He raises a brow at me; my grip on the counter tightens. “Why not?”

He swipes a bottle from the table and pops off the top. The cork shoots across the room, the boom sound spooking Lemon. Even with her pregnant bulging tummy, she scurries down the hallway at lightning-fast speed.

“Sorry, love,” Callum hollers after her before taking a long sip. He wipes his wet lips with the back of his hand, eyes on me the entire time.

I’m giggling as I reach for the bottle and take a swig for myself. I swallow. “What would a champagne-drinking contest entail?”

He grabs another bottle and leads me to the nearby living room of his open-concept condo. With the minimal furnishings of a four-person dining table, microfiber sectional, coffee table, and wall-mounted flat-screen, his condo is considerably roomier than mine. The condo I share with Mom boasts less square footage, yet we’ve got twice the amount of furniture in our living and dining rooms.

He plops on the couch and pats the seat next to him. I cuddle into him, and he hands me the freshly opened bottle.

“We watch one episode of The Office US, then one of The Office UK.” He flips on the TV. “Whoever finishes their bottle first during those two episodes wins.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Not fair. We both just took a drink from your bottle.”

He rolls his eyes, still smirking. Then he swipes my bottle and takes a five-second-long chug before handing it back to me. “There.” He huffs a breath, chest heaving. “We’re even. You ready?”

I squint at him. “What does the winner get?”

“Sexual favors from the loser.”

I tap my bottle against his. “Bring it.”

•   •   •

Ten minutes into the pilot episode of The Office UK, I’m all giggles and my bottle is three-fourths empty. The alcohol and the bubbles have gone straight to my head. Callum’s got just a few gulps left, though, which means I’m for sure losing this contest. I don’t care though. Tucked under his shoulder, his arm wrapped firmly around me as I’m comfortably tipsy, I’m winning by a long shot. I get to cuddle with Callum, then ravage him in bed. Something stirs inside me. Not warmth, not even comfort, but something deeper.

“You know something? I think I like the American series better,” I say.

“No surprise there.”

“Let me guess. You prefer the UK version.”

He takes a long swig of champagne. “Of course. The original is always superior.”

I shake my head before leaning so close to his face that we’re almost touching noses. “No way. Have you ever had Extra Crispy KFC chicken? Way, way better than Original Recipe.”

“If you say so.”

I cross my arms. He kisses the tip of my nose, and I burst into a smile.

“You’re adorable when you’re petulant,” he says.