Page 9 of Badd Ass
I shook my head. “It’s not a thing, but if penis modelswerea thing, he’d be a penis model. Because it’s just…it’spretty, Claire. Like…I just want to touch it and hold it and look at it and—”
“And name him George?”
I coughed in laughter, nearly spitting out my wine. “Yes! I will love him and hug him and squeeze him and I will name him George.”
“‘I shall call him squishy and he shall be mine, he shall be my squishy. Come here squishy!’”
“Okay, Dory.” I wiped my chin with the cocktail napkin. “Seriously, though. It’s really that amazing.”
She snickered. “We’re being serious now, are we?”
I waved a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, we’re never serious.”
Claire flagged down a waitress and ordered us both more red wine. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we should be more serious sometimes. Like, about guys, I mean. Or, aboutaguy. Each of us, I mean. Not both of us about the same guy, that’d be a love triangle and those never go well.”
I rolled my eyes as Claire rambled, which, honestly, she was somewhat prone to. Another trait I loved about her, because her ramblings were just so damn cute.
“Claire.”
“But what if we decided to be polygamists, like that one show on TLC? Where he has four wives? We could share him, this guy of yours. Especially if he has, what is according to you, the most beautiful penis in all the land, I mean, we could share him. You don’t need him all to yourself every single night, do you? You don’t need to be selfish. You could totally share him.” She glanced down at her lap. “Although, I’m not sure if I could handle a dick that big, to be totally honest. I’m what you might call petite, and yeah, I’m petite down there too. Not a lot going on between the legs, you might say. Pretty, um, small. That’s me. Little Claire, with the teeny tiny titties and the itty bitty booty and, oh yes, that’s right, the world’s smallest vagina.” She patted herself between the legs. “I mean, I love my hoo-ha, but it’stiny. The last guy I slept with, he was rocking, like four inches max and wasmaybeas thick as a Ballpark Frank. Had the same curve as one of those curvy-deal hotdogs too. And I was likeow ow ow owthe whole time, because I’mjust—that—small.”
I stared at her. “Claire.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You’re rambling again.”
She sighed. “Oh. Oops. Where were we?”
“You were talking about Mr. Curved-like-a-hotdog penis.”
“No, before I started rambling.”
“Oh. We were talking about Zane’s cock.”
Claire had gone still, and was staring over my shoulder with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face. “This Zane of yours, with the perfect penis…does he have short brown hair and super intense brown eyes, and a jawline like the Cliffs of Dover?”
I frowned at her. “Yeahhhhhhh,” I drawled, starting to cotton on to what she was implying.
“And, um, does he also happen to have a really badass Navy SEAL tattoo on his left arm?”
“He’s behind me, isn’t he?”
His voice buzzed in my ear. “Perfect penis, huh?”
“Hi Zane,” I breathed, flushing in embarrassment.
“You know, my ears have been burning for awhile now. You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you?”
I refused to turn around. “Nope. Not a word.”
His fingertip brushed my cheek. “Hmm. Not sure I believe you, but I’ll let it slide.” He slid into the booth beside me. “Mind if I join you?”
I shot him a healthy dose of side eye. “He says, already sitting down.”
He just grinned at me, flagging the passing waitress. “Bulleit. Neat, please. Make it a double.” To me, then, “What, like you were going to say no?”
I took a sip of my wine and considered the options. I mean, was I going to tell him he couldn’t join us? I was already dizzy from his scent, a mix of some kind of spicy cologne, smoke from a grill, and a hint of leather from the battered motorcycle jacket he was wearing. He hadn’t even touched me, and I was clamping my thighs together and sitting on my hand just to keep it from sneaking away from me and going to somewhere on Zane’s person, somewhere highly inappropriate for me to touch in public. Or at all, considering I’d ordered myself not to sleep with him again.