Authors: Emily Goodwin
Jailbait (31 page)
“You don’t know how to play,” he retorts.
“Well, then teach me. It can’t be that hard.”
He chuckles. “All right. If you think you can play with the big boys.”
“Stop being sexist and give me a damn controller.”
We battle it out for a half hour before Travis struts in the living room in a low-riding pair of jeans. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from commenting, but it’s a hard task. I hate it when he walks around shirtless, showing off the outlines of his taut muscles and the V that runs below his waistline.
As if he could be anymore of a walking, talking cliché, he has a sleeve of tattoos on one arm and half a sleeve on the other. I catch myself admiring it more than I should, so I quickly look away before he notices.
“What’s up, V?”
“Why don’t you tell me, asshole? Your clothes almost done?”
“Not washing clothes,” he says flatly, but I see the corner of his lips turn up slightly.
“Then what are you washing? You know I do my laundry on Wednesdays.”
“My sheets.” He grins, and I have to swallow back a gagging noise. “I have a guest coming over soon.”
“Well if you’d slow down the parade of visitors, we wouldn’t have this conflict.”
“Or you could do your laundry somewhere else and we wouldn’t have a conflict at all.”
I set the controller down on the coffee table and walk toward the kitchen as he walks toward the couch. “You’re such a disgusting manwhore.”
He sits in my spot and calls out, “Aw, is someone jealous?”
I roll my eyes so hard, I swear they might fall out. “Suck a dick, Travis.” I grab my basket and walk to the basement door.
“I was hoping that was
your
specialty!” I hear him yell out, but as soon as he does, I hear Drew’s fist collide with his shoulder.
“Dude, quit hitting on my sister.”
“In his dreams!” I yell out, opening the door and stepping down the stairs.
God, I can’t wait until I have my own place and can limit these not-so-
lovely
visits.
* * *
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