Page 36 of The Gaybor War

He blinks, startled. "You’re crass."

"Crass?" I clutch my imaginary pearls. "Somebody’s mother got them a word-of-the-day calendar last Christmas."

He side-eyes me. "I don’t need a calendar to learn big words."

I hum, pretending to admire the produce. "So… you buying Wilbur or putting him back?"

His mouth opens and closes. "Wilbur?"

"A fine specimen like that needs a name. Good posture, nice shape. You can tell he’s been raised with love. He’s got main-character energy. I’d definitely audition him for a date."

Carter’s jaw tightens. "You name your sex toys?"

"Wouldn’t you like to know."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about unholy neighborhoods and transfer requests.

Behind the table, Eunice beams. "Oh, you two are adorable."

Carter sputters. "We’re not⁠—"

I wink at her. "He’s shy. It’s his first farmer’s market as a Morningwoodian."

"Morningwooder," she corrects proudly.

"Even better," I purr.

As he walks away, Kiki whispers behind me, "He totally looked at your ass."

"Of course he did," I murmur, picking up a smaller zucchini. "Wilbur Junior and I are irresistible."

We drift apart—he toward the honey stand, me toward the candles—but my radar’s locked on him the entire time. Every time he picks something up, I somehow end up in that exact booth ten seconds later. Coincidence? Absolutely not.

Carter samples honey on a tiny wooden spoon. I appear beside him, nodding sagely. "Mmm, hints of jealousy and repression."

He jumps. "What is wrong with you?"

"Where do I begin?" I say, smiling. "Now, be honest—how many people have told you you’d look great covered in honey?"

He drops the spoon. "You’re unbelievable."

"I get that a lot."

When he finally escapes, I trail behind him, pretending to admire artisanal soaps. He keeps glancing back, as if I’m an overly persistent raccoon he can’t quite shake.

My phone dings in my pocket, and I slide it out to check it.

Candace: Watching you stalk that man like a cat hunting a laser pointer.

I’m shopping.

Kiki: For what, exactly?

Sexual validation and fresh basil.

Eventually, he loops back to his car, bags in hand. I’m leaning against a lamppost, pretending to check my phone when he walks by.

"Following me?" he asks dryly.