Page 106 of The Flirty Vet

Wilby:It's called Magnums. Which should be easy for you to remember since it's what my cock will be wrapped in when I fuck you.

I step into the foyer of the hotel because I'm melting in the tropical heat. Not even the air-conditioned air does much to cool me down. I'm hot all over, realizing I am in way over my head. How do I get out of this one?

Wilby:What hotel are you staying at?

Wilby:I can come over. Feed you… And then we can order food later.

Crap, crap, crap.

This is going from bad to worse. I paw at my chest, my mouth going dry.

And then I get another text from Wilby, and things go from worse to fucking disastrous.

22

Wilby

"Mate, I've never seen this side of you before." Travis chuckles, slapping me on the back before taking another sip of his beer. "Finally, after all these years, some of my bad influence is rubbing off on you."

"No one messes with Wilby Linfox," I tell my friend, keeping a close eye on my phone. I've left it facing screen up by the tall table we're perched at out on the back patio of Magnums, one of the best pubs in Airlie Beach.

Although after that last text I sent Col, I don't expect him to be replying anytime soon. What I would give to see his face as he reads it.

Col is many things, but a dirty texter he is not. Heck, it's hard enough getting him to let loose and make some noise when I get him off, and now all of a sudden he's sending me explicit texts about rubbing his hole?

Please.

I knew something was fishy, so, on a hunch, I texted Dunlop who folded faster than Superman on laundry day.

Cheeky New York fucker thinks he can outplay me? I don't think so.

I take another swig of my beer. It's icy cold and refreshing, which is a good thing. Heat I can handle, as long as it's dry. This tropical muggy bullshit is fucked. I'm sweating like two rats fucking in a wool sock. It's gross.

I use the condensation from my beer glass to wipe the sweat beading along my forehead. "How do you survive up here?"

Trav smiles. "Mate, this is fucking paradise. After everything I've been through, especially these past twelve months, trust me, you'll never hear me complaining about anything as inconsequential as weather again."

If you don't follow kitesurfing and don't know who Travis is, you've probably heard of him and his brothers, Terry and Troy, from their hit reality TV show,Kings of Airlie. They're basically the Kardashians of kitesurfing. You've got Travis's sex tape that got leaked, a middle brother with a huge chip on his shoulder who often gets photographed getting into fights by the paparazzi, and a family so dysfunctional it makes the Kardashian-Jenner clan look like the freaking Brady bunch.

"And how's Luca?" I ask.

Travis breaks out into a massive smile, answering my question without having to say anything. "I'm the luckiest prick in the world. We went through hell…" He grimaces. "I'm surprised he's put up with me. I have enough fucking baggage to fill an airport. But I guess that's love. You stick it out through the tough times because when you find your person, you just know."

He says that last part nonchalantly, as if he's simply stating a fact like the sky is blue or Aussie words are better than American words. But it hits me deep.

I drop my gaze to my phone. Still no response from Col.

Okay, now I'm starting to feel shitty about the last text I sent, telling him that I'm actually in Airlie and that I assume he's landed by now, too.

It wasn't my intention to be mean, and it was onlyafterI sent the message that it dawned on me that for Col to be here, he must've taken a flight. And I know how he feels about that.

"Will you excuse me for a sec?" I ask.

"Sure, mate."

I pluck my phone from the table, hold my breath as I make my way through the disgusting smokers' lounge, and find a quiet spot between the men's toilets and the pokies gaming room.

Col picks up on the first ring. "Asshole."