Page 95 of Edge of Unbroken

“Yeah, but it gets better,” Miranda says. “Baby number one is not Cory’s, but Jimmy’s. You remember Jimmy, right? Remember, the cops found him passed out in the middle of Wiley’s after he broke in on a dare and got shitfaced?”

“Yeah, I remember him,” I say. “Tawney really knows how to pick ’em, huh?”

“Well, she would have picked you if you had been available. And then you could be her baby daddy,” she says with a giggle, slowly gliding her hand back up my arm and over my chest.

Goosebumps involuntarily erupt on my skin. “Oh yeah, my wildest fucking dreams coming true,” I say. “Can you please stop doing that?”

“Do what?” she asks, her caressing apparently a subconscious action.

“Touching me like that.”

“Why, does that make you uncomfortable?” she asks with a smirk and runs her hand across my chest again, purposely grazing my nipple.

“Yeah, actually, it does,” I say, squirming in my spot.

She stops and looks up, studying me. “Do you know how damn distracting you are?”

“What?”

“You’re distracting.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“This!” she says, sits up, and motions her hand at my torso. “You’re so… cut and… I mean, you were always hot, but you didn’t quite look like this three years ago… It’s really distracting. You, your face, your damn body… It’s really distracting.”

“Okay, what do you want me to do with this info?”

She shrugs. “Nothing, I just thought you should know the effect you have on girls.”

I smirk. “I think I have an idea.”

Her eyes gleam mischievously. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you meaning to tell me you have an easy time getting tail?” she asks, one eyebrow raised, grinning.

I give her a half-shrug. “Maybe.”

“Ooh, Rony, promiscuous much?”

“Not anymore, but I don’t think ‘innocent’ would exactly be the right word to use.”

“Is your little black book full of names then?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but—”

“But you’ve slept around.”

“Okay, why are we talking about this?” I ask.

Miranda laughs at me. “Because you’re distracting, remember?”

“Right.”

“So, I’m curious,” she says, sitting up straight as she studies me, “how many girls have you slept with?”

“Why do you care?” I don’t usually talk about these things. I don’t keep track of my “conquests,” and I never hooked up for bragging rights.

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