Page 72 of Dream Chaser
Surprisingly, she does.
I kiss the top of her head and pull her against my chest. “I know you can handle your shit, but I’m not sure that, if that were anyone else, I wouldn’t be getting those special silver bracelets and being carted away.”
“That’s exactly what they were going for,” she says then lets out a sigh that is also a growl.
“I did wanna tell them I have actually fought a Bear.”
She glances up at me, a little skeptical, but kind of impressed.
“Bears, a whole defensive line of—oof. Hey now.”
“You were supposed to leave last night,” she scolds me lightly.
“Couldn’t find my shirt.” I hold up my donut. “And now that you’ve fed me, I may never leave.”
Iz finishes licking powdered sugar off her thumb, making my brain short-circuit, and slides off the bed, bends down, and comes up with my jeans. “Get dressed; you gotta go.”
I slide on my jeans but leave my dick hanging out. Why? Because she’s eyeballing it, and I wanna let her. My shirt’s somewhere under the bed. I wanna leave it so she finds it, wears it, and maybe gets herself off while she’s …
“Are you going to put that thing away?”
“You done eyeballing it?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes as she turns. “I was trying to figure out a name for it.”
“That’s kind of a big step, you know,” I joke. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of a commitment.”
She twists toward me, hair a mess, oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder like some damn movie scene. “G-Boney?”
I blink. “Come again?”
She grins—slow, devious, just the right amount of twisted. “You heard me.”
“I really don’t think I did. My brain is still in recovery mode.”
“Might work.” She shrugs.
“I’m a little confused about what the hell is happening, but if it involves my dick and you, I’m going to roll with it.”
She taps her chin, all fake innocence. “How do you feel aboutThe Blitz Stick?”
I cough. “That sounds like an experimental energy drink from hell.”
“Okay, fine.Fourth Down Savior.”
I throw myself back dramatically. “That one sounds like a playbookandthe PornHub anal category.”
She’s laughs now, whole body, the sound rolling through the room and hitting me square in the chest. God help me, I’d listen to her call itThe Knight Stickon live radio if it meant I got to be here with her again.
“I can’t wait to whisper it during?—”
“Swear to God, Izzy, if you ever look over your shoulder and whisper 54, pound the tight end,’ I’m gonna come before we get past thecoin toss.”
She flings the pillow at me and nods toward the door. “I’m writing that down. Might print it on merch. It would sell.”
My internal monologue is spouting off as I shove my feet into my boots, throw on my coat, and watch Iz do the same.
I am not okay. I was just in a bed full of powdered sugar, unspoken feelings, tripping on Barry the Bird Bitch, and post-O or whatever serotonin. This is how good men die—laughing, horny, and entirely at the mercy of a woman who names dicks like fantasy football teams.
