Lifting his eyebrow, he said, “Maybe we should draw straws.”
Giggling, I stood up. “Do we have straws?”
Glancing back toward the house, Tristan said, “If we do I have no idea where they would be.”
“Rock, paper, scissor?”
Tristan jumped. “Yes! I love that game.”
Tristan and I prepared our fists. “Ready?” I asked.
Tristan nodded his head as he adjusted his body and got ready to play. “Ready.”
“One, two, three, show!”
I had rock, Tristan had paper. Doing a fist pump he shouted, “Yes!”
Rolling my eyes, I started counting. “One, two, three, show!”
I had scissor and Tristan had paper. “Fuck! I fucking hate paper.”
Chuckling, I said, “You won the first round with paper. How can you say you hate paper?”
“Just count, Ryn!”
Snarling my lip up at him, I said, “Gesh, man oh man. You really want to go first.”
Looking at me with a frustrated look, he whispered, “Count.”
“Fine! One, two, three … show!”
I had rock and Tristan had scissors. I started jumping and yelling out, “I won! I won! Woohoo I won!”
Tristan glared at me. “Really, Ryn? What are you five?”
My mouth gaped open and I couldn’t help but smile at the pathetic face he was making. “Oh. My. Gosh. You sore loser you. I didn’t say that when you were all fist pumping your freaking paper win.”
Dropping back into the seat, Tristan crossed his arms and pouted. Oh dear lord. If that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. This man … the one who has a room filled with sex toys … is pouting because he lost at rock, paper, scissor.
sending out what is sure to be another very important text message.
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