I blinked at him and noticed the teasing glint in his eye. Game on.
“I once rode a bicycle all the way to Beaumont, Texas, just to have sex with a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. I was once paid to paint a real-life vagina onto the wall of the ladies’ room at an OBGYN office I was renovating. I have a severe allergy to marshmallows.” I tilted my head at him and batted my eyelashes. “Which one of those was the lie?”
He pinned his lower lip with his top tooth which made my dick take notice. I shifted in my seat as he continued to study me.
“They all are.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“I told you you’re a terrible liar,” he said as he started giggling again.
“How the hell could you know that?”
He held up an index finger. “One. According to Mikey, you bought your first motorcycle when you were sixteen. It was a crappy five-hundred-dollar bike you bought used off one of his brothers, but it was still good enough to get you to Beaumont, Texas. Hence, no bicycle. Two. Doctors aren’t stupid enough to hire a general contractor to do detailed labia work. Three—”
I snorted. “Truman Sweet just said ‘detailed labia work.’ The world is ending.”
His face bloomed dark pink which only made him sexier.
“Three. People with marshmallow allergies are actually allergic to the gelatin which means you wouldn’t have been able to scarf down the giant pack of gummy bears I found in your saddlebag.”
“Gummy worms. If you’re going to be such a smarty-pants, might as well go for accuracy.”
“Is there a difference?”
Now it was my turn to tick off several points using my fingers. “One. Gummy worms have less surface area which means more gummy center and less weirdo exterior texture. Two. Gummy worms allow you to make things interesting with sexual innuendo as you eat them—”
“I think you mean awkward,” Truman suggested.
“Three,” I continued. “There’s not quite as much murder guilt involved.”
He looked at me blankly.
“The sanctity of worm life is arguably held in less regard than—”
Truman lurched forward and kissed me, throwing his arms around my neck and going all in. I felt like it had been ages since we’d kissed, even though it hadn’t been. I was grateful he had the energy for it, but I was careful not to overdo it. When I finally pulled back, he was dazed and flushed.
“Can we go back to bed now?” he asked.
I shoved the last few bites of food into my mouth before grabbing his hand and pulling him after me toward the bedroom. When we got there, he surprised me by peeling off his sweatshirt and removing his underwear.
He was hard and beautiful and stunning, and my brain couldn’t even work well enough to do more than grunt my frustration. “Baby,” I managed to croak out.
“I want to make out.” He looked at me with mischievous eyes. “Really badly.”
“As do I. But if we do, I’m going to take it too far, and you are still recovering from your sickness.”
Truman glared at me. “Don’t treat me like a child, Sam.”
I held up my hands and stepped closer. “I am not treating you like a child, and you know how I know? My dick is hard as fucking nails, and all I can think about is pounding your ass right now.” My voice sounded rough to my ears, and my blood thundered down to my cock. “I don’t get hard for children. I get hard for sexy, stubborn men who show me their hot dicks and tight bodies. And so help me god, I’m going to mpfh.”
He jumped at me and kissed me, trying to climb my body the way he’d done before. I held on to his bare ass with my hands and reveled in the feel of him. Healthy, happy, horny. Home.
I kissed him for seconds or minutes or hours, until both of us were short of breath and my head began to spin. “Jesus, god. You’re going to make me lose all sense of responsibility,” I muttered, nudging him back down onto the bed and out of my hold. “Get in the bed.”
“I want to see the dance first,” he said with gleaming eyes.
“What dance?”
Truman mimed shaking a martini and made a piss-poor attempt at the sound of tinkling ice cubes. “Shake your bum for me, Samson.”
Without giving myself enough time to chicken out, I went through the motions of the old routine, shaking my ass and twirling around before stomping three times and tipping my imaginary cowboy hat.
Truman giggled and shivered a little as he slid between the now cool sheets.
“You’re freezing,” I muttered, pulling up the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and laying it over him. I climbed in next to him and pulled him against me. “And what were you doing going through my saddlebags in the first place?”