She grinned. “Draw until you can play. First to discard all cards wins. Loser of each round removes one item of clothing. Multiple items if you’re bold—but that’s house rules.” She winked.
“This is getting interesting .” She laid down an eight. “Hearts.”
You sat cross-legged on her living room rug, a half-empty bottle of cheap merlot between you. The city lights blinked through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her apartment—the kind of place an art history major shouldn’t be able to afford, which meant her parents were either rich or guilty. You didn’t ask.
“Deal,” you said.
But she wasn’t talking about the game anymore.
“Hearts,” she said.
She tilted her head. “One more round?”