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Sex. That’s my favorite thing. I don’t say that out loud but I fucking think it. “Ping-Pong,” I say brightly. “Pool,” Ryker says.
I reach across the seat and offer a fist for bumping. There. She’s just a fan, not a cutie I want to take home, strip down to nothing, and lick everywhere till she’s begging for more. All night long. She bumps back.
Chase lifts a playful brow. “There’s this woman—let’s call her our temporary roomie—who likes books. Big, spicy, dirty books. So, maybe I did a little research.” Then, he demonstrates just how well he did his research when I reach the doorframe and he leans against the door. He rakes his eyes over me from head to toe, and nails—just fucking nails—the doorframe move.
I love the way he says I and us in the same vein. Like all those parts fit perfectly together. They seem to, for me.
