Page 68 of Two Sticky Nuts

Me, I can’t shake the butterflies in my stomach. But it’s more than knowing we’ll be at the coconut farm in forty minutes. My insides are churning because I sense everything about to come to a head. It’s in the air—this, this energy, the emotions, and the pent-up words we’ve been carrying. For the record, I don’t think they’ll be nice words because I see two paths in front of me, and neither leads to a happy place.

Logan will never trust me.

I will never want to share him.

As for Carter, he’ll probably always be a thorn in Logan’s side because I’ve seen what sort of man Logan is when it comes to caring for his family. I don’t believe for one second that Logan’ll ever turn his back on his twin. Unfortunately, I can’t see a future of mine with Carter in it. He’s a damned nutjob.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and Roman will ship Carter off to some faraway country to do forced coconut labor.

After ten minutes of silence, Logan finally glances at me from behind the wheel. “What happened back there?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.” Why? Because I’d have to admit I was having an erotic dream about him and probably will every night for the rest of my life.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“The plan when we get to the farm,” I reply.

“No thanks.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“It’s pointless. We have no idea what we’re walking into. They could shoot us, let us go, demand money, or…who knows?”

He’s right. We really don’t have a clue, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a plan. I’m wearing my glasses, and my phone is going to record everything. It’s my ace in the hole. They won’t want to murder us if there’s a digital recording. But I have a feeling if I tell Logan this is my “big plan,” he’s going to caution me against it. The Gusanos could always torture one of us to get me to erase the footage.

“I have a question,” I say. “Why Mr. Sticky Nuts?”

“You mean why do I do it?”

“I know why you do it—money—but how did you even get started?”

“Ah. That.” He pauses for a long moment as we cruise along in the night, toward what could be the end of this journey for both of us. Yes, it’s going to be dangerous. “I used to date a woman—a photographer. She was into…let’s just say food-related sex.”

“Okay.”

“So, one day she convinced me to let her take some photos.”

“You mean of your penis? With toppings?” I ask.

“I thought they would be just for her, but later I found out she was selling the images as adult greeting cards. She was actually taking orders—custom requests for food items.”

“No.” I can’t believe it.

“Yes. I broke up with her, of course, because she never asked my permission, and trust is everything for me. Then, a few months later, I was laid off from my job managing a very prestigious hotel. I needed money, and I figured I could temporarily sell the cards on my own. No one would ever know since my face was never in the pictures. So I put up a site, advertised on bridal websites under bachelorette party supplies, and the requests came pouring in for customized cards, posing with different food items.”

“Wow. Who would’ve thought there were so many women with that fetish?”

He shrugs. “I consider it more of a novelty. But yes, for some women, it’s their preferred kink.”

“So how did it get to livestreaming?” I ask.

“My mom got sick, and I needed a flexible source of income that would allow me to take care of her. My custom-card business was pulling in very good money, so I expanded. It didn’t go so well until one day I rolled the dice and showed all of me.”

“You mean your face,” I say.

“Yes.”

Now I get it. Because Logan is the whole package. Pun intended. The ripped abs, beautiful blue eyes, sensual lips, thick hair, and, well, his man gear are sexual perfection. Worthy of a statue.

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