Page 73 of The Stud

“I sleep inDalvegant-shirts.”

“Do they all have my number on them?”

More than I’m going to admit to his fucking face.

It’s not my fault he’s my favorite player to watch!

It’s his!

He shouldn’t be so goddamn good at what he does!

“Can you just,” my hand gestures to the bed, “give me a blanket and pillow and I’ll fuck off by the window so you can go back to word banging Candy or Cherry or Cinnamon or whatever mountain bunny fell for your bullshit pregame.”

“I have never actually slept with a Cherry.”

Curiosity – unfortunately – gets the better of me. “But you’ve wheeled a Cinnamon?!”

“Both a C-y and an S-y.”

“Both strippers?”

“C-y teaches horseback riding classes at Wilson’s Horse Ranch in Middlebrook, which is right outside of Highland, and S-y sells homemade soap at craft fairs in Sunshine Bend.”

Amazement brazenly battles appalment for the right to be seen.

“Why do you care who I wheel?”

“I don’t.”

“Yet you clearly do.”

“I really don’t.”

“That’s why all you’ve done since you’ve been in my room is interrogate me about it?”

“You’re,” the remainder of the sentence gets contorted behind gritted teeth until I force them apart to spew, “such a fucking pylon.”

His head shaking irks me more than the accusation. “And you’re such a fucking pest.”

“One of the best.”

“That was not a compliment.”

“Sounded like onecomingfrom one.”

“Why do you do that?” he grunts in obvious annoyance. “Why do you deflect? Why do you refuse to have a real bloody conversation with me?!”

“Why do youkeepwanting to have one?!”

“Why do you keepnotwanting to have one?!”

“Why are you yelling?!”

“Why areyouyelling?!”

“Because you’re yelling!”

“I’m yelling because you’re yelling!”

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