“No way.”
James smirks as you make a disbelieving face at him, the two of you sprawled on the mattress of his bed. “No way?”
“No way,” you repeat, snickering. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Really?” He elbows you, and there’s a faint blush on his face but it’s overpowered by the teasing look in his gaze. Your best friend feigns offense. “You don’t think I could do it?”
“No,” you drawl. “Thirty minutes? No fucking way.”
“I think you’re biased because you’ve never been with anyone good enough,” James snarks. He peers at you through loose curls and skewed glasses, and your heart skips a beat. “Your last hookup was… what, that weird stoner? He doesn’t even look like he could turn you on, let alone get you there in thirty minutes.”
You blush at how explicit the conversation’s become, but you’re not about to back down now. You keep eye contact with him as you challenge, “Sure, whatever, like you’re much better.”
“Oh, but I am,” James murmurs, and he doesn’t look away.
You barely refrain from making an embarrassing sound, but James seems to catch how flustered you are anyway. Smirking, he sits up straighter. “You’re cute when you blush.”