“That’s the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.”
“Hey, I’m offended.” I poke her in the side.
She sticks her tongue out. “I’m sorry, did I threaten your masculinity?”
When I puff up my chest, I revel in the way her gaze flickers to my pecs. “Not at all.”
“I’m not a bird freak or anything,” she assures me, her tone pure tease, “but that’s a beautiful fucking cock.”
I stumble over my own feet at her brazenness. Twice now, she’s shoutedcockin public without an ounce of shame.
At the door to the bar, she stops to fiddle with the straps of her white dress. It’s the same one she wore the other day, and tonight, she’s paired it with heels that make her calves look deadly.
“I don’t think you’ve seen enough cocks to make that decision,” I say. Not that I want her seeing a bunch of other cocks.
“Noted. I’ll be sure to create flyers for the beautiful cock competition.” With a wink, she tips her head back and surveys the flashing lights above the door. “The karaoke bar is called Melody’s? How original,” she deadpans.
“The owner’s name is Melody.”
“Aw.” She chuckles. “That’s clever. I love it. Come on, I’m going to smoke you.Again.”
“Is that what you think is gonna happen?”
Millie insisted on picking out my outfit this evening. She’staking this whole fake marriage thing a little too far, if you ask me. But I must admit, catching her checking me out as I pulled the fitted black tee over my head earlier was a boost to my ego. And the ripped black jeans are my favorite.
“If my memory serves me, you couldn’t stand thatIbeatyouin karaoke in Greece.”
She whips around so fast I nearly bump into her. Eyes narrowed, she stabs a finger into my chest. “You absolutely did not win that night.”
I raise my hands in defense. “Oh, my mistake.” Looming over her, I bring my mouth to her ear. “Does that mean getting you to come all over my fingers in the storage closet was my consolation prize?”
Her cheeks are bright red as we walk inside, and it’s not from the summer heat.
“What do you want to drink?” she asks when we reach the bar.
“Tequila?”
“Two shots of tequila,” she calls to the bartender. “And keep ’em coming.” With her forearms resting on the bar, she scans the space, nodding at a couple in a VIP booth. “How come they’re getting special treatment?”
“Maybe because they’re newlyweds?” I shrug.
“How can you tell?”
“She’s wearing white. Didn’t you say newly married women love to wear white? Plus, she keeps gesturing with her left hand. Watch.”
Right on cue, the young woman picks up a fruity cocktail with her left hand and holds it out, nearly hitting the server in the face with her massive rock.
Teaching middle school for a decade has taught me a thing or two about reading body language. Adolescents think they’re being stealthy, but I notice far more than they think—frompassing notes, to cheating on tests, to ruses to get one’s crush to notice them. I smell these things from a mile away.
“They were also singing ‘Endless Love’ when we walked in. Dead giveaway.”
The bartender slides our shots to us, and we down them. When Millie slams her empty glass down, she grins at me, the expression screamingI’ve got an idea.
“Tonight, we’re on the same team.” She drags me to the karaoke sign-up and flips to the list of duets. “Pick one.”
Oh, she wants to competetogether?This I can get behind.
“What about ‘A Whole New World’?” I ask.
