“Oh my gosh,” I mutter, tugging his shorts up with one hand, wiping the frosting off my lips with the other. “Wait. What are you doing?” he asks, catching my wrist before his waistband clears the iron rod still pointing at me. “I’m going to go wash my face in the bathroom,” I whisper. “You can let them in.” Why is his lip pouting? Oh, fuck no. No way. Is he for real? “But I’m almost there,” he whines.
LMAOOOO THE WHINE
