“I bet you do if you’re modeling. But you’re just a little too pretty for me,” she told me.

She was doing it again. Her curiosity was getting the best of her, and she was teasing the hell out of me with it. But I maintained my flirtatious reserve.

“Like they say, you never know until you try it once,” I hinted.

We were both crazy strangers, not to mention horny.

“Once, huh?” she repeated.

“Or twice, or three times; whatever,” I told her. I was going to leave it all up to her.

“You mean in one night or…ongoing?”

She was asking me if it would be a one-night freakfest or an actual relationship.

I dodged her question and said, “Well, you know, I do travel a lot.”

“That’s not what I asked you. Don’t be afraid to answer. You don’t even know me. We’re just talking about it, right? So let’s talk about it,” she told me.

She was pulling my card with authority. So what else could I do but step my game up a notch.

“You would want to keep seeing a man who’s not your type?” I asked her. I used her words against her like women would do to guys.

“If I decided to do something then obviously I’ve made an exception.”

I do believe I had underestimated this woman. She had me clearly on my heels.

“Well, you haven’t decided on anything like that. We’re just talking,” I said. Or were we? We were more like feeling each other out, and both of us were very cautious not to commit any fatal moves.

Rachel started to laugh. She shook her head and said, “The games guys play.”

I took a breath and was slightly offended by her assumptions. You had to play a game to stay on the court. That was what women couldn’t understand. I didn’t want to join the crowd in the stands and become a spectator, while holding hands with a wife and kids. I wanted to continue being a player. And the only way you stayed a player is by showing the most effective and elusive moves while on the court.

Hell, I didn’t even want a girlfriend watching me. All I wanted was a rotating line of cheerleaders who were ready and willing to screw me after the game. You can call it selfish if you want, but that was my life. So what was I to tell Rachel? Could she handle that?

“Are you a big girl?” I asked her.

She smirked. “You can see that.”

“You know what I mean,” I told her.

“I do. And I am a damn big girl.”

So let’s cut the bullshit then, I told myself. What do you want to do?

“So…”

I stopped right there. I wasn’t willing to put my cards on the table with this broad. She wasn’t my type either, and I didn’t want to commit to desperation. Not saying that Rachel was all that bad-looking, because she wasn’t. She was definitely cute. I just didn’t want to end up having her chasing me.