Page 19 of Colt
“Idon’t. Which is why we’re going to do it slowly, and carefully.”
“Title of your sex tape?”
Those words send a broad sweep of heat over my body, and he looks at me, our eyes meeting. I feel my face getting hot, getting red, I resent that. I resent that his stupid universal punchline joke has the power to make me turn red like it’s a personal thing. Like it’s something I should give even one thought to. It affects me, though, and I can’t deny it. And then I see something in his blue eyes. A glint of something that surprises me. But just as I begin to identify it, it’s gone.
I take a sharp breath.
“It’s the title ofyoursex tape,” I mutter as I get out of the driver’s seat.
As comebacks go, it’s not a great one. But whatever, I’m working with what I’ve got.
I straighten my shoulders and head around to his side of the vehicle. I open up the door, and he looks down at me.
“Very chivalrous,” he says.
“I’m helping you in a medical capacity,” I say as I stare at him.
The corner of his mouth tips up just slightly, and even though I can tell he’s uncomfortable, angry, and using poking at me to disguise it, he appreciates me saying that. I have a feeling the medical capacity part makes it feel a little bit more bearable. Versus feeling like I’m a big, strong prospector lifting him out of the carriage. Which is kind of funny.
He hands me his crutch, and then a second one.
“You know,” I say. “If your truck wasn’t a giant monument to masculine insecurity, this wouldn’t be quite so difficult.”
He’s too close to me all of a sudden. Leaning over, his face only a few inches from mine. “Insecurity? Is that what you got from this?”
“Conventional wisdom says that the bigger a man’s truck is, the smaller his –”
He doesn’t cut me off, and it annoys me, because I don’t want to say the word penis, and I think he knows that. I break off, as if I got the interruption that I was hoping for.
“My dick is fine,” he says.
“Great. Thanks for that.”
“I’m not breaking any records. But you know, I don’t give it much thought.”
“Thank you.”
And somehow, I know that the way he doesn’t protest too much or even a little, even at all, is an indicator that, in fact, he’s well above average. Because any man with an insecurity would overcompensate in this moment, and he just looks wryly amused.
I don’t want to think about that. I’ve never found the size of a man’s penis to matter, anyway. In fact, I’ve never given it much thought. The first time I did, because it was uncomfortable, and it did hurt. But I couldn’t say that the men I’ve slept with were appreciably different in size from one another.
Not that there’s been a pack of them, but I’m not a prude.
I’ve had relationships with a few different guys, and mainly, sex feels like the thing that happens after we have dinner, that makes us a couple and not friends. Sometimes it’s more fun than others, but then, sometimes I can actually get there fast enough to have an orgasm when they do. Otherwise, it’s fine to just be close.
I haven’t had sex in a couple of months, but it’s fine, and I don’t need to be thinking about it right now. I think about Brady for a moment, though, and his penis. Because it would be nice to picture a penis that isn’t Colt’s, which I’ve never seen, and I don’t want to see it.
Oh God.
I need to stop thinking about this.
I can’t even picture Brady’s penis, and I last saw it three months ago. So really, size doesn’t matter, and penises are kind of a non-event, and yet, I have been standing here staring at my stepbrother thinking about them for forty-five whole seconds.
It has to stop.
“Just let me help you down.” I plant his crutch firmly in front of him, then the other one. “If you can sort of brace yourself on that, and my shoulder, and use both to get down.”
“Okay. I’m taking this as medical advice, which means I’m going to sue you for malpractice if I get hurt.”
