Would his legs be spread just a little wider, like his thighs needed extra room?
I feel like some would lean back in their hips, as if nature had weighted them forward.
Satoshi, though, stood like a soldier carved from stone. Feet evenly planted, spine straight, shoulders locked into parade rest. No lazy spread. No unconscious adjustment. Not once had he shifted his weight like something heavy swung between his thighs.
If he really had thirteen inches tucked in those matte trousers, then he deserved an Olympic medal for self-control.
Or maybe he was lying through his teeth.
But the more dangerous truth?
I could feel Kenji’s heat at my side.
If I stared too long at Satoshi’s crotch, if my imagination wandered too far, he would tear Satoshi apart just to burn the evidence from my memory.
And somehow, that made the air between us hotter.
I quickly moved my gaze up—face, throat, hands. The scars. The patchiness. The way Satoshi seemed to wear stillness like a uniform and how his nostrils flared when the wordwaterleft his mouth.
Hmmm. That could be a truth not a lie. But. . .can you be allergic to water? That seems a bit impossible. Human beings need water to survive. Yet. . .it seems like an obvious statement that could be a lie. . .which is why it could be true.
Reo tapped his pen against his notebook. “Thirty seconds is up. You have a minute and a half remaining.”
Goddamn it. I hate that they’re timing me.
“Statement one. Thirteen inches.” I leaned my head to the side. “How did you measure your. . .penis?”
Satoshi paused. Not long, but it was a good two seconds. Then, he blinked. “I used a ruler.”
Hmmm. He doesn’t blink much. I still think his blinking could be a tell.
“Okay. Statement two. You were a clown.”
Honestly, with his stature and super serious expression, the clown statement seemed the most absurd. Even with paint on his face, I imagined him scaring the fuck out of kids as well as adults.
“What was your clown name?”
He didn’t even blink. “Dango Sensei.”
“What does that mean in English?”
Satoshi shrugged.
Reo murmured, half to himself, half to his notebook, “It loosely translates to Professor Dumpling.”
The corner of his mouth twitched like Reo was biting back genuine delight.
Professor Dumpling? What the fuck?
I pushed that away. “Statement three. Allergic to water. How do you stay hydrated and clean?”
“I can drink it. Skin contact is the trigger. So I use wipes. Oil. Fast showers if I must. Linen. Controlled humidity. Antihistamines. Sometimes steroids—”
“That’s enough.” Kenji crossed his arms over his chest. “Just answer with one statement.”
Damn. Satoshi is definitely allergic to water.
I heard the pain and struggle in those answers. Additionally, if Kenji had not stopped him. . .Satoshi would probably still be breaking down his woes about how he must avoid water.
