Let's play a game, Alex. I call it Ask a Question, Then Strip. Every time you...

Let's play a game, Alex. I call it Ask a Question, Then Strip. Every time you ask a question, you have to remove an article of clothing. Every time I ask, I have to remove one."
"I figure I can ask seven questions, How many you got?"
"Take it off, Alex. You asked your first question."
He nods in agreement and kicks off his shoe.
"Why don't you start with your shirt?" I ask.
"You do realize you asked a question. I think that's your cue--"
"I did ask a question," I insist.
"You asked me why I don't start with my shirt." He grins.
My pulse quickens. I pull down my pom skirt, keeping my long jacket tightly closed. "Now it's four."
He's trying to stay aloof, but his eyes show a hunger I've seen before. And that silly grin is definitely gone as he licks his lips.
"I need a cigarette bad. It's too bad I quit again. Four you say?"
"That sounded suspiciously like a question, Alex."
He shakes his head. "No, smart-ass, that wasn't a question. Nice try, though. Um, let's see. What's the real reason you came here?"
"Because I wanted to show you how much I love you," I say.
Alex blinks a couple of times, but beyond that he shows me no emotion. This time he lifts his shirt over his head. He flings it to the side, baring his bronzed, washboard stomach.