Sex Says(53)

“Deadline chasing, again?”

I flipped him off, and he laughed.

“Nah, I’m good, but thanks.” He patted the couch cushion beside him. “Come sit.”

“You show up at my apartment, and now you’re bossing me around?”

“Just sit your bony ass down on the couch,” he retorted.

I pointed a finger in his direction. “I’m only doing this because I’m tired. Not because you’re telling me to.”

Tired. Pfffft. I had been doing nothing but sitting on that sofa all fucking day. I wasn’t tired. I was an idiot, an idiot who was attracted to an even bigger idiot, probably the biggest idiot in the world, who now happened to be sitting on my couch.

He raised both hands in the air. “Got it.”

I sat down and turned toward him, resting one thigh on the cushion. No immediate award-winning conversation starters came to mind, so I focused on perusing him instead. A conversation starter jumped out at me pretty quickly. “What in the hell are you wearing?”

He glanced down at his attire and then back up at me. “Clothes?”

“The shirt,” I said on a sigh and jabbed a finger toward the white cotton material that fit a little too snugly in my opinion. We get it, Reed. You’ve got muscles. Congratulations on your muscles. I’m sure there are plenty of women who would enjoy your muscles. I mean, I’m not one of those women, but some women might like your firm muscles…

Seriously, he didn’t have to be so goddamn obvious about it. He might as well have just had a giant neon arrow hanging over his head that had the words, “Come look at my muscles!” flashing in synchrony with each inadvertent flex of his biceps. The man was flexy. Too fucking flexy, if you asked me.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t flexing all the time, but it sure as hell felt like he was constantly shoving his biteable ass and stroke-worthy biceps in my face. If he lifted up his shirt, I was liable to stroke out or suffer a psychotic break.

Biteable ass? Really, Lola?

“Lola?” His voice pulled my attention away from the land of crazy and horny.

“Hmmm?”

“You okay?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Well…you haven’t heard a word I’ve said in the past minute, and you just keep staring at my arm like you’re torn between tearing it off my body or licking it.”

My face scrunched up in disgust. “I was not staring at you like that.”

Fuck, was I staring at him like that?

He flashed a disagreeing smirk.

“I wasn’t,” I lied. “Sure, I was spacing out a little, but I wasn’t staring at you. I was doing that weird daydreamy thing where you’re looking at something, but not really looking at it.”

“Daydreamy?” He winked. “Do tell, what does sweet Lola daydream about?”

“The best places in San Francisco to hide a body.”

He chuckled at that.

“Did you answer my question?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Your shirt,” I stated. “What’s up with your shirt?” My eyes trailed across the simple black lettering across his chest. “Reed ate waffles.”

“It’s my status update.”

“Your what?”

“My Facebook status update.”

I quirked a questioning brow. “I know enough about you by now to know there’s more to this story. So, let’s just skip the part where I have to ask one million questions to get the details out of you, especially that part where you give me some ridiculous lie like ‘I made a seventeen-course meal for six kittens, and they hand-sewed this T-shirt for me out of their ball of yarn.’”

He smirked and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans…near his zipper…which was covering his ahem… I mean, he might as well have just grabbed his dick and told me to look.

Do not look down. Do not look at his crotch, Lola…

“Are you staring at my dick?”

Goddammit, Lola.

“Of course, I was staring at your dick,” I admitted, but it was in that sarcastic tone people use when they’re trying to play it off like a joke. “I was definitely just creepily staring at your pants like my eyes had the superpower to actually see through clothes.”

An amused smirk crested his lips. “Well…how’d that go?”

“Not good. I didn’t eat dinner, so my superpowers are all off today. So, I guess you might as well just tell me… How many inches, Reed?” I teased, but the second the words left my mouth, I wanted to reach out and shove them back in. The last thing I needed was to be thinking about Reed’s penis.