“It’s not a penis. It’s Mr. Mushroom,” I corrected haughtily. He gave me a flat look punctuated with a half-moon smirk that threatened to light my panties aflame. Despite my aversion to him now, I’d always had a thing for Rhyland Coltridge. A happy-to-get-on-all-fours-for-you-at-a-moment’s-notice kind of thing. Which obviously didn’t help matters.
