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not wake up one morning to find herself in her mother’s shoes.
    Still, a bet was a bet. She had agreed to it. Worse, it had been her idea. And now she was stuck with it.
    She dropped chopped veggies into the wok and watched them fry.
     
    “No, sugar, I’ll do it. You made supper. It’s my turn to do dishes.” Will stood, winced.
    She looked up at him, concern in her pretty eyes. “Your knee?”
    “Yeah.” He picked up their plates and silverware, took another step, allowed a hiss of breath to pass his teeth. His knee did hurt. Not much. But it did hurt. “Damn!”
    She stood, took the plates from his hands. “Sit, hon. I’ll get an ice pack.”
    “No, let me handle this. It’s not bad.” He was telling the truth.
    She gave him a worried frown. “Liar. Sit and elevate it. I’ll be right back.”
    He sat and lifted his leg onto a chair, suppressing a satisfied grin. She’d been distracted and grumpy during dinner, and he thought he knew why. He’d followed the football game with a shower and had come to dinner wearing a pair of old jeans and a Calvin Klein shirt—which he’d left unbuttoned. She’d spent the better part of their meal trying not to look at him.
    Devon was a genius. Will could win the bet and get Lissy back into his bed, protecting his groomsmen from the Curse of the Pink Cummerbunds while preventing himself from becoming the first man in history to die from a case of blue balls.
    He soothed his conscience by telling himself it wasn’t cheating. Nothing in the conditions of their wager prevented them from trying covertly to seduce the other person. And when Lissy gave in to her lust, he’d not only make certain she enjoyed it, but he’d also prove what a great guy he was by letting her wear the Very Wang or whatever gown it was that she liked so much.
    When Lissy returned, she had a pillow, a tea towel and an ice pack in her hands. She looked down at his knee. “Oh!”
    He pretended not to understand the problem.
    “You’re going to have to take off your jeans.”
    He nodded, stood, unbuttoned his fly. Then he slipped the worn denim down his hips, letting his cock hang free, and watched her eyes widen. “Sorry, Lissy. You said dinner was ready, so I hurried.”
     
    Lissy drew an I and Will a P , so Lissy went first. Will watched as she calculated the value of her letters, then set five tiles on the board: N-I-G-H-T.
    “Double letter score on the T for ten points.” She scribbled her points on paper and drew five more tiles.
    It had been decades since Will had played Scrabble. With sex out of the question and nothing decent on television, he’d figured they’d rent a DVD. But Lissy had found the old board game last week while packing the contents of the guest room closet and had wanted to play.
    “You can keep your leg elevated, and we can still have some fun,” she’d said, dropping a pair of gym shorts in his naked lap.
    He adjusted the ice pack on his knee, looked at the letters on his tray, then bit back a smile and set down his tiles, taking advantage of her T : B-R-E-A-S-T-S.
    “Double points for the R for a total of ten. We’re tied.” He pulled six new tiles and sat back to see how she’d react.
    “The game has just started.” Her green eyes held defiance. Using the second S from BREASTS, she spelled out S-E-X for eleven points.
    Will studied the board and pulled three tiles from his tray; using the B in BREASTS, he spelled B-L-O-W for ten with a double score for the L .
    She smiled sweetly, picked up a tile and dropped an N above his O , spelling NO. Four points. “Your turn.”
    Will was glad they weren’t playing poker, because once he’d looked the board over and considered his tiles, he was unable to keep himself from smiling. He pulled five tiles from his tray and set them down one by one, using the R from BREASTS: P-E-C-K-E-R.
    “Double word score for a hot twenty-eight points. Top that, sugar.”
    Lissy squirmed in her seat, considered her options. She