She sends me one last look before heading into the house, leaving me to ponder what she just said. As I sit there, picking at the steak that is ice-cold now, I can’t help but wonder if she’s right.

If they are all right…

Looking across the Solo cups at my competitor, I move the Ping-Pong ball in my hand and I know I have to win.

No. That I will win.

Baylor may think she can win at everything she does, but she doesn’t realize that I live in basically a frat house and we do this almost every weekend. Plus, she doesn’t know exactly how badly I want to pick her brain and figure out what makes her tick. Or how badly I want to lay her down and hear her scream my name.

The struggle. It’s real, folks.

With her hands on her hips, she watches me, almost like she is calculating how she is going to beat me. Trying to be one step ahead of me. Maybe to some people that would annoy them; to me, it turns me the fuck on. Pressing myself into the table to hide my growing hard-on, I eye her as I decide where to shoot.

“We playing, or are you going to stand there and stare at me?” she calls across the table, crossing her arms under her breasts, giving me a great view.

But. I. Have. To. Ignore. It.

Or I’m gonna jump over the table and tackle her.

Licking my lips, I say, “Trying to figure out how I’m gonna console you once I win.”

With a bored look, she says, “Don’t worry about that ’cause you aren’t winning.”

“Oh, but I will,” I say, sending her a grin before I shoot, landing the ball in the middle cup.

Fishing the ball out of the cup, she picks up the cup and downs it like a dude. Not like a girl who sips her beer and babysits it. When she finishes, she puts the cup down and sends the balls across the table to me, meeting my gaze.

I’m impressed and a bit scared.

This girl keeps proving that she can give me a run for my money.

“Like beer?”

“Sure,” she answers. “I’m more of a Jack kind of girl though.”

“Hmm, me too. When I win, we’ll crack a bottle open while we talk.”

She laughs before setting me with a look. “Aw, hoping for a cute little share-our-feelings moment where at the end we start to make out and then have sex?”

She presses her hands under her chin in an adorable, innocent way, and I glare at her patronizing manner. She’s giving off a very annoyed, almost angry vibe. I don’t know what is going on, but she isn’t the girl from the bathroom. No, someone’s pissed her off, or she’s fighting so hard not to want me. Either way, she’s screwed. I’m getting under her skin, and she’s gonna like it.

I shrug as I mock that I’m thinking for a moment before looking over at her and nodding. “You know, that’s exactly what I want. Sounds fun, eh?”

I might have added the eh to be a dick, and by the way her eyes cut to slits as she drops her hands, I can tell she doesn’t appreciate my tribute to her Canadian ways.

“Not gonna happen, buddy. Now shoot, so you can miss and I can win.”

“So full of yourself,” I say before shooting it into the cup beside the one I just scored on. “You see, I’m winning right now.”

“For now,” she says, sending the ball my way before downing the cup and looking over at me.

Smiling, I stretch my shoulders before shaking my arms out. It’s all for show though. “I have to say, this tough-guy act you’ve got is turning me on.”

She doesn’t smile as she holds my gaze. “Well, turn yourself off because once I win, you’ll never see me again.”

“Maybe,” I say, just to mess with her before I shoot, getting it in for a third time. When she expels a breath, reaching for the ball before downing the cup, I can tell she’s getting a bit nervous by the way she basically beams me with the ball. Laughing, I say, “Poor loser, eh?”

“Lose the ‘eh,’ asshole, and I don’t lose.”

“Ah, but today you will, sweetheart.”

Clearing her throat, she looks up at me and says, “Didn’t I say I’m not your sweetheart?”

I nod. “You did, but you also said you were gonna beat me, but that isn’t happening.”

I then shoot, getting it another cup, to her dismay. Downing another cup, her face starts to flush before she looks over at me again and I smile.

“Can I have the ball?”

She sends it my way, and then I watch as she reaches for the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up and over her body, throwing it down to the ground before stretching her arms up and behind her. I know what she’s doing. I’m not dumb, but I’m also not dead, and I drink in every single detail of her gorgeous, round tits. Basically drooling at the way her top is a little too small, causing the underside of her boob to hang out of the bottom of the left cup.

Unable to keep that to myself, I say, “Your boob is hanging out.”

Innocently, she looks down and actually fakes an “O” face. “Oh no, look at that,” she says before tucking it back in.

I can’t help it, I laugh, which in return pisses her off.

“What? Did you think you were gonna be able to distract me?” I ask, and she just glares. “I mean, it may work on some other dude, but not me, baby. You’re going down.”

She doesn’t say anything as I shoot, or even after I get it in three more times. As she downs the sixth cup, I chuckle as I twist the ball in my hand. She lays the cup down beside the other empty ones and glares at me, her chest heaving up and down, her body flushed with either the alcohol or maybe even with nervousness of having to spend time with me. I’m pretty sure she’s worried she can’t control herself.

Which is A-OK with me.

Shooting again, I get it in three more times before Jude comes up, slapping me on the back. He looks at the table and then across at Baylor. “Please tell me you didn’t let him go first.”

“I won at hockey; he insisted on going first,” she says sharply, and I love the anger radiating off her.

It’s adorable.

“Ah, well, you aren’t going to win this,” he laughs before shaking his head. “Jayden kicks ass at some beer pong, especially if he is sober.”

As he walks away laughing, I meet her gaze and shrug innocently at her glare. “I told you’d I win.”

“I mean, whatever, I haven’t even had a chance to play,” she counters.