Page 85 of The Stud

“Fuckyoubro,” Wahl pipes up from the seat in front of us. “Why them? Why not me?”

“Cap reads-”

“Silently,” Eeyore declares during the adjusting of himself in his seat.

“Hedgie sleeps-”

“Easier when you plugs aren’t chirping so goddamn loud.”

“Whileyou,” my chin kicks in his direction,“snack on your local city leftovers-”

“Frybread tacos are even better when you may be alittlehungover.”

“-and unleash stomach churning scents you unknowingly smuggled in your clothing.”

“Is that you?!” squeaks Arden in tandem with shutting off the camera. “Are you the one that smells like patchouli and prayers?”

“Prayers don’t smell,” Wahl murmurs between sniffs of his sweatshirt. “And in my defense-”

“Always a good start for a d-man.”

“-I didn’tknowwe were going to a strip club. I didn’t even know Utah couldhavestrip clubs.”

“Good information to remember if you’re ever onCelebrity Jeopardy,” chimes Potato.

“Yeah no, I don’t think it is,” Peck lightly laughs.

Conversations curve elsewhere allowing me to quietly offer the edge of my blanket to the woman at my side, “Care to share?”

She casually nods, and I drape the material over her lap.

Smile when she smiles.

Smile wider when she scoots closer.

Lets her leg rest next to mine in the unseen back corner of the plane.

Retrieving my half-done crossword puzzle occurs next; however, rather than insist I put it in the middle for both of us to better view, she uses the distance as an excuse to lean over.

Brush her tit against my arm.

Allow me to cleverly caress her nipple with the non-pen holding thumb.

I watch her eyes struggle to not become hooded while suggesting answers I could not give a fuck less about.

Not when she’s silently panting.

Or mouthing my name.

Or pretending to tuck her hand in her hoodie to hiddenly rub my cock instead.

“F…” is all that comes out courtesy of Arden clearing her throat to mask my groan.

The sound inspires me to steal a quick glimpse of our surroundings.

Note who’s asleep.

Who isn’t.

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