Foreman blinked, irrationally hurt and taken aback by Amber's abrupt reply. It was true, and it wasn't like Amber didn't believe in her own attractiveness--or she wouldn't have been showing it off to every guy who wanted to ogle her. He wasn't patronizing her; he was telling her exactly what he thought.
Once she'd sighed gustily and squeezed most of the water into her mouth, though, he got it. She was still pissed off about losing. When it came to the game, she'd have more of a case. He'd treated her pretty easily, and that could probably be taken as patronizing. But the game wouldn't have been nearly as fun if he'd simply stood at the top of the key and made eleven foul shots in a row. Foreman took the water bottle back. "I like that 'one day'," he said. He did; it sounded like a promise. But he kept his voice light, and added another dig, since Amber never would have taken it easy on him if she'd won. "I can school you til then." Lessons, after all, weren't out of the question.
Foreman squeezed water into his mouth, and nearly choked on his mouthful when Amber bent over to retrieve her tank top. Jesus, how did she do that? Water spilled down his chest, and he coughed sharply before he got his breath back. God, he really was ridiculous. To hide how completely idiotic he looked, Foreman squirted the last of the water over his head, the drops running salty into his eyes, but feeling deliciously cool on his skin. With a quick grab, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and mopped his face with it, then used it to wipe the spilled water and sweat off his torso. The t-shirt was already soaked through with sweat, and they'd be changing soon enough. He didn't feel completely worn, the way he would after a full workout or an hour-long game, but his body definitely knew he'd been moving. He tossed the crumpled t-shirt over his shoulder. "They have squash courts and a pool, if you want to make this a triathlon," he said. "Or we could go for lunch."
no subject
Once she'd sighed gustily and squeezed most of the water into her mouth, though, he got it. She was still pissed off about losing. When it came to the game, she'd have more of a case. He'd treated her pretty easily, and that could probably be taken as patronizing. But the game wouldn't have been nearly as fun if he'd simply stood at the top of the key and made eleven foul shots in a row. Foreman took the water bottle back. "I like that 'one day'," he said. He did; it sounded like a promise. But he kept his voice light, and added another dig, since Amber never would have taken it easy on him if she'd won. "I can school you til then." Lessons, after all, weren't out of the question.
Foreman squeezed water into his mouth, and nearly choked on his mouthful when Amber bent over to retrieve her tank top. Jesus, how did she do that? Water spilled down his chest, and he coughed sharply before he got his breath back. God, he really was ridiculous. To hide how completely idiotic he looked, Foreman squirted the last of the water over his head, the drops running salty into his eyes, but feeling deliciously cool on his skin. With a quick grab, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and mopped his face with it, then used it to wipe the spilled water and sweat off his torso. The t-shirt was already soaked through with sweat, and they'd be changing soon enough. He didn't feel completely worn, the way he would after a full workout or an hour-long game, but his body definitely knew he'd been moving. He tossed the crumpled t-shirt over his shoulder. "They have squash courts and a pool, if you want to make this a triathlon," he said. "Or we could go for lunch."