“Or—” Stella holds up a finger. “Just tell everyone Oliver is terrible in bed.”
“Ouch,” Fitz declares. “Way to wound a man.”
“Yes, exactly,” Oliver says, recoiling. “Spreading such spurious lies.”
Stella shrugs, and I cringe a little, knowing where this is going. “I’m just saying there’s no way you can be great in bed. It goes against the Third Law. You’re too cute.”
I stare hot coals at her. I don’t want Oliver to know that Stella and I have discussed this, or that I’ve even thought about how this law might apply to him.
Fitz arches a brow in a check out my smolder way. “Hate to break it to you, ladies, but I’m even hotter than Oliver, and I’m pretty much a god in bed. And that’s my law—be awesome in the sheets all the time.”
Stella pats his leg. “Sweetie, I have no doubt you’re a prize in the sheets. But Stella’s Law focuses on a different type of plumbing.”
“Oh, well. See if Oliver can handle the pipes, then,” Fitz says as a fit guy walks by, giving the hockey star a lingering gaze with his piercing green eyes. “Speaking of, I have to go practice some laws.”
He leaves, and Oliver looks at Stella and me expectantly. “So, ladies, tell me all about this law of plumbing.”
I scowl at Stella. She offers an it was inevitable smile.
Oliver cocks his head and prompts again, “So, you have a law about how I’m bad in bed?”
I slam a hand on Stella’s thigh, squeezing it to make her stop. “No one said you were bad in bed, right, Stella?”
Oliver points at the accuser. “She did. Did you not just hear her with that vicious character assassination? And I thought my cousin was bad. But, Stella,” he says, clutching his heart, “you are cruel and hurtful.”
Stella simply shrugs. “That may be true, but the evidence suggests you’d be terrible in the sheets.”
“How?”
Her brow knits. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
Oliver grabs his phone and turns it to selfie mode. He smiles at the screen. “Yes. And I have nothing stuck between my teeth, so what is it?”
“You’re too pretty,” she says matter-of-factly, then lifts her glass and takes a drink.
“Too pretty for what?”
“To be good in bed. Look, it’s a law like gravity. It’s not your fault. You were blessed with extraordinary genes, and now you have to live with the consequences.”
I wave a nothing to see here hand, my chest tight as we edge closer to a place I don’t want to travel. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Oliver swings his gaze my way. “Nor do you. You haven’t taken this car out for a proper drive. We’ve only kissed. And you said I was a great kisser.” His eyes narrow. “Or were you just taking the piss out of me?”
My eyes go wide, and I shake my head. “No. That was true. You kiss extremely well.”
Oliver raises his chin at Stella and clears his throat. “See? She vouched for me.”
“She’s never slept with you though. Good-looking men can still be great kissers, because that’s an entry point. But beyond that, women fall at their feet, and the hotties never have to work for it.” She stretches an arm across the table and ruffles his hair. “Look, Oliver, I hate to break it to you. But there’s no way you can be anything but bad in bed.”
“And you will never know that I’m an Olympic-caliber fucker.”
I try to suppress a laugh, but the chuckle bursts from me. I can’t help it. “Oliver, are you a gold-medal fucker?”
He crosses his arms in something pretty close to a sulk. “Maybe you should find out and then vouch for me.”
Stella glances from Oliver to me and back. “Well, if you do, let me know. But my money is on bad in bed.” With a wink, she rises, tosses some bills on the table, and gestures to the door as she yawns. She waves goodbye and takes off.
Oliver points at her, stabbing the air. “She’s wrong. She’s completely wrong.”
“Of course she’s wrong. I’m sure you’re great in bed. Fireworks, the whole nine yards.” I try not to blush, not to let on how much I’ve thought about what he’d be like between the sheets.
How often I’ve wondered if her theory is true.
How I’m wondering it right now. Because he’s looking at me with serious bedroom eyes.
Sex is written across his green irises. It’s all he’s thinking about. He’s gazing at me like he wants to prove things to me.
And his stare is making me hot.
This is dangerous. Too dangerous.
We agreed not to go there. Not to tango on the physical side.
And there’s no need to now. Not for a stupid theory that’s just for fun. Not for a friend who’s giving him a hard time.
But Oliver won’t leave the topic alone. He leans closer to me across the table. “Do you think I’d be bad in bed?”
“Oliver, what does it matter? I already said you’re a good kisser. I can’t possibly know how you are in bed.”
