“I am,” Tate says. “It’s not just my arms that are big, you know.”
Oh my god.
I giggle anyway. “Yeah? You mean your legs are big too, right?” I glance down, staring pointedly between his legs.”
The angel huffs and walks off. Hopefully she’ll rethink her choice in male companionship, because Tate is not it.
“Definitely my legs,” Tate agrees.
I pull out the small candy from my pocket. “Are you a fun kind of guy?”
His eyes widen, and he looks around very obviously before he nods. “I’m always down for extra party favors.”
“Oh, this isextragood.” I lean in and run my lips along his jaw. “I’ve been looking for somebody who can meet me in heaven.”
Tate groans. When his lips part, I place the candy on his tongue. He sucks on it and sighs happily. “I didn’t realize Nyxies could be fun likethis. Blaze has been on my ass about…” Heshakes his head and wraps his arms around me. “Whatever. You want to take this somewhere more private?”
I grin. “Dance with me first. I want you to feel me when you’re properly high. Fucking while on this stuff is absolutely transcendent.”
That’s how people talk about drugs, right?
Tate starts to kiss along my neck. My skin crawls, even though there’s no reason for it. It’s not like a million and a half guys haven’t already had their lips on me. Tate’s done it before too.
Tate was right there that night.
Maybe my plan is too mild.
I should take him out back and saw him up and feed him to the rats.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
“One sec,” I say, pulling my phone out. Tate doesn’t stop pawing at me. I guess that means the “candy” is working.
Anastasia
So when are we starting?
Pandora
Now’s good!
Tate pulls back enough to complain. “Babe, is a text really more interesting than me?”
“Nope!” I put my phone away. A few moments later, the music turns to a new song, a much higher beat than the previous one.
Tate dances with me, although about halfway through the track he starts to squirm. “Fuck. I gotta piss. One sec.”
“What? This is my favorite song!” I exclaim, pulling him back. “Just hold it!”
Tate groans and shakes his head, but I pull him into a kiss to distract him.
The song winds down.
“I really gotta go,” Tate says. “Shit. I really, really gotta go.”
“Then go,” I say, pushing down over his bladder.
Tate’s eyes widen, and right as the song ends, a small wet spot begins to form in the front of his basketball shorts.
