Slow Play (The Rules 3)

Alexandria shakes her head. “If you’re going to hang out with me tonight, you have to do it on my terms.”

“And what are your terms?”

“We’re going to watch Sex and the City and snuggle.” The way she says it is adorable.

“Really?”

She nods.

Okay. I’m down to snuggle. I’ve never done it before but for Alexandria, I’ll do anything to spend time with her. But Sex and the City? “You’re going to make me watch that chick show?”

“Yep.”

“It’s old.”

“It’s timeless.”

“They’re a bunch of old bags constantly fucking around.”

“They’re real women with a solid friendship looking for love in a heartless, cruel city,” she explains, sounding downright impassioned.

“You’re not going to give me a choice, are you?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head and waves a hand toward the bed. “Take it or leave it. Snuggle and SATC or you go.”

I kick off my shoes and shove them under a nearby chair, then pull off my hoodie. Alexandria stands in front of me as if she’s frozen, her lips parted, eyes wide. “What?” I ask after I toss my sweatshirt onto the chair.

She shakes her head, snapping her mouth shut. “Nothing. Let’s do this.” She goes to her bed, tosses a bunch of throw pillows on the floor tugs back the comforter, inviting me into her bed. Jesus, I feel like I’ve just won the biggest hand I’ve ever played.

And I’m going to savor every fucking second.

There is nothing better than witnessing Tristan undressing and making himself comfortable in my bedroom. Seriously, when he pulled off his sweatshirt and I caught a glimpse of his flat stomach when his T-shirt rode up? A fan-myself-moment for sure, everything I’ve got perking up and going on high alert. Then when he looked at me with confusion in his eyes and his hair a golden brown mess from pulling the hoodie over his head?

I died a little inside. I may be playing it cool and acting like I don’t care that he’s here but deep down my girl parts are squealing with anticipation.

He climbed into my bed like he belonged there and left me no choice but to do the same. By the time I’d nervously fixed my pillows and settled in, he already had my laptop in his hands and resting on his lap, frowning at the screen.

“You’re actually watching a DVD?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

I shrug. “They were my mom’s.”

A brow shoots up. “Were?”

I’m treading on unfamiliar ground here. I don’t want to talk about my parents. It’s embarrassing enough that people I grew up with know what they did. Even worse when I’m supposed to explain every little detail of my parents’ fall from grace to new people in my life.

So I keep my mouth shut.

“She didn’t want the set anymore so she gave it to me. I started watching it and got hooked.” I lean over to look at my menu options, eager to change the subject. “Season three is my current favorite.”

“What, the different seasons vie to be your favorite?” He looks over at me, the glow from my laptop illuminating his face and making him look extra pretty. It doesn’t hurt that I actually have this man in my bed.

In my bed. I can’t get over it.

“It depends on my mood, but seriously, this season is awesome. It taught me the term golden shower.” Tristan makes a face and I giggle. “The girls go to Los Angeles and have wild adventures. I learned about bad karma and what comes around, goes around. But my favorite episodes are when Carrie hooks up with Big even though he’s married.”

Tristan frowns. “Why is that?”

“Her struggle is so…real.” I don’t know how to describe it and I feel sort of dumb for advocating episodes that involve cheating. But my heart hurts for her every time I watch them. And when Charlotte catches the two of them walking down the street together, she’s so angry, and Carrie feels so guilty…

Lately I’ve been feeling like that. Struggling. Guilty. Conflicted. And most of those feelings have to deal with the man who’s sitting next to me. In my bed, might I remind you.

“It’s also the season that gave us funky spunk,” I blurt out.

Tristan’s head whips toward mine when I say that. “Excuse me?”

My cheeks go warm. “Samantha gives a blowjob to some guy—”

“That’s the slutty one, right?” he interrupts.

I send him a look. “She’s the more—adventurous one, yes—anyway when he, uh, comes in her mouth.” Yeah, describing this episode is way more embarrassing than I anticipated, especially with how closely he’s watching me. “It tastes awful. And so she says he has funky spunk.”

“I want to see this episode,” Tristan immediately says.

“I can just tell you about it,” I offer.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I need to see it. Come on, load it up.”

And this is how we end up watching the funky spunk episode together. There are all sorts of other things going on. Charlotte gets engaged, Carrie finds out that Big is getting a divorce and Miranda’s pissed at Steve but Tristan only perks up when Samantha appears on screen.

Of course. The various blowjob scenes and spunk talk are all kinds of awkward but he laughs in all the right places and so do I. I blush when we see the actor’s naked butt and can’t help but wonder if Tristan has a nice naked butt…

Which I’m sure he does. It’s good enough clothed. I can’t imagine seeing it naked.

“I’m reluctantly saying this,” he admits once the episode is over. “But that was hilarious.”

“Samantha is funny,” I agree.

“They’re all funny.” He turns to meet my gaze, his little smile, his nearness stealing my breath. “Let’s watch another one.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I think I want more Samantha.”

We binge on three more episodes, ones I chose that highlight Samantha’s sexual antics. The episode with the guy who has a huge penis is his favorite one of them all.

Figures.

“I can relate,” he says sleepily once the episode is over. His head sinks into the pile of pillows he’s laying on, his eyes at half-mast. “Not that you’d never know since you’ve never seen my big D.”

“Are you for real?” I mock glare at him and he chuckles.

“I can show you now if you want. Though you might want to do some intensive yoga and light up a joint so you can get good and relaxed first.” He lifts his brows. “Gotta prepare so you can take it deep.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” I make to shove him but he grabs my hand and rubs his palm against mine slowly, the slight friction seeming to cause sparks to light up between us. I watch breathlessly as he curls his fingers around mine, drawing his out before pressing them back in so that we’re holding hands, like kids.

But the way he touches me doesn’t feel kid-like. My skin buzzes where we connect, his deft fingers moving over mine lightly, making me shiver.

“I like your hands,” he admits, his voice low and sexy. “They’re so soft.”