Page 99 of Gin and Lava

“You couldn’t resist?” She nods to the pattern on my swim trunks with a grin. “Those are huge.”

“That’s what she said,” I joke, then consider the logistics of the wordthose. “Or … she would, if I had multiple cocks.”

“One is plenty,” Naomi says softly, walking up and giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Though there’s an erotic book trend about aliens with multiple appendages.”

“Is that something you read to get off?” I ask, wondering if this is reading material I need to get my hands on, especially if her fantasies start to include getting creative with a dildo to make it seem like I have a second dick.

“Before you, maybe,” she teases back. “After you …” She closes her eyes and smiles into the sun, humming to herself like there’s nothing better after me—which is way too intimidating.

Our whole Viking Princess/big cock game is hot, but we both know there’s life after the fake boyfriend charade is done (a reality Ned likes to rub in my face every breathing second I’m in his presence).

You like her too much.

This will end badly.

And then there’s Connor’s pesky notion that Naomi and Iarein a relationship (even if we call it something else). Hell, that’s enough thinking to make a blue-collar shmuck like myself check into an insane asylum.

But seriously, how can I resist her if she’s going to smile into the sun with those glittery tits and act like I’m God’s-gift to getting her off. Of course, I like her too much. Any guy would feel that way if she acted all sinful and gaga about him like she has been.

“Are those eggplant emojis? What are you, gay?”

And here comes Trifecta to ruin my day.

I turn to Doctor Ass Hat and smile. “I have enough cock of my own that I don’t need yours between my ass cheeks, if you were offering,” I say sweetly. Mind you, this is the proper use of the wordsweetly(AKA: acting like an absolute dick).

Trifecta frowns, puffing out his bare chest. We’re at a beach so man-chest abounds, but this is a significant chest. Naomi didn’t pull any punches when she admitted Trifecta was good looking. If I was gay, this guy would be a fudge-packing dreamboat.

Problem isthat guyused to get naked with Naomi all the time. I may have a big cock, but I don’t look like Thunder From Down Under with my shirt off. Naomi likes ‘em big and broad. And Doctor Ken over here also comes with a Porsche, and fifteen degrees of smarts, and the bank account to buy her all those designer dresses that make her wet. The man has unfortunately earned his nickname Trifecta. And since all I have is my stunning wit, I decide to play up the fact that her ex is ripped.

“Damn,” I say, walking over to Trifecta and eyeing his Greek bronze. “Why did you bother to go to med school and use your brain when you clearly could’ve been a stripper for a living? No student debt, bro!”

Trifecta doesn’t know what to say to that. Somehow, I just called him hot and smart in the same sentence and still made it sound like an insult.

“I—I like being a doctor,” he grinds out.

“I mean, obviously,” I roast, nodding to his twelve-pack of steel. “Ram me hard with your banana split, Doctor Come in My Ass Again.”

“What the—?” Trifecta shoots Naomi an angry look like it’s her fault I say this kind of shit. Naomi shrugs, not letting it affect her.

“I know Mason’s surprising at first,” she admits. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“Right,” Trifecta grumbles, turning back to me. “Are you sure you’re not gay?”

“Am I sure? Hmmmm,” I pretend to consider his question, then slam him with smugness. “Why don’t you ask Naomi’s pussy?”

Trifecta’s jaw clenches and too many muscles in his face start flexing for him to be human. I half expect him to tear his face off like he’s inMission Impossible, revealing he’s actually Tom Cruise underneath. I mean, if Naomi had been shacking up with Tom Cruise, I’d get it; he’s an 80s god:Top Gun, Cocktail, Risky Business. But Trifecta is just a douche.

“Or,” I continue to berate. “You could ask Naomi if my cock is bigger than the eggplants printed on my shorts, but you probably won’t like the answer.”

“Oh my gosh!” In true form, Shauri butts into our conversation, her auburn hair whipping in the wind around her too-happy face. “Did you just say you’re packing a giant eggplant?” Shauri points at my shorts with a rowdy smile her fiancé wouldn’t want to see.

“Mason likes to advertise,” Naomi says brazenly.

“Does he?” Shauri laughs. “You are full of surprises, Secret Fiancé!”

“It’s not really a surprise when you advertise,” I say dryly.

Shauri busts up laughing, snagging my arm and stroking it like it’s a substitute for what’s in my pants. Trifecta glares at me with his X-men cyclops eyes, wishing he could cut me in half with a giant red laser beam for existing. When it turns out he’s not a mutant (or Tom Cruise, who could obviously cut me down to size with a glare, 80s god, remember?) Trifecta grabs a snorkel mask and some flippers and stomps down to the ocean.

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