Getting Real

Above the hisses and boos Rielle called, “Do it for me, Bodge!” She sauntered up to him and put her hands on his chest.

Bodge blushed. “Aw no, Rie. No one wants to see me without a flamin’ shirt on.”

She said, “I do,” running her hands down his body, and lifting the edge of his shirt.

He pushed her hands away. “Nah Rie, don’t.”

“Will you do it for a kiss?”

That brought a round of “Wooo,” from the expectant crew. Bodge looked around, glared at the group, silencing them with his gruff expression as only he could.

Jake figured it was all over. He’d liked that hot look he copped from Rielle, he’d felt it in the soles of his feet, and he’d heard her whistling and calling his name. He’d like to hear her do that again, but without the spectators and while he had his hands on her. But right now he needed to scrounge a new shirt from somewhere.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden loud roar of a wounded mythological beast. He looked up to see Bodge drag off his shirt, slap it on the ground, and thump his chest, warbling King Kong style.

The chant, “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” was airborne only seconds before Rielle herself. She jumped straddling Bodge’s ample hips. The big man, red faced and wheezing with laughter, caught and held her as she kissed his cheek.

Now the fun was over.

“All right,” yelled Glen, clapping his hands. “We’ve got a show to prep.” He glanced at Jake. “Shirts optional, but everyone back to work.”

As the crew returned to the jobs they’d been doing, Rielle appeared at his side. She was all eyes. All over his chest. Wasn’t that something.

“I’m three, you’re five?”

He breathed deeply. God why weren’t they alone. “Yep. You gonna look at me when you talk to me?”

“Oh, I’m looking. You got a point for the shirt stunt, right?” He nodded, but she was using magic heat ray eyes to make his stomach tighten, to make him feel x-rated. It was distracting. It was fucking great. “So I’m still losing?”

“Yep.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted her head. He wanted to see what was in her eyes as well as feel it.

She put innocence and mild outrage into saying, “But I don’t understand the game.” And her expression—Jesus, it wasn’t fit for public consumption, it was closed doors, it was lights out, it was sure bliss.

He dropped his hand, allowing it to travel in the air along the length of her body, not touching but threatening, until it reached his side. “Girl, you invented the game.”

She inclined her head, her eyes looked like liquid velvet. “Okay, but I don’t like losing.”

There’d be other eyes on them, but he didn’t care. He stepped closer, so her breath flowed in a warm whisper over his chest. “Neither do I and you already know my terms for surrender.”

“Will you give me a chance to even the score?”

He wanted to touch her. He wanted her to keep looking at him like he was the sun she revolved around. “Maybe.”

“A gentleman would.”

He scoffed. “Since when have you ever been interested in gentlemen?”

He got the flirtatious eyelash fluttering of an actress but a quiet response. “Since I met you.” She slid her hand into his; it felt like she was touching him all over. “Tonight?”

He wanted to break character and say, “What? Are you really interested in me?” but he sensed she was still joking. Well that’s what the game was about after all. “You have a sponsor’s dinner function.”

“Rand owes me one. My turn to jig.”

He grinned. If she wanted to earn points, who was he to stop her? “What do you want to do?”

“I want to go for a ride, Jake. Are you up for that?”

She was the ultimate ride, like one of those fun park roller coasters that aim to frighten you to death by twisting your gut in loops. He brought her hand to his lips, as a gentleman might, and said as a scoundrel would, “I’ll let you know,” and left her dangling.