His lips twitch.
Wonderful. He’s trying not to laugh at me.
“Are you still drunk?” he asks. “Because if you are, I promise to play the rare gentleman card and never bring up this conversation again.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m serious.” I shrug. “Do you want to or what?”
Garrett stares at me.
“Well?” I prompt.
His dark eyebrows knit together in a frown. It’s pretty obvious he has no idea what to make of my request.
“It’s a simple yes or no answer, Garrett.”
“Simple?” he bursts out. “Are you kidding me? There’s nothing simple about this.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Are you forgetting what you told me at Maxwell’s party? The kiss meant nothing, we’re just friends, blah, blah.”
“I did not say blah blah,” I grumble.
“But you said everything else.” His jaw hardens. “What the hell changed from then to now?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. I just changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Because I did.” Aggravation pricks my chest. “What does it matter? Since when do guys cross-examine a girl about her motives for wanting to get naked?”
“Since you’re not the kind of girl who gets naked!” he sputters.
I clench my teeth. “I’m not a virgin, Garrett.”
“You’re not a puck bunny either.”
“So that means I’m not allowed to sleep with a guy I’m attracted to?”
He rakes both hands over his scalp now, looking equally aggravated. Then he takes a breath, exhales slowly, and meets my eyes. “Okay, here’s the deal. I believe you’re attracted to me. I mean—one, who isn’t? And two, you moan like crazy whenever my tongue’s in your mouth.”
I bristle. “I do not.”
“Agree to disagree.” He folds his sleek, muscular arms over his sleek, muscular chest. “But I don’t believe that you underwent some magical transformation where suddenly you want to jump my bones just for the hell of it. You know, for funsies.” His head tilts thoughtfully. “What is it, then? Do you want to get back at your ex or something? Make Loverboy jealous again?”
“No,” I say stiffly. “I just…” Frustration slams inside me. “I just want to do it, okay? I want to do you.”
His expression is a peculiar combination of amused and annoyed. “Why?” he asks again.
“Because I want to, damn it. Why does there need to be some deep, philosophical meaning behind it?” But I can see from his face that I haven’t convinced him, and I’m smart enough to know when to admit defeat. “You know what? Forget it. Forget I asked—”
He grabs hold of my arm before I can hop off the bed. “What the hell is going on, Wellsy?”
The concern in his eyes hurts more than his rejection. I practically begged him for sex and he looks worried for me.
God, I can’t even proposition a guy right.
“Forget it,” I mutter again.
“No.”
I yelp when he suddenly pulls me onto his lap.
“We’re not having this conversation anymore,” I protest as I try to scramble off him.
He plants his hands on my waist to trap me in place. “Yes, we are.”
His gray eyes bore into my face, searching, probing, and I’m mortified to feel tears pricking my eyelids.