It’s not long though before that nagging thought begins picking at me again. Maybe it’s the dark, or the rhythmic way her chest rises and falls against my arm, or just her, all solid and sweet-smelling and obscenely comfortable. But eventually, I whisper, “Hey, Red?” “Mm?” It takes me a second to form the question. “Am I… too big?” She groans. “Wicker, it’s too late for dick jokes.” “No, I mean my muscles,” I say, frowning. “Do they make me look… worse?” There’s a beat of stillness, and then her head turns like she’s trying to catch my gaze. “Is this about what Ashby said to you a couple of
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