Bad Cruz

“I don’t even update my account. It’s all pictures of landscape and desserts and John Lennon quotes.”

“It’s pretty depressing,” he agreed.

We stood in front of one another. It seemed like there wasn’t much more to say after that.

And yet, nothing had been resolved.

Cruz rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but if you’re not planning to do something about my hard-on, at least put me out of my misery and let me go make the bald man cry in the shower.”

“There’s a bald man in our shower?”

“Masturbate,” Cruz said flatly. “I need to take care of my blue balls.”

“Right!” I stepped aside, feeling myself blush. “Of course, of course. Don’t let me stand in your way.”

“A little too late for that.”

A few seconds later, we both evacuated the room.

I’d always had a thing for Tennessee Turner.

From the moment I first saw her at the nursery, wobbling along, delivering a clean and confident smack to the back of the head of another toddler to snatch away a rag doll, I knew this girl was special.

Actually, if I was going to be petty (and I was definitely not going to be petty), I was the one who was supposed to ask her out between Rob and me. As I mentioned, we rock-paper-scissored it, and my paper wrapped his rock.

But he smashed my chance, anyway.

Straight up crapped all over the bro code and asked the pretty blonde out.

Was I pissed? Yes.

Did I punch his face? Also yes.

Did I hate Tennessee Turner for accepting his offer for an ice cream and vow to ignore her existence from that moment on? I plead the fifth.

See? Not bitter at all.

Now I was in the shower of our stateroom while Tennessee was probably building a pillow fort and hiding behind it to avoid me while my cock wept tears of cum onto the tiles as I remembered how she tasted in the maintenance room.

Thanks to Dalton and his big veneered mouth.

If one good thing came out of it—and I was really struggling to find the silver lining here—it was that I had the chance to clear the air and explain to her that I did not, in fact, try to mess around with her that Fourth of July.

I could tell from Tennessee’s reaction today that she would have said yes, had I asked her out like a decent human being. Now I couldn’t stop thinking about Tennessee and me in an alternate universe, screwing like bunnies three times a day.

I’d have given her a job as my secretary or something. We’d have had date nights and I’d have taken her to black-tie events and verbally sparred with her the entire way there.

I still couldn’t believe the woman was practically a virgin.

She’d had sex one time her entire life.

The craziest thing was, I knew she hadn’t had anyone go down on her or given any head, because Rob used to give us detailed reports of their doings before he hit the home run.

Let’s just say there was a lot of tit-sucking and fingering, but nothing else. Which I had to admit, gave Tennessee the gleam of an unexplored land, wild and unmapped, waiting to be discovered.

Unfortunately, it seemed like she wouldn’t let me get anywhere near her, ironically after finding out that I hadn’t sexually harassed her.

I always thought I had a pretty decent grasp of what women wanted, but apparently I’d been wrong, because I hadn’t the greenest clue what Tennessee Turner needed or craved.