What?

I was so busy staring at Jason and Dottie, I didn’t pay attention to Maddox. Did he really just get another strike? I look over his shoulder and sure enough, there it is, a strike and a giant turkey dancing across the screen.

Three strikes in a row.

I need to pick up my game.

“Scared?” he whispers.

“Pfft, of course not.” I look up at my score and cringe. “I’m just getting warmed up.” I pat him on the chest and walk over to the girls. Keeping my voice low, I say, “Listen up, ladies, I’m going to need you to use your feminine ways to distract these men. I don’t want to lose this bet. I have plans of playing with a penis piercing tonight.”

Natalie’s eyes widen and she looks over at the boys who are joking about something, Maddox looking cocky and sure of himself. “My brother. He can’t hit any pins to save his life. He’s the weakest link.”

Dottie glances at the boys as well and says, “I hate to agree since he’s my husband, but yes, he sucks. We need to take him down, and I think with a little flashing of cleavage we could take Cory down as well. He’s desperate for your attention, Natalie, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off you. But, Maddox.” Dottie shakes her head. “The boy is focused. There is no stopping him. So we must take down the other two. Our girl wants to play with a penis piercing, and we’re going to make it happen.” Dottie lifts her shirt and ties it to the side, exposing midriff. Natalie does the same and fluffs her hair, only to undo her shorts and fold down the top, exposing more skin.

“Oh, good idea,” Dottie says, doing the same. When they stand up, they are showing way more skin than before, and I smile to myself.

We all face the boys, whose eyes are narrowed in on their respective girls. Maddox has a smirk on his face, as if he understands exactly what I’m doing.

Shaking his head, he knocks both guys in the chest and says, “You’re better than that, boys. Shirts off. We can play their game.”

And just like that, all three men take their shirts off, exposing an expanse of rock-hard muscles. Abs and pecs and muscles I’ve never seen before are flashed under the bowling lights in our private lanes.

Biceps for days.

Low-hanging jeans for months.

Gorgeous, cocky smirks for years.

But the one that’s giving me the most butterflies is the guy covered in tattoos, his chest thick, his forearms flexing, and his hands in his pockets, giving me the cockiest look I’ve ever seen, showcasing his strong jawline, giving me a front-row view to the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

Damn it.

I turn back to the girls and say, “Anyone want to bowl topless?”

“Are you going to sulk all night?”

Maddox hangs up Herman’s leash after taking him out to go to the bathroom and then he locks up the apartment.

I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, a pout to my lip. “The shirts off was really a low point for you.”

He laughs hard and walks up to me, taking my hands in his. “That was a low point? This coming from the girl who hiked her skirt up, forcing the men to turn around so we didn’t see your bare ass while you bowled?”

“The denim was getting in the way of my stride.”

“Okay.” He pulls me down the hall and into the bedroom where he leads me to the bathroom and hands me my toothbrush. In silence we brush our teeth, not saying anything to each other but just working around each other getting ready for bed.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t touch me.

Barely even looks at me, so when he goes to the closet to remove his clothes, I feel more confused than ever. After I spit out my toothpaste and rinse, I follow him into the closet where I catch him peeling his shirt off for the second time tonight.

Really, his body is so unfair.

He starts to walk past me, but when he stops, presses a brief peck across my cheek and then moves to the bedroom.

What is going on in that head of his?

Does he even want to have sex with me tonight? From his casual attitude and lack of touching, I’m guessing no. But he won the bet, which means he can do anything to me tonight. Is he not cashing in?

Growing irritated with his aloofness, I strip off my shirt and skirt and toss them in the hamper, leaving me completely bare besides the red thong I’m wearing. Maddox has never seen this much of me but tonight, I’m changing that. I switch off the closet light and walk into the bedroom where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, plugging in his phone, only the light from his nightstand illuminating the room in a soft glow.

When he looks up and spots me topless walking over to my side of the bed, I see his eyes narrow, but he still doesn’t say anything. His eyes track me as I move through the room, plug my phone in as well that I snagged off the dresser, and then snuggle up under the covers, facing him.

He gets under the covers, but lies facing up, eyes cast toward the ceiling, hand behind his head.

And then . . . silence.

What game is he playing?

I am freaking topless in bed with him, wearing just a thong, clearly ready to start all the sexual touching, and he’s not even looking my way.

Annoyed, I reach out and place my hand on his chest where I caress his nipple, circling around and around as my eyes focus on the thin sheet that’s covering his bottom half. I watch as it starts to rise, which means he’s playing hard to get.

Ready to play his game, I scoot in closer and glide my hand up and down his chest. The whole time he remains almost unaffected, and if there was no bulge I’d think he’s made of stone.

“You pitched so well tonight,” I say quietly, seductively, at least I try.

“I felt good out there,” he answers, his voice smooth. “Felt even better bowling tonight.”

“Why’s that?”

He finally turns his head and smiles at me. “The entire time you’ve been here, I feel like you’ve kept me just slightly off balance, but tonight . . .” He smiles even larger. “Tonight, I was the one who threw you for a loop.”

Truth. I was beside myself watching him with his buddies, shirt off, laughing and having a good time. I’ve never seen him sexier.

“You didn’t throw me for a loop, I was just . . . distracted, that’s all.”

He shifts to his side, facing me now, one hand under his pillow, the other reaching out to me and shifting my arm to the side, exposing my breasts. He licks his lips and then slowly drags one of his fingers over my nipple. Immediately my legs clench together, as a dull throb starts to thrum.

“What distracted you?” he asks. He pinches my nipple, pulling a gasp past my lips as my back arches into his touch. He lets up and then rolls my nipple between his fingers, and the callouses on his fingers over my sensitive nub, the firm, confident grip . . . it’s one of the most satisfying feelings I’ve ever felt.

Consuming.

So simple, but so consuming.

“Uh . . . what?”

He chuckles, that heady laugh like a fresh breath of air to my lungs. “What distracted you while we were bowling?”

“Oh,” I sigh, as his palm starts to massage my small breast. It barely fills his hand. I glance down to watch his tattooed hand kneading my soft flesh, and it’s so sexy. Losing track of what’s going on, I say, “Why are we talking?”

More laughter, but this time it’s more clipped, gruff, as his hand slides away from my breast and down my side to my thong. His hand slips under the elastic waistband and he grips my ass, pulling me closer. “I won the bet. I want to talk.”

“You want to talk?” I ask, my eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as I try not to lose all self-control.

“Yeah, let’s talk.”

I’m about to protest when he sits up and leans against the headboard and then pulls me up on top of his lap. A large smile crosses his face as his head leans against the headboard, and his hands slip under the string of my thong and fall to my backside.

Topless and turned on, I shift on his lap where I feel his hard erection beneath me. I center myself just right so when I start to rock on top of him, it eases some of the pressure already building.

“Talk to me,” he says, not stopping me from moving on top of him, but slowing me down.

I press my hands to his chest and look him in the eyes. They’re lazy, almost unfocused, enjoying the moment. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me what you like.”

“You know what I like,” I say, feeling his long, hard ridge, rub against my soft center. That feels so good. “I like recycling cans, animals with human names, lavender soap scrubbed in all my areas—”

“No, Kinny.” He smirks. It’s wicked. “What do you like in bed?”

“Oh.” My cheeks burn feverously as I stop my hips. “That was stupid of me.”

“No, it was fucking adorable.” He encourages me to move again, so I do, and this time I feel so much more aware.