So This Is War (Vancouver Agitators, #5)

by Meghan Quinn

Actual tears spring to my eyes as panic races through me. I’m going to lose it. I have two choices, ask her to open her mouth so I can fuck it, right here, right now—possibly while she eats a bologna sandwich—or just run.

NO! No bouncing tits in the meadow. Tits not allowed. Or nipples. Or any breasts. Just woodland creatures that talk and sing little ditties like . . . we are the woodland creatures of whispering pines. We like to sing and dance to help the boner decline . . . “We are the woodland creatures⁠—”

“Are you sure? Because it seems like something’s bothering you.” You! You are bothering me, you beautiful, magnificent, bologna-eating wench.

“Yes. People won’t notice me.” “They’re going to notice the six-foot-four man walking around with a scarf around his neck.” “Not the people I’m walking by.” “Oh-kay,” she says, giving me a once-over. “At least tuck your shirt in.” She reaches for the hem of my shirt, but I booty blast the air, backing that ass up so quick and folding over at the waist. “Penis,” I shout. “Huh?” “Uh, don’t touch my penis.”

“Posey!” Coach yells, scaring the living daylights out of me. “What the hell are you doing?” Mother of fuck, I think I just piddled.