"It's where I learned how catty females can be."
"Catty?"
"You never noticed anytime you had something nice to say, Callie had to one up you? She did it to you all the time. Always had to be better than you."
"No, I never noticed that. Wow, that kind of makes a lot of sense now that I’m older."
"I used to hate that for you. She always acted like it was a competition between the two of you. Who can get the better tan, who had the cuter clothes, who got the guy."
"Should have joined us and defended me. Could have been the start of a friendship."
"Some of what you said was interesting."
"Like what?"
"You both seemed rather interested in my dick size."
If I had any drink in my mouth, I'd be spitting it out right about now.
"Dick size?" I cringe because I definitely don't remember hitting that topic. I don't put it past me berating him in front of my friends. But his penis?
"Yep, your blonde friend said I was probably huge, but because I was horrible with girls, no one would ever know it."
"I—I don't remember this."
"And you said, 'I'm sure Theo is tiny. Have you seen his hands?'"
Shit, I remember now.
"I said that? Sure this isn't a repressed memory with an ex-fling talking about your dick size?"
"Pretty sure it was you."
"Why are you bringing this up now?"
"You really think my dick is small based on my hands?"
He puts his palms up like he's trying to de-escalate the situation, but he's doing the exact opposite.
I review his strong hands he places out for examination, hands that look like they can tear phone books in half. Hands that built houses, calloused hands that are attached to athletic arms flexing before my very eyes.
My heart is working double time and I worry Theo can see the intrigue all over my flushed face. Is this part of his game? Taunting me now that he's gorgeous and has something to hold over me?
Just to steer the conversation back to playful, I say, "Yeah, I bet you're small."
"You'd be surprised," he warns.
Neither of us are breaking concentration as I try to figure out what the hell he's doing. Is he goading me?
I could joke with him again, throw it back in his face with something comical to pivot our back and forth in a more innocent direction. But I'm done playing this game. What the hell does he want? He wants to talk about this? Fine, let's do it.
"Really? Prove it," I demand.
He blinks twice, our eyes locked on each other.
"Did I hear correctly?" he asks.
"Yep, show me. Let's see it."
