Page 90 of Coco and the Misfits

“Yeah. Wanna see?”

“Looking for an excuse to show off your bodybuilder body again?”

“I’m not a bodybuilder,” I say, offended. “I teach martial arts.” Then I blink. “You noticed my chest?”

“Don’t get your boxers in a twist. I’m into girls, mostly, though you’re pretty.”

“Pretty?” I splutter. “Fuck y?—?”

“But I wasn’t coming onto you.” A dark brow arches. “Interesting reaction, though. Do you mind guys fucking?”

“Of course not.” I glare at him. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Some people suck. And do you mind guys watching while you fuck?”

“… No.” I have to think about it. “But I’m not into kink.”

He laughs. “If you consider this a kink, boy, you’re more vanilla than a vanilla cake with vanilla frosting.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Boy? Or vanilla?”

“I’m not a boy,” I snarl. “You’re barely older than me.”

“If you say so. Tell me what the problem is, man.”

I rub a hand over my face. “You’re so damn annoying.”

“Thanks. I work hard at it. Now…” Another nod. “Spill.”

Why am I doing this? I should ask a doctor. I’ve been busy. Keeping myself busy, that is. Taking on extra classes. Jogging until I can’t breathe. Playing video games.

Trying not to think.

“Have you ever… Fuck, this is embarrassing.” I surge up from the chair. “Forget it.”

“Nope.” He shoves me back down. “Whatever it is, it’s been eating at you. Talk.”

I glare. “It’s about knots.”

“My specialty. I’m listening.” He actually seems to be, head cocked to the side, expression serious. “I promise I won’t tell anyone what you tell me, if that helps.”

It does. It’s the reason why I’m sitting here, about to spill my guts to this virtual stranger, the man who slept with Coco. It’s crazy.

“Have you ever popped a knot?” I start, then pause. “After kissing a girl. Or touching her. Or being around her.”

His eyes narrow. “It has happened once or twice.”

“But what if it happens every time you are near her? And it persists?”

His brows bunch together. He grimaces and puts a hand over his mouth.

“Fuck, I’m dying, right?” I demand. “Give it to me straight. I have some sort of incurable cancer, don’t I?”

“The knot disease.” He guffaws. Fuck him, he’s actually laughing at me. “I’m no doctor, kid. Man,” he hurries to correct himself. “But I know what you have.”

“What then?”

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