That might be a good idea.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
I glance out the window. “Going for a walk.”
“It’s chilly out.”
“Not chilly enough to stop me,” I answer. “I try to get in as many walks as I can since I work from home.”
He finishes sticking the dishes in the dishwasher and asks, “Can I join you?”
Normally, I would say no. I want to keep my distance, but we’re operating under Plan B right now, and Plan B requires me to talk to him, therefore, I say, “If you want.”
A flash of surprise crosses his face before he says, “Great. I’ll grab my hoodie and shoes.”
Together, we get ready for our walk, and I’m surprised to see him in a black hoodie with a Rebels logo on the front. As we lock up and walk toward the stairwell, I ask, “Are you a Rebels fan?”
“I felt the need to choose after being educated about the rivalry by my students. The Bobbies didn’t fit my vibe—according to the kids—so I went with the Rebels. Are you a Rebels fan?”
We make it outside and I lead the way across the street to the park. “I am, but that’s because one of my ex-boyfriends plays for the Rebels. We ended things on good terms, which is why I still support them. If we didn’t end things amicably, I would hope they’d never win another game again.”
When I glance at him, I notice the look of irritation on his face. “You used to date a professional baseball player?” he asks.
No.
“Yup, have you heard of Maddox Paige?”
“The pitcher?”
“That’s the one. We dated for about a year a while back.” We’ll keep the timeframe a blur, because I don’t know enough about the man to be sure I’m saying the right thing.
“Why did you end it?”
“The schedule was too tough for me. He understood and didn’t blame me, but he did say if I ever changed my mind, the door is always open.”
“I thought he’s married.”
Oh shit, is he?
I have no clue. All I know is that Maddox is hot and there have been rumors he has a Prince Albert piercing. If that’s true, I’m incredibly jealous of his wife.
Like . . . really jealous.
“He said that a while ago,” I say with a dismissive wave.
“So, you don’t talk to him anymore?”
“No. Just on birthdays, we shoot each other a quick text, but that’s about it.”
He nods. “Did you love him?”
“Of course,” I answer without care. “Madly. But, you know, some things aren’t meant to be. But the sex, God, was it good.”
I throw in that last sentence to needle him.
And I’m not surprised when it does.
Pike Greyson seems to be the jealous type. The man who claims what’s his, including his woman, and no one else is allowed to have a piece of it. Hearing that his wife was madly in love with another man and obsessed with the sex can’t sit well.
“Not the best you’ve ever had,” he says, his voice tight.
“How do you know?”
“Because.” He looks me in the eyes. “You haven’t had sex with me yet.”
In other circumstances, I would’ve scoffed, maybe laughed, but the seriousness in his eyes, the firm tone in his voice—in this moment, I actually believe him.
I believe that, without a doubt, he’d be the best sex of my life.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Well, do you have a pierced penis?”
“Only one way to find out,” he says as we turn a corner around a small pond.
“Are you suggesting I stick my hand down your pants to find out?”
“However you want to do it, Coraline. It’s up to you.”
The use of my full name throws me off, but not in a bad way, surprisingly. I like the way it rolls off his tongue.
Delicious and sexy.
I can imagine him whispering it right before his tongue trails against my neck.
“I think you’re bluffing,” I say, trying to keep it together.
He just shrugs.
And that drives me crazy . . . actually legit nutty.
Because I want to know—is his penis pierced?
I mean, if it is, oh my God, I’ll rip his pants down right now and sit on that dick, but if he’s not pierced, if he’s lying, what a massive disappointment that will be.
Not that I have plans to have sex with him or anything. I mean a massive disappointment for women in general. In my opinion, all penises should be pierced. I don’t think that’s too much to ask of the male species.