love her as if she were— No. No. I can’t even put the word Parker and sister in the same sentence.

Right now my cock’s all too aware that she’s not my sister, and that she’s insulted my kissing skills.

Time to set the record straight. I haven’t spent years cultivating my seduction techniques for nothing.

I pluck the beer bottle out of her hands and put it aside, moving to stand in front of her.

For the first time since the start of this insane conversation, the laughter fades from her eyes and she looks nervous. But she recovers immediately, giving me a mocking grin.

“Just tell me at what point I’m supposed to start swooning,” she says sweetly.

“Oh, you’ll know,” I say.

I take a step toward her and she steps back. I frown. “This isn’t going to work if you back away.”

“Sorry,” she says, holding up her hands, then dropping them. “It’s just that this is weird.”