Page 49 of Life After You

But the second my breath hits her neck, she jumps. Not much, just enough that her hand falls behind her—

And brushes against my cock.

At first, I think it’s an accident.

And I try—fuck do I try—to think of literally anything else so I don’t react.

But then she doubles down, fingers curling around me through my pants.

My entire body tenses. It’s my turn to jump.

Mac snorts softly, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, and the worst part? It’s so fucking obvious that even Trey notices.

“To Logan and his legendary penis!” he shouts, lifting his drink.

Mac, mid-sip, nearly chokes. Her hand—finally—eases off.

She’s still playing innocent. Still keeping that butter wouldn’t melt look on her face. But I see it. That flicker of something wicked in her eyes. That little spark that says she’s enjoying this way too much.

“He’s slept with sisters, a stepmother, and then the daughter while the stepmother slept. And when they found out afterward? They were happy for each other. I tell you, folks, the girth and size of his legendary penis is dwarfed only by the size of his heart. He brings families together. Cheers!”

I fucking groan, dragging a hand down my face.

Mac? She’s having the time of her life. Her hand sneaks up my thigh, just enough to let me know she knows exactly how fucking hard I am. She pats me—pats me—twice around the tip, then steps forward like she hasn’t just ruined my life.

My eyes widen in alarm, but fuck it. If she wants to play games, we’ll play.

Trey smirks, zeroing in. “What do you say, Mac? Care to find out?”

The whole booth goes still.

Mac pauses, setting down her empty shot glass with slow, deliberate ease.

And then, she turns to me.

The air fucking crackles.

“I swear to God, if you two get it on, I am going to be so fucking proud of you,” Trey says. “It’s not incest, but it’s close. And if you want me to film it, I’m down. 100%. Just say the word.”

Sam thumps him—hard enough that the table rattles—but no one moves.

No one breathes.

Then Mac blurts, “I thought you’d never ask!” and grabs another shot, walking right back over to me.

She smirks as she tilts back her drink, victorious.

I’m going to kill her.

Or kiss her.

Maybe both.

I grab my own glass, leveling her with a look. “To us,” I say, voice thick with meaning.

“Salud.”

The shots go back. The others cheer, voices mixing—cheers, skol, salud, and Trey, who, I’m pretty sure, slurs “dwink” into the blonde on his lap.

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