Twenty steps and a look. I can do that. I down the rest of my wine and slap Cal manfully on the thigh. ‘You’re on.’ He splutters. ‘I’m—what?’ ‘Come on.’ I jerk my head in the direction of The Playroom, a giddying sense of fatalism running through my veins. ‘I hate to admit it, but you’re right. A look won’t kill me. I need to get over myself. You going to hold my hand?’ I may have called his bluff, but he comes to his senses quickly and jumps up. ‘No fucking way. I’m not holding your hand, you fucking cockblocker.’ I spit out a genuine laugh. ‘Come on, dickhead,’ I repeat. ‘Show me what all
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