Page 88 of Coach
“That’s not my middle name, Zeta Jones.”
Her forefinger whipped out faster than a swordsman could draw his weapon from a scabbard. “Do not sass me, asshole. What the hell happened?”
I groaned.
She grinned.
“You got laid,” she said, not a question, a judge issuing a pronouncement.
I grinned and . . . fuck me . . . blushed.
Her jaw dropped.
“What now?” I scowled.
“You just . . . you just blushed. And you smiled. Jesus Christ. Where’s the Poison Control Center’s number. I need a hotline, stat!”
I rolled my eyes. “I had a little sex, didn’t drink gasoline.”
She glared a moment. Then her head cocked to one side. Then she uncrossed her arms and squinted her eyes.
I smiled like a toothy labrador retriever, minus the tongue lolling.
She whistled. “Well, shit. If I’d known getting you laid would make this big of a difference, I would’vehired a hooker years ago.”
“Stevie!”
“Or the whole troupe from Thunder From Down Under. You like Aussies. I bet six of them could tear you a new—”
“Stevie!”
“You might not walk straight for a week.” She grinned. “Or do you prefer to be on the other end of business? Are you a poke-er rather than a poke-ee? I can’t believe we’ve never talked about any of this. In all our years together—”
“And we’re not talking about it now!”
“Aw, come on, Shane. Talk to me about your giant cock and dripping man pussy.”
I made a throwing-up sound and covered my mouth.
“Did he drill, baby, drill? Can you still feel him? Are you walking around pinching your cheeks to keep his kids from roaming free in the dark, unwelcoming world?”
“Holy fuck, Stevie.” I covered my head with a palm, wishing I had longer hair so I could yank it out. “We didn’t even go all the way.”
Her eyes popped wide. “So, all this mooning is from a little sucky-sucky? Did you at least stick a finger up his ass? Make him think of you when he takes a dump?”
“You might be the most disgusting woman I’ve ever met.”
“I’m a lesbian. I eat raw fish for fun and use the leftover pubes for dental floss. You do the math.” She barked a laugh that sounded more like a walrus clearing phlegm than any human amusement I’d ever heard.
“Just tell me this,” she said, her voice sobering. “This wasn’t some pickup at a bar, was it? You wouldn’t be fawning like a teenager in heat over a random fuck, would you?”
“Mateo isn’t a random anything!” I snapped. Then, realizing I’d snapped, I covered my mouth.
Stevie’s hand rose to cover her mouth at the exact same time.
Had I not been so terrified by what I’d just said, the whole thing would’ve been hysterical. As it was, I struggled to maintain eye contact with my nosey, pushy, annoyingly perceptive work wife.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered. “You’ve got it bad for this dude.”
