Page 12 of Bourbon Bliss
“I… no.”
“I ask because people typically come here to have intercourse. That’s the real reason the town created a sign-up sheet, no matter what people say about it. I assume your current state of arousal must have preceded my arrival.”
I sat up straighter. If she was going to notice my junk, and be so blunt about it, there wasn’t much reason to hide. The water was obviously too clear to give me any cover. If she were anyone else, I’d assume she was trying to make me uncomfortable so I’d leave. But there wasn’t a hint of manipulation in her tone.
I liked that.
“No, I didn’t come here to have sex with anyone. Or to…”
“Masturbate,” she offered.
“Right. Not that either.”
“Then what’s responsible for your erection? In adult human males, it’s uncommon to have increased blood flow to the penile capillaries without an external source of arousal. If you were under the age of eighteen to twenty, your physical state would be less surprising.”
“You mean if I was a horny teenager, you wouldn’t question my hard-on?”
“Precisely.”
“I suppose that’s fair. I don’t know. Maybe it’s you.”
The first flicker of true emotion I’d seen in her passed across her face. Had I surprised her?
“That doesn’t seem to be a likely possibility. Are you taking erectile dysfunction medication?”
I snorted out a very unflattering laugh. “Like Viagra? No. Definitely no need for that.”
This was probably one of the weirdest conversations I’d ever had, but even talking in such straightforward terms about the fact that I was sporting a chubby wasn’t bringing the big guy down. If anything, I was getting harder the longer we talked.
“Hmm.” June settled back against the pool, the water buoying her boobs. That was not helping the hard-on situation. Not at all.
“Is it bothering you?” I asked.
“Your erection? No.”
“Okay.” I swallowed, trying to think of something to say that didn’t involve my man parts. “You knew my name. Do you watch football?”
Another glimmer of emotion passed across her features. Her eyes lit up, but when she spoke, her voice was still monotone. “I follow a number of professional sports, but football is my favorite.”
Despite her tone, I could feel something emanating from her—a spark that flared when she saidfavorite.
“Awesome. Are you a Philly fan?”
“I don’t follow teams, I follow players.”
My mouth hooked in a grin. “Do you follow me?”
“I did, prior to your injury.”
“Ouch.”
“Is your knee still causing you pain?”
“Sometimes, but that’s not what I mean. I saidouchbecause you said you don’t follow me anymore.”
“That’s not what I said.”
I crossed my arms. “No? You said you followed me prior to my injury. Doesn’t that mean you don’t follow me now?”
