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

by Meghan Quinn

“Please pretend to be my boyfriend for a second. Also, you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.” That makes me smirk. “Damn, and I didn’t even have to do anything to earn the title.”

“You kissed an experienced man,” I point out, growing irritated. “More than I can say for your ex who looked like he still watches Rugrats on Saturday mornings.” “What’s Rugrats?” “For fuck’s sake,”

“You realize I can see the underside of your breasts, right?” Ross asks. “Can you? Huh.” I shrug. “Do anything for you?” “Not really.” “Shame. I have great tits,”

“Did you see his forearms?” Ross asks. “They were all ripply and muscular. Trust me, he’s good in bed. I bet he has a piercing.” “Oh my God, you’ve lost it.” I move

“Never noticed, I guess. Oh, is this pastrami? Yes, please.” The pastrami was for me, but that’s just fucking fine.

“My wife liked it.” Oh, the wife you cheat on with the head of the journalism department? How lovely.

“I couldn’t think of the word of that stick dough thing with the cinnamon.” “A churro?” he hisses. “Ohhh . . . yeah, that’s it. Churro would have made much more sense.” “So you wanted to say churro but opted for chicken tender instead?” “What the mind wants, the mind gets,”

“Why the hell are you just letting me sit here with milkshake on my nose?” He leans back in his chair with a grin. “Donkey pervert, Ollie . . . donkey pervert.”

“Are you bringing Ollie to the family skate welcome party?” Posey asks as he sits next to me on the bench, water bottle in hand. “We’re in the middle of drills, and that’s what you’re asking me?” I pick up a water bottle and squirt some water in my mouth. “What am I going to say? That I can feel the bologna sandwich I ate before stepping on the ice lodged in my stomach, acting like a two-ton brick and slowing me the fuck down?” “Dude, you have a problem. Stop eating those.” “I do have a problem. I got a new pack yesterday, and it was calling me to open it this morning. I have no control.”

“See those kids over there?” she says, nodding to the right. “Yes,” I answer. “Please, for the love of God, keep them away from me.”

“I’m Penny. That hunk of meat over there got me pregnant, and I’m ready to not have this baby in my belly anymore.” Ollie chuckles. “I’m Ollie, and I can’t imagine how you feel at the moment. For what it’s worth, your boobs look amazing.” Penny claps her hand over her chest and, in a choked-up voice, says, “Thank you, that means so much to me.” “Could you imagine if I met you for the first time and told you your dick looked nice in your jeans?” Hornsby asks. Hands in my pockets, I say, “Wouldn’t hurt to hear it every once in a while.” “Ahhh,” Ollie coos. “Silas, your dick looks fantastic in your jeans.”

“So you do want a ride . . .” “Of course I do,” she says. “Honestly, do you think I enjoy driving?” “Then why make a big deal about it?” I ask. “Because, Silas, that’s what I do.”

“Yeah. During preseason, there’s always a point when our coach decides to ride us hard—and not in a sexual way.” “I would hope not. That’s a lot of men for your coach to handle.”

“I could definitely haul more than that camel,” Silas says as we stare at the very large and beefy camel in front of us. He has said the same thing about the rhino, claiming he could charge faster. And the elephant—he could lift more. And the freaking cheetah—he can run faster. It’s been terribly annoying. Maybe this is how he feels when I pester him.

“I did not do that on purpose,” he says through clenched teeth, trying to block me from the onlooking crowd. “Which makes it even better. Your subconscious knew. Donkey time meant dong out.” “My . . . my dong was not out,” he whispers. “But it felt a breeze, didn’t it?”

“I just . . . cannot believe you had your fly down.” I dab at my eyes. “It’s just such poetic beauty.”

I turn to Ross. “I’m really horny.” He nearly spits out his coffee. “Jesus, Ollie. Warn a guy.” “I’m sorry,” I whisper, seeing that we’re drawing attention from around us. “But it’s true.”

“Do you want it to be sexual?” “If you were in my situation, would you want it to be sexual?” Ross takes a sip of his coffee and stares at the classroom in front of us. “I would let that man do anything he wants to me.”

“I’m going to call you fart face.” “Over my dead body,” he roars. “It’s a term of endearment,” I defend even though I’m chuckling. “How is calling someone a flatulent gas cloud a term of endearment?” “Because I wouldn’t dare call other people that. And I think it suits you. When you’re grumpy, you always look like you have a fart stuck in you. Therefore, you’re fart face.” “Can you grow up like a few years?” “Would you rather be called something like . . . penis breath?”

“You can call me Silas or babe. Those are your options.” “Ew, I wouldn’t call you babe. That feels weird to me. I like it when guys call me that, but I can’t do it in return.” “Then Silas it is.” “But that’s so boring,” I grumble. “How about . . .” “Silas.” “Ugh, fine.” “And I swear to God, Ollie, if you slip up when we’re out together, and you just happen to call me fart face, I’m going to murder you.” “You don’t give me enough credit. If I slipped up and called you anything, it would be donkey pervert. God, Silas, get it right.”

“What? Sorry, I’m distracted by the man beside us who has mustard in his beard.” Ross speaks louder. “Excuse me, sir, you have mustard in your beard.” “Oh hell, really?” the boisterous man says. “That’s what I get for scarfing down three hot dogs before the game.” Horrified, Ross turns toward me and mouths, “Three,” eyes wide and shivering.

“I clocked out after ten minutes. But I did see that there is an openly gay player on the team.” “Who?” Ross says, nearly using my head as a stool to get a better look. “Where is he? I’ll be the judge of him.” I chuckle and hold my phone up to Ross. “His name is Ian Rivers. And he’s hot.” Ross brings the phone closer and studies the picture. Slowly, a smile starts to form on his face. “Well now . . . let’s go Agitators.”

“He wants me. I know he does, but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for me, and that’s infuriating. So, let’s see how he feels when I dance with other people.” “Ollie, please, for the love of God, don’t get the man thrown in jail. It won’t look good for him.”

“What, uh . . . what are you saying back?” he asks. “What you told me to say. Hope she had a pleasurable time.” “Noooo,” Posey practically yells as my finger hits send. “Don’t say that.” “I already did. It’s sent. What the fuck, man?” “What are you what the fucking me for?” he asks. “You said that’s shit advice. Why did you use it?” “Because I’m losing my goddamn mind!”

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.”

“Maybe because you’ve been consumed with sticking your tongue down a certain hockey player’s throat instead of asking him questions.” “Can you even blame me?” “No.” Ross shakes his head. “I really can’t.”

She told me she got a tripod to hold her phone so she doesn’t have to hold it while she talks to me. And from the view I have down her sports bra, I agree it was an amazing purchase.

“Jesus, Ollie, I thought you were talking about like regular activities.” “Are cock rings not regular activities?”

“But I’m game for whatever you want.” “Really?” “Really. Just don’t hurt me. I still have to play hockey. If my balls are beaten up and bruised, I’m going to have a hell of a time skating.” “I love your balls. I would never hurt them.” “Well, that’s not something I’ve ever heard.”

Silas stares at me, a pinch in his brow. “What?” I ask him. “Can you please not moan? I don’t want to have a boner while eating a pastrami sandwich.”