He wasn’t hard. Not even a little bit. Apparently, unless he was fucking tanked on tequila or blue curacao, he wasn’t into me. The knowledge was like pouring cold water over my head. It was like when you drank ice water on an empty stomach, and it was almost painful as the cold rushed through your body—as though someone pumped my veins full of antifreeze. That was the real Blue and how he felt about getting physical with me. And unless I wanted to turn him into a raging alcoholic and pump him full of liquor every time I wanted my dick sucked, it wasn’t going to work.
