Page 38 of Risky Play

“I always forget you’re Canadian,” I said as I climbed onto her loft-style bed.

“Why? Because I’m not a Canadian stereotype like my brother, who says ‘eh’ like every other word?”

I grinned at her.

“Ass.” She shed the outer white and blue plaid shirt she was wearing and grabbed something from her dresser. “I’ll be right back.”

I sat on her bed, leaned against the wall, and scanned the room. It was neatly organized, but it had little touches of Maddie all over it. Above her desk was a Winnipeg Whitecaps calendar—interesting that it wasn’t a Bulldogs one. Next to it was one of those corkboard things with a spattering of photos pinned up. On her desk was a stack of books, but none of which looked like textbooks. They looked like the books that made up her social media profile.

There was one such book lying next to me on the bed. I picked it up and scanned the cover. An oily, muscular man stood behind a woman with his hand wrapped around her throat as he kissed her neck.

Jesus, what was she reading?

“Gimme that!” she shrieked as she came back into the room, now wearing a thin tank top and a pair of leggings that hugged the curves of her thighs. I couldn’t see her ass, but I bet it looked fantastic. I had to tell my dick to settle down at the sight of her comfy attire.

“What kind of books are you reading?” I asked. I turned it over and read the summary on the back. I was sure my eyebrows were at the ceiling at what I read.

She took the book from me and placed it on her desk. “The kinky kind. Don’t judge!”

She walked back to her bedroom door and shut it behind her. Then she found the remote for the small TV that sat on her dresser, and she turned it on. She flipped through until she put on a cheesy action film that she no doubt loved. She climbed up on the bed beside me, her thighs pressed against mine.

“So, are those books like your guilty pleasures?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“No?”

She turned toward me with a fiery fight in her eyes. “No, because I don’t have guilty pleasures. I’m not ashamed of what I read. You can try to shame me for liking books that explore love and sexuality, but you won’t make me feel bad for wanting to read steamy romance novels that give me a happy ending.”

I held up my hands in surrender.

“The world’s such a mess. I like that I have one thing that can comfort me,” she continued.

Damn, she really told me off about that.

“Okay, I get that. Sorry if you thought I was judging you. My mom read a lot of bodice rippers growing up.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Your dad probably got laid a lot. Probably still does.”

“EW! Maddie, what the fuck!”

She belted out her laughter. “You totally walked into that one.”

“I don’t want to be traumatized twice in one day.”

She leaned against me, and as if on instinct, I wrapped my arm around her and let her lean into my chest. “Sorry, that was too easy.”

“And I thought Canadians were nice,” I teased.

“Um, that’s a stereotype. Only my brother’s that way,” she chirped back at me.

This girl. She really could dish it out, and I loved that about her.

“Now, shush, this is the best part!”

She pressed up against me, and I realized I was cuddling her like this was a date. Like we weren’t strictly friends. The feeling of her thighs pressed up against mine was making my hormones work into overdrive. I needed to get a grip.

I wasn’t paying attention to the movie, and I barely registered the not-subtle way she slid her hand into mine.