Sex Says(84)

“You’re a little romantic at heart.”

“I am not,” I scoffed.

“Oh, yes, you are,” he refuted. “And this album is a perfect example of that.”

“Do tell how you came to that conclusion.”

“Every song I’ve heard so far has this poetic whimsy about it. Not to mention, the lyrics revolve around his muse and him being in love with her,” Reed explained. “This is right up sugary-sweet Lola’s alley.”

“Sugary-sweet?” I questioned in disbelief. “I’m not sugary-sweet.”

“If you were a wine, you’d be fucking pink Moscato,” he added with a knowing grin. “Believe me, you’re sugary-sweet.”

I scoffed, but I didn’t argue any further. Mostly because I knew he was right, and well, I wasn’t exactly a fan of admitting when Reed was right.

“Well, do you like the album?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I’d have to listen to it a few more times before I decide.”

“You’re selective and picky with music.”

“I know. And you’re impulsive.”

I giggled. “I am impulsive when it comes to music. Even if there is one little lyric in a song that I love, but the rest of the song is just kind of meh, I will download it and listen to it for that one lyric alone.”

“And you’re a mood listener,” he added with a grin.

“No, I’m not.”

He flashed a knowing look. “Yeah, you are.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you flit around between genres solely depending on your mood and emotions,” he explained. “The other day you were playing Rage Against the Machine’s ‘Bulls on Parade’ because you were irritated you had to clean your apartment.”

“So, I occasionally like to listen to Rage. Big deal.”

“When you’re angry.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name one time you listened to Rage Against the Machine when you were happy.”

I dug my toes into his ribs. “Shut. Up.”

He chuckled softly. “Exactly my point.” He reached under my left leg and tickled behind my knee. I yanked my leg away with fake self-righteous indignation. Really, I was just trying to avoid peeing myself when the tickling became too much.

“Stop it. I’m ignoring you, Mr. Know-It-All.”

He flashed a smirk in my direction, but that was the last one he gave me before buckling down and getting back to work. His fingers moved in fluid motion across the keys and teased me with the words I knew they were forming.

So, I did the same.

At least, I acted like it. In reality, I had fallen into the BuzzFeed black hole of puppy pictures and quizzes that told me when I would get married based off of my preferences in chocolate.

While I was trying to decide which was cuter, a corgi puppy or a dachshund puppy, my laptop pinged with a new email notification.

Corgi. Definitely, corgi.

Wait…no, dachshund.

Shit. I can’t decide.

I settled on a tie and opened up my Gmail account in the browser.

An email from Reed stared back at me. It had no subject line, and in some sort of bout of reverse psychology, I was immediately curious as to what waited inside.

“What is this?” I asked, and he smiled softly. “Are you sending me dick pics?”

I couldn’t deny I hoped his answer would be yes to that question.

Reed Luca had a beautiful penis.



Yeah, I know, that was a weird thing to say, but Reed Luca’s penis is beautiful.

Just trust me on this, okay?

I’m not the type of girl who walks around just complimenting dicks on a whim.

It takes a real special dick to tickle my fancy.



His smile grew wider. “It’s my next column.”

My eyebrow rose of its own accord. Aside from the beginning, he’d never let me read his columns before they published. I had a feeling that was more for his safety, and certainly the health of our budding relationship, than anything else. It was his job to disagree with me, but that didn’t stop me from taking a few poorly executed swings at him each time I read it for myself.

“Just read it, LoLo.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, searching his eyes for answers, but his expression remained irritatingly neutral.

I slid my finger across the mouse pad and clicked to open his email. “Do I need to, like, lie down while reading this?” I asked before I let my eyes move down to the contents of his mail.

His gaze mocked my already sedentary position on the couch beside him—I was completely sprawled out like a lazy bum, my feet in his lap.

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I meant by that. Is it going to piss me off?”