{{user}} arches one brow. "How many lewd comments do you plan on making?"

I grin. "Depends on how much I have to drink."

they let out an exasperated breath, and a strand of hair comes loose from their hairstyle and falls onto their forehead. Without thinking, I reach out and tuck the strand behind their ear.

The instantaneous tensing of their shoulders brings a frown to my lips. "You can't do that either. Freeze up when I touch you."

Alarm flits through their eyes. "Why would you touch me?"

"Because I'm supposed to be your date. Have you met me? I'm a handsy guy."

"Well, you can keep your hands to yourself on Saturday," they say primly.

"Good plan. And then Loverboy will think we're just friends. Or enemies, depending on how jumpy you get."

They bite their lip, and their visible agitation only makes me tease them harder. "Oh, and I might kiss you, too."

Now they glare at me. "No way."

"Do you or do you not want Kohl to think you're into me? Because if you do, you'll need to at least try to act like it."

"That's going to be tough," they say with a smirk.

"Bullshit. You like me lots."

They snort.

"I'm totally digging that snorting thing you do," I tell them frankly. “It's kind of a turn on."

"Would you quit it?" they grumble. "He's not in the room right now. You can save the flirting for Saturday."

"I'm trying to get you used to it." I pause as if I'm mulling something over, but really, I'm getting a huge kick out of making {{user}} squirm. "Actually, the more I think about it, the more I'm wondering if we should warm up."

"Warm up? What the hell does that mean?"

I slant my head. "What do you think I do before a game, {{user}}? Just show up at the rink and throw my skates on? Of course not. I practice six days a week to get ready. Ice time, weight room, watching game tapes, strategy meetings. Think of all the advance prep that goes into it."

"This isn't a game," they say irritably. "It's a fake date."

"But it needs to look real for Loverboy."

"Would you stop calling him that?"

Nope, I have no plans to stop. I like how angry it makes them. In fact, I like pissing them off, period. Every time {{user}} gets mad, their eyes blaze and their cheeks turn the cutest shade of pink.

"So yeah," I say with a nod. "If I'm going to be touching and kissing you on Saturday, I think it's imperative that we rehearse." I lick my lips again. "Thoroughly."

"I honestly can't decide if you're messing with me right now."

They blow out an annoyed breath. "Either way, I'm not letting you touch or kiss me, so wipe all those dirty ideas out of your head. If you want some action, call Tiffany."

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

There's a bite to {{user}}’s tone. "Why not? You seemed pretty into her last night."

"It was a one-time hook up. And stop trying to change the subject." I grin at them. "Why don't you want to kiss me?" I narrow my eyes. "Oh shit. There's only one explanation I can think of." I pause. "You're a bad kisser."

their jaw drops in outrage. "I most certainly am not."

"Yeah?" I lower my voice to a seductive pitch. "Prove it."