It’s his turn to choke now, while I take a seat on the ancient bed, the springs protesting my weight.
He swipes at the chocolate rolling down his chin. “What the hell—I wasn’t the one who diddled Sierra here. Might have been a handjob?—”
“Oh. My. God. Don’t tell me that.” Gripping the mattress tighter, I squeeze my eyes shut, doing anything I can to block out the visual.
Come on, come on, give me a retired, social-security-collecting stripper, faded cupid tattoo on her ass, grinding a dildo, mounted on the back of a carousel horse… and go!
“You’re the one who brought it up. Just clarifying.”
I crack open an eye, “So Nick…”
“Nope. Nick was the first kiss. Everett, on the other hand.”
“No way!”
Iamgoing to have to overwrite that handjob though—squeeze that tone he uses to say “she’s different” clean out of him, right through his jingle berries.
“Yup. And I’ve never seen too people fuck as much as they do to this day, without actually fucking.”
"I hope they changed the sheets since then." Actually, I hope they burned them. And the mattress. Maybe we should be wearing hazmat suits right now.
Running my palms over the mattress, my fingers catch on something tucked underneath. "What's th?—"
Chance's eyes go wide. "Don't?—"
Too late.
I hold up the vintage Playboy like a trophy. "The sacred texts!"
"Those aren't—" He lunges for the magazine but I dance away.
"What's wrong, soldier? Afraid I'll find your teenage spank bank?" Scooching back, I lean against the wall and flip through pages. "Wow, the 90s were not kind to—holy shit."
"What?" He freezes.
Peeking over the top of the magazine, I raise an eyebrow. "Notes in the margins?" I squint at the familiar cramped handwriting pretending I can make out the faded letters in the dim light. "Dear Diary, today I learned about the quality of Sierra’s hand lo?—"
"That's enough of that."
"Oh my God, wait—there's a color-coding system? Did you actually highlight the important parts?" I flip another page, cackling. "Please tell me you made a study guide. 'Chapter One: The Female Anatomy—A Comprehensive Review.'"
He lunges for the magazine, but I'm faster, rolling away, shielding the evidence of his wayward youth under me.
"Was this prep for your oral exam?" I wheeze out between laughs. "Did you get extra credit?"
His face flames. "I was thorough."
"Clearly." I can't stop grinning. "Did you make flashcards too? Pop quizzes? Weekly progress reports?"
He lunges again, but I manage to block him for a second time. My victory lasts approximately two seconds before his weight settles over me, one hand braced beside my head while the other snakes under me for the magazine.
"Getting handsy there, soldier." My breath hitches as his chest presses against my back. "What happened to consent?"
"That was before you found my thesis on advanced female anatomy." His voice rumbles against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Now it's a matter of national security."
"What, afraid I'll discover your original hypothesis on the—" The magazine disappears from my grip as he uses his superior reach to snatch it away, but I'm already rolling beneath him, ready with my next quip.
Only he doesn't move back. He stays there, hovering over me, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. The laughter dies in my throat.
