“I doubt I’d want nachos at three a.m., but if you woke me to offer them, I’d want something you had.”
Paige rolled her eyes at him, “Again with the innuendo? Can’t a girl enjoy her nachos without you making something dirty out of it?”
“Trust me, the way you eat nachos is objectively filthy. You licked cheese off your thumb. It was a combination of uninhibited enjoyment and the suggestion of you licking other things.”
She laughed. “I might be thinking about what you’re thinking about. But I think it’s best to be friends.”
“Then why are you out on a date with your boss?”
“Why are you having naughty thoughts?”
“You’re attractive. What you were doing looked suggestive,” he shrugged.
“So what I eat or say or do inspires you to think of doing indecent things to me.”
“There’s nothing indecent about two consenting adults enjoying...nachos together,” he said archly.
“But you just said you don’t enjoy nachos. You were thinking about a blow job!”
“Did you just say blow job at a minor league baseball game in front of children?” he said in her ear.
“Yes! But I whispered it!”
“All I said was ‘licking.’ I could have been talking about an ice cream cone,” he said.
“Right.”
Laughter erupted from him. “You’re going to get us thrown out of a game. By throwing a tantrum over what you perceived as harassment.”
“I didn’t perceive it. You took my nacho snack and twisted it into something inappropriate.”
“The only one saying inappropriate things here is you. I certainly didn’t shout about anyone’s genitals,” he said with a reluctant chuckle.
“Did you just laugh at me?”
“You’re being funny. I can’t help how I react to your behavior.”
She laughed. “Fine.”
He stood. “I’m just taking the remains of the nachos to the garbage. I don’t want to litter, especially after disrupting the good, clean family fun of the ball game with your blow job outburst.”
She followed him up the stairs. “I did not have a blow job outburst, Luke. You were the one acting like everything I did was part of a porno reel. You looked at me like you were going to just—drop your pants.”
“I did not even consider dropping my pants.”
She playfully nudged him. “You looked like you could have. Gosh, you were ogling.”
“I’m wearing sunglasses. How could you possibly tell what I was looking at?” he demanded.
“I could FEEL you looking at me,” she laughed.
“Really, what did it feel like?” he challenged.
“Like this. Stand still,” she said, squaring off to face him, hands on her hips. “Just stand there, and I’m going to look at you the way you were staring at me. See how you like it.”
Paige seemed to zero in on him with some kind of laser focus. She swept her gaze over him in a way that felt suddenly palpable, intimate. Like she was touching him all over, like her eyes could see through him and examine everything beneath his clothes. She was so intent, so unflappable as she undressed him with her eyes, one eyebrow raised as if she liked what she saw.
He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, determined not to be uncomfortable, not to let her know that he felt anything from the way she was looking at him. He felt sweat film his chest and neck, an itch to his palms. He could feel her scrutiny along every inch of his skin. She might as well be stripping off his clothing right here in the parking lot, might as well put her hands on his body if she was going to look at him that way. Like he was a thing, an object she could peel and examine.