Page 57 of The Legend Next Door
“Hey,” I say. “Don’t be silly. It was fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was funny up to the point the straight guy was a dick to you.”
“Do you want me to go? ’Cause I can go if you want me to. Sleep will reset me, and I’ll be my usual self again tomorrow. I promise.”
“No, don’t go. Stay. I mean it. Have another drink…or have some more cheese…” He looks dubious and glances down at his glass. I notice it’s still full. He hasn’t touched it. Mine’s on the coffee table next to a bowl of nuts. To my surprise, I find I haven’t touched mine since I opened the second bottle either. Maybe he needs something other than wine. Maybe we both do. “Or how ’bout some water. I’ll get you some. Don’t go. I’ll be right back.”
I head to the kitchen, walking briskly, and come back armed with two large glasses of water with ice. I hand one to him and down the other before sitting down.
“Can I ask you something?” The resigned way he says it makes me think his verbal diarrhea isn’t under his full control yet and that he’s aware of it but powerless to stop it.
It’s adorable.
So adorable, my chest swells with warmth. I don’t know why I find it so endearing that I know this about him, but I do. I really do.
“Of course. Anytime.”
“Okay, but I want to preface this by saying the only reason I’m asking is because I’ve already mortified myself to such an extent that I honestly don’t think I can make it much worse.”
“Wow. I'm intrigued.”
I am intrigued. And, for some reason, a little turned on.
Fine, I’m a lot turned on, but I think that’s because his lips have been stained red from being bitten, not from the impending verbal diarrhea per se.
“Also, please don’t feel you have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. Just ignore me and throw me out.”
There’s no way that’s happening, but I say, “Okay,” and sit forward in my seat, readying myself for whatever he fires my way. “Shoot.”
“So, when you were at my place the other day, did you happen to see anything”—he hums softly, tapping the tips of three fingers against his bottom lip in a potentially subconscious attempt to silence himself—“uh,unusualin my bathroom. It’s no big deal if you did or if you didn’t. Especially not if you didn’t, actually. Basically, it’s not a big deal either way. It’s just one of those silly little things I can’t stop worrying about, and it’s driving me crazy.”
I shake my head thoughtfully from side to side. “No, I didn’t see anything unusual…” He goes lax, slumping back against the backrest of the sofa and looking up at the ceiling in such relief I feel bad about my decision to joke about it. It’s too late to change my mind, though, because I can’t lie to him, so I whisper, “I mean, Ididsee a wall-mounted dildo, but…that’s not all that unusual.”
“Oh God,” he says, closing his eyes and breathing prayerfully. “Canada. Brace yourself, babygirl. I’m coming at you. You have a new citizen headed your way.”
“Stop it.” I laugh, prodding him in the ribs with an elbow. “You’re not moving to Canada. It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? Are you kidding me? I was already embarrassed as fuck, and now I’m whatever comes after embarrassed as fuck. And believe me, it’sterriblehere. Of course I’m leaving the country. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No,” he says decisively and then pivots a hundred and eighty degrees, cocking a single brow at me. “Unless…you ask me an embarrassing question of your own.” He’s pleased with himself, nodding and smiling determinedly. “Yeah, that’s it. You ask me something super embarrassing or super inappropriate, andmaybe I’ll rethink my relocation.”
“Okay.” I giggle. “Let me see. Embarrassing or inappropriate…embarrassing or inappropriate…”
My mind has gone completely vacant. There’s not a thought flitting through it. It’s a blank slate. A foggy white screen without so much as a tumbleweed rolling across it. Plain white.
A wall of white.
A white-tiled wall with a bright purple dick jutting off it.
Jesus.Why can’t I stop thinking about the fucking toy? And what Jeremiah looks like when he uses it. And how he sounds when he uses it. And how he feels when he uses it.
“How does it feel?” I hear myself say several seconds before I’ve landed on a suitable question.
His expression is sweet and innocent, lips forming a circle that make it look like he’s singing. He doesn’t have a clue what I’m asking, and why would he? He doesn’t know I think things like this. He doesn’t know I picture it all the time—him with a silicone dick inside him.
Him, naked.
Him with a pulsing, living dick inside him.
