Page 72 of Conner's Luna

"So," he clears his throat, "why are you not talking to me?"

Glaring, I turn and pull aside the high collar of my cowl-neck sweater that I wore because ofhim. Under it, the layers of fresh hickeys dotting my skin have darkened to be obvious at a glance. I have learned, thanks to Conner, that I bruise slowly, but deeply.

"Shit," Conner practically shouts. I expect an apology. Instead, he groans and grabs the front of his jeans, adjusting himself. "Don't do that when I'm driving, baby."

Utterly flabbergasted at his non-apology, I snap, "Conner!" I turn to him more fully so that he can understand the seriousness of my predicament. "I can't even wear a t-shirt because these," I point at the location I know there's a bruise that is the size of a silver dollar, "are all over my body."

"Yeah," he croaks. Now he's the one avoiding my gaze. "All over your body, babe. All over," he mutters in an oddly-muffled voice. He's white-knuckling the steering wheel and as I watch him warily, a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.

"Conner, are you OK?"

"Yeah, babe. Talk to me about something that doesn't have to do with my mouth on your pretty skin," he says. He sounds like he has a mouth stuffed with cotton balls.

Oh my...I shift in my seat and feel the ache between my legs from our earlier activities. Get us back in our lane, Bailey. "Ok, um... a doctor tells a woman that she has only six months to live. He advises her to marry a statistician and move to Kansas. The woman asks, 'Will this cure my illness?'"

Conner starts to relax. He reaches up with a trembling hand and wipes something from the corner of his mouth. "Are you going to insult me, honey?" He's trying to tease me, to return us to even ground, too, but his voice is low, raspy... sexy.

"Me?" I ask as innocently as I can with my breathing starting to come in pants. "It's a compliment. The doctor says, 'no,'"

"Mmhm, why does he say 'no',?" Conner asks, smiling. He's finally relaxed because bad jokes save the day, and for a moment my attention is caught by the glint of his canine teeth. "Babe?"

"Oh, well, he’s only suggesting it because marriage to a statistician will make six months seem like a very long time."

"Jerk!" Conner pronounces right after I deliver the punchline. He laughs. "So, I'm boring?" he teases.

"No, booboo," I say in a sickly-sweet voice, "it’s just that being with you feels like fah-evah," I drawl out the last word slowly and flutter my eyelashes obnoxiously at him.

Conner suddenly tenses up again, "yeah. Too bad for you you're stuck with me, now." He sucks in a breath, groaning. "Tell me another, babe."

I stare at him a moment, worried by the look of discomfort twisting his features. "Does your stomach hurt?" I ask tentatively.

He barks out a laugh. "Don't touch me right now, honey. Unless you want us to crash. My stomach's fine. All the agony is lower."

Of course, my eyes go to the area in question as soon as he says it. The very recent memory of the anaconda barely contained under his zipper makes my skin feel flushed. "Wow," I say. "Does it really hurt that badly?" my curiosity spills over. I would assume that it would be uncomfortable, but not cause pain.

"It's not just my dick, baby. It's the urge to pin you to my backseat and fuck that tight pussy." He mumbles something else under his breath that I don't quite catch. It sounds like he's talking about the marks he left all over my body.

"Oh. Well, that's quite... honest of you." Our lane, our lane. We have a lane, and it's called casual dating between friends who are merely exploring a possible relationship.

"Yeah." He takes a deep breath, then groans and turns up the heat before he rolls down his window.

"Do I smell?" I ask him wryly.

"Hot," he chokes out. "Tell me another bad joke, babe."

"They're funny," I say primly, and am rewarded with another flashed, too-white grin. "A physicist, a biologist, and a chemist were going to the ocean for the first time. The physicist saw the ocean and wanted to conduct research on the fluid dynamics of the waves. He walked into the ocean and never returned. The biologist said he wanted to conduct research on the flora and fauna inside the ocean. He walked in and never returned, either. The chemist waited for three hours and then, finally, wrote the observation, 'The physicist and the biologist are soluble in ocean water.'"

Conner laughs. "That was awful. Another."

"You tell one," I demand.

"How is a symptote like a stripper's tits?" he blurts out.

"It's-"

"You can get close, but no touching," he says.

"Hey! I was going to give you that answer."

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