Bet You'll Fall in Love?

“Whoever first lures a man into a trap gets the victory.” “Lures him?” I raise my eyebrows. “What do you mean?” “Five dates. No sex.” I snort. “Sure,” I say. “And who are you suggesting we hunt?” “There—let it be him.” Lena points off to the side. I look where she’s pointing and the first thing I see is wide shoulders in a gray T-shirt—I let my gaze drift lower: narrow hips and a gorgeous butt. Tall, muscular—I hope there aren’t any traces of chickenpox on his face. “Deal,” I slap Lena on the open palm. “And who’s this one?” “Gordey Tikhomirov.” What? Who? Gordey Tikhomirov? The same pimply, thick-headed bore I tormented throughout all the school years? Damn it!”