“If I’m wrong, or I miss any of the lyrics, you win. But if I’m right, I win.”
“Anyone can get lucky and guess one song,” I scoff, folding my arms across my chest.
“Okay . . . how about twenty songs?”
He’s already told me he has over five thousand CDs in the wall unit in his room. I’m crap at math, but figure if each CD has roughly ten songs, that’s around fifty thousand songs we’re talking about. I begin to feel smug.
“What do I get when I win?”
He grins. “A kiss.”
“Hmm. And if you win?”
His grin grows wicked. I roll my eyes, pretending that smile doesn’t do all sorts of bad things to my body. Bad and very wonderful things.
He wins, of course. I halfheartedly accuse him of cheating, just before he throws me over his shoulder and heads for the bed.
Those forty-eight hours are the
