Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)

by Meghan Quinn

“Oh my God, Silas Tater Tot—” “Don’t call me that.” “Are you falling in love with me?”

“This is called a high-low necklace. It represents the highs in your life, your accomplishments, your joy, and the lows in your life, the moments you’ve struggled or felt like the weight of the world rests on your shoulders. I figured with moving forward in your career, you might need a reminder of the journey you’re on to accomplish the goals truly important to you.”

“Nah, she’s turned on by your eggplants and droplets.

“Watch daddy work his magic.” Posey starts typing away as he’s moving about the room. “Do not fucking text her.” “Oh, I’m texting her. Next pic she sends will be a nude.”

We glance at each other, and in slow motion, we move through the locker room and both dive for the phone at the same time, clashing against each other. My towel loosens, his legs tangle with mine, and we grapple on the floor, army crawling toward the phone until we both reach it at the same time.

“Oye, my dick?” I scream. “That’s what you fucking wrote? Oye, my dick? What the hell is wrong with you, Levi?” He pauses, a pinch to his brow. After a second, he says, “I’ll admit, that wasn’t my best work. You can blame yourself. The pressure of running around the locker room hindered my ability to be clever and sexy.” Just then, the locker room door opens, and Hornsby walks in, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees me and Posey tangled up together. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Hornsby finally asks, “Why is your dick on Posey’s knee?” “Is that what that is?” Posey asks, glancing down. “Dude, congrats on the soft penis. Like a velvet cloud.” I kick at him. “Get the fuck away from me.”

Hornsby: I gave it an hour, but I can’t fucking take it any longer . . . Taters and Posey were wrestling naked together, and I walked in on it. Taters’s penis was on Posey’s knee, and they both liked it. Jesus fucking Christ. I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a few deep breaths. My phone dings, and I mentally prepare for what’s to come. Pacey: Uh . . . what? Holmes: Like . . . they were both naked? Posey: NO! Taters was naked. I was respectful enough to put on underwears. Taters: I was about to put on my briefs. Also, only a child calls it underwears, you nitwit.

Hornsby: Seems like he handled you just fine . . . owning you with his penis on your knee. Posey: I will admit to the group, I thought his penis felt nice. Honestly, it’s made me look at bologna in a different light.