Chapter 8 Lincoln #2
I choke out a barking laugh and allow talk of her hidden treasures to fade away. “I called one Rebecca, because she’s kinda hairy and chunky. And her boyfriend, I call him Douglas.”
“Uh…” She peeks my way with dancing eyes. “I give up. Why’s his name Douglas?”
“Because it’s a nice name. Why does it have to be more than that?”
“Oh, shut up!” She smacks my leg a second time. “I thought you were gonna give me a spiel about digging. Or the lack of digging. Or something! And now nothing. I haven’t been this disappointed by anticipation since the last time I brought a man home.”
I give her hair a gentle tug and destroy the waves of humor washing through the cab of a truck worth fifteen or sixteen grand. Or twenty, maybe. Fuck knows. Instead, her giggles come to a gargling stop, and her eyes swing to mine, wide and wary.
“When was the last time you brought a man home? And why was he disappointing?”
“Uh…” Her cheeks burn a delicious pink that does things to the base of my stomach.
She forces her eyes back to the road, silence eating our playful mood as we cross the very intersection her brother died in barely more than a week ago.
The glass is still on the road. The plastic from his headlight, like a beacon amongst the tall grass on the edges of the tar.
“Are you appointing yourself my brother’s proxy, in that he was never pleased at the idea of me dating, and took it upon himself to manage every aspect?
Or are you asking because you’re interested in the fact I had a guest over, whose personality, unfortunately, wasn’t exciting enough to make up for his tiny penis? ”
“Jesus.” I cough and slam my hand to my mouth before I spit all over her new dash. “Nova!”
“What?” Cool, collected, she retraces our steps back to Dixon’s. “He was nice, but I realized how ridiculously boring he was after about an hour. You can be boring, but fantastic in bed. But you can’t be boring and have a tiny penis. That’s not an acceptable combo in this day and age.”
“This day and age? Were small dicks and flat personalities more acceptable fifty years ago?”
“Of course. Financial independence was not something most women could achieve, and the invention of the air-pulse sex toy was still a while away.”
“No, you’re right.” My stomach lurches as alarm bells ding-dong in the back of my skull. “Your brother would absolutely expect me to handle your dating life now that he’s gone. Since boring and bereft are all you attract when the decisions are yours to make.”
“Eh.” She bounces her chin to the beat of the country song playing on the radio. “I think I’ll manage. But thanks.”
“You had a whole grown-ass man in your house, Nova. He was bigger than you, for sure. And then you rejected him because of his, uh…” I clear my throat. “Lack of excitement.”
“Small penis,” she quips. “You can say it. It was tiny.”
I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. “You insult a guy like that, and he might not like it. Insulting the wrong guy puts your safety at risk.”
“Which brings us back to the claw hammer to the face thing.” Unfazed, she slows out front of Dixon’s and crosses double lines to slip into the driveway. “Luckily for me, this dude was decent about it. He was disappointed, I guess.”
“Ya think?”
“But gracious,” she adds with a smile. “I think he was mostly embarrassed, so he scampered away and went into hiding to lick his wounds.”
“Wait. So you actually said his dick was small?” I lean forward and wait for her to bring us to a stop and cut the engine. “You said, hey bro, your peen is tiny, please leave?”
“No.” She grabs the keys and snatches her phone from the cup tray.
Shoving the door open, she comes around to the hood and adds, when I join her, “I’m not an intentionally hurtful person.
But I was expecting a certain something, considering the size of the rest of him, so when he took his pants off, and that small detail was revealed… ”
“Your face said it all.” Shaking my head, I drag the sunglasses from my shirt and slip them back on to cover my eyes. “Poor guy. He probably attends therapy now because of you.”
“Doubt I’m the only bamboozled woman who lacks control over her facial expressions.” She looks around the lot in search of the salesman, but swinging her eyes back to me, she quickly asks, “Engine was good, right? Aaron’s coming, so tell me fast.”
Fucked if I know. “I heard nothing worth worrying about. Offer him less than the ticket price, though. Flutter your lashes like you did with me. That’ll get you two grand off, easy.”
She snorts, but turning to Dixon and folding her arms, she pushes her breasts higher and lifts her chin. “We stalled outside town, which means you’ve got a timing belt issue and a doodad malfunction.”
Stunned, he drags his focus up from her tits to her eyes. “What?”
“I’m willing to offer you eight thousand dollars cash. And for every counteroffer you sling my way and whiny remark you make about low commissions, I’m dropping my offer by a grand. If you counter twice, I’m telling Mr. Castro about the time you wet your pants in my backyard.”
Fucking vixen.
So why does her snarky bullshit make my cock hard and my heart soft?