Page 9 of Frog Hog

He chuckles, and works his way around the island separating us. “What if I am?”

“Then there’s the door.” I point to the door with both of my middle fingers. “Homie can’t get down with those Southern boys.”

“Southern? I’m Midwestern. Don’t you know anything about geographical areas?”

I nod, and back away from him a step. “Tell me about yours.”

“We’re nice people. We don’t let our mamma’s get in the way of our other…female interests.”

Clearing my throat, I say, “All I know is that if a man is too nice, typically he can’t be trusted.”

Hutch furrows his brow. “That seems illogical for a woman in the dating world. Wouldn’t you seek out kindness?” Fuck that shit. Greer is the only other woman I know who dated a Southern gentleman. Still to this day she can’t look her Daddy in the eye. Some media asshole emailed him a link of her porno and he watched four minutes before it showed her damn face. I don’t think Greer or her father will ever get over that. Hutch places his hand on the counter, his body now looming directly in front of me. “I can be an asshole if you want, though.”

“No. Just promise me you aren’t a liar,” I say, lost in my best friend’s story. It takes a moment or two for me to realize he hasn’t spoken to make the promise. I peek up at his dark green eyes. “You’re a fucking liar, aren’t you?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve told you about saying that word.”

I push a palm against his wide chest. I wonder what he does to make the muscle so hard. How many hours does he devote a week to working out?Focus, Valen. Essentially, by omission, he just called himself a liar and you’re worried about pecs.“I can’t apologize unless you tell me you don’t lie about things.”

“I don’t lie about things,” he says, standing a little taller. His proximity makes my heart hammer out a love song that connects to my vagina.Thump. Squirt. Thump. Squish. Thump. Splash. Come to mama.“We just met. We should take some time to get to know each other.”

I press pause on the ballad throbbing in my crotch to broach the subject at hand. “We’ve kissed. We may need to slow things down. I have a hard time believing you don’t have a wave of women lining up to date you. That’s where we should start,” I say. Men who seem too good to be true, usually are. My experience has been that God doesn’t grace one man with everything. There’s always some fatal flaw hidden inside the glorious, glowing, meat and muscle package.

“We should have dinner and discuss,” he replies.

Hutch helps me serve the meal I’ve prepared. He brings the plates into my formal dining room and I make sure to have him seat us on opposite sides of the rectangular table so I don’t have proximity wetness. I’ll already need to change my panties halfway through this date. I sit in the squish and dive into the recipe Greer gave me. It was some protein laced bowl that has healthy grains.

“This is great,” he says, raising his fork in my direction. “Well done.”

Smirking, I dust the imaginary dirt off my shoulders. I let one brow raise.

“Women don’t line up for men like me because my situation is complicated, Valen. Most run the opposite direction, or want something too casual.”

“Which is what I usually do—the casual thing. Do you ever do casual?”

He sighs. “Honest War?”

“Is there another kind of war?” I ask.

“I have done casual. But recent circumstances forced me to realize that life is too short and messy for casual anymore. I’m old. The bar scene is tired and there are so many women who put on facades.” He nods at me. “Like you.”

Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “I don’t put on facades. I’m pretty up front about my life and the things I want.”

Smiling he says, “You think you know what you want based on superfluous notions about a SEAL career and stereotypes pulled straight from Urban Dictionary.” He notices my scowl. “Remember the rules of Honest War.”

I take a bite and chew slowly. “I think I’ve just been lucky, honestly. It’s just that every SEAL I have been with…sexually, has been satisfying. It fed into the fictional ideal I have in my mind. Is it a possibility to have that kind of sex and a stable, functional relationship? While you may think I’m obsessed for the wrong reasons, they’re my reasons. You’re here right now and that means I’m interested in you enough to not have stuffed my panties down your throat the second you kissed me. I wanted to, just so we’re clear.”

He smirks. “You’re on the other side of the table for a reason, and it’s not because you want to fantasize aboutBeauty and The Beast,” he remarks, one brow rising.

Even though I feel rage simmering just below the surface, I tamp it down because I want to continue this conversation. “Honestly, I want to fuck you. You’re in my house, you kissed me like a goddamn starving man, and you’re being sweet. Yes. Everything leads me to one conclusion: I have to separate myself from you so I don’t flood my house.”

“You want me to dam the flood gates?” Hutch asks, taking a sip of his ice water.

“You’re saying if I stuffed my panties down your throat, you would have fucked me in the living room?” I tilt my head to the side, toward the sofa.

He grins, and takes a bite. Hutch shakes his head while he chews and swallows. “No, we’re still getting to know each other, but I could probably find a tampon somewhere if you’re going to gush.” My stupid vagina actually clenches at his offer.

“Please tell me you don’t think the pee hole and the flood hole are the same hole,” I say, letting my fork clank against my plate. “I may not know you very well, but I will school the shit out of you if you need vagina knowledge.”

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