“That’s a big package.” And . . . shit. The words tumble out. “I don’t mean package. Just. Your box. Is big.” I hold my hands apart to demonstrate. Because apparently that’s the way to prove it’s not an innuendo. By spreading my hands out dick-measuringly. Box Boy furrows his brow. “Sorry. I don’t . . . I swear I don’t usually comment on the size of other guys’ boxes.” He meets my eyes and smiles, just a little. “Nice tie,” he says. I look down at it, blushing. Of course I couldn’t have worn a normal tie today. Nope. I’m wearing one from the Dad collection. Navy blue, printed with hundreds of
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