Page 27 of Single Malt Drama

What difference would sleeping next to him make?

He nudged my shoulder. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

What just happened? “Kidding?”

“I thought you were flirting with me when you let me feed you and moaned like that. I was upping the ante.” His grin faded around the edges as he turned his head and finished his beer.

I knew him well enough to recognize the lie. However, I couldn’t tell if he’d changed his mind because he thought I was about to reject him or if he’d chickened out. Maybe both.

Rather than smiling and nodding, I imagined what he would say if the tables were turned.

Leaning close enough for my lips to brush his earlobe, I whispered, “That’s too bad. I was thinking this was the first time we didn’t have anyone to cock block us.”

“Mother of God.” He pulled back and stared with his mouth hanging open. “You said cock.”

I rolled my eyes. “I may not know them well, but I do have five brothers. I can have a dirty-tongue when I want to.”

“Dirty mouth… and I’d love to hear more about this dirty mouth of yours.”

I put my index finger to my lips and widened my eyes. “I only use it in very specific circumstances.”

He groaned. “You’re killing me, Nic. Killing. Me.”

“Stop being so dramatic. Blue balls aren’t fatal. There’s a simple cure that involves your hand and some lotion.” Flashing him my best evil grin, I stood, ran my hands over my hips, and walked away.

“Wait.” He struggled to follow me.

I glanced over my shoulder and winked. “Good night, Marco.”