“Nope, that’s not what he said,” Sanders says, cutting in and tossing the basketball in the air. “He gave you a compliment, and you didn’t acknowledge it. And from what I’ve learned about Wilder, compliments are his love language.”

I mean, I’m not going to tell him he’s wrong. Then again, I think any man would enjoy a compliment, especially from someone as stunning as Scottie.

Scottie turns toward me and asks, “I didn’t notice a compliment. What did you say?”

“I said your dress was dangerously high, showing off your delicious legs.” And then I rub my hands over the sides of her quads. She tenses above me, and it makes me wonder how much this tool of an ex of hers actually paid attention to her. Gave her affection. Said something nice. Because a simple stroke of the leg shouldn’t make her this tense.

“Oh, um…thank you?”

“Tell me what you like about her legs,” Sanders says. “Scottie, I want you to mirror what he says by starting your sentence with ‘what I heard you say was’ and then end it with ‘tell me more.’ Think you can do that?”

“Yes,” she says and then turns toward me.

Wanting to have some fun and make this woman feel good about herself, I say, “I love how your legs aren’t stick thin. I love that they give me something to grip on to. I love the way they look in heels. Your calves are fire. And your ass is unbelievable.”

I tug on my lip ring, challenging her, wanting to see if she’s going to repeat what I said.

“Umm, what I heard you say is you love how my legs aren’t stick thin and that they look good in heels, and you have something to grip on to and, uh⁠—”

“Calves,” I help her.

“Oh, right, my calves are fire, and my ass is unbelievable.” She clears her throat. “Tell me more.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” I slide my hands up to her waist. “I know you don’t need to know just how smart and clever you are, because you know that through and through, but I can get lost in your eyes for days. They’re such a unique shade of blue with a brown ring around the pupil that causes me to stare at them just a touch longer than I should.”

She glances over my shoulder to avoid eye contact, but I don’t let her. “Look at me, Scottie.”

“Good,” Sanders says, now taking a seat and spinning the ball on his finger. “Scottie, repeat what he said.”