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“I wonder when the blow job started,” Kline muses, and I jerk my eyes to his face. Apparently, I’m not the only one. Every single one of us is looking at him like he’s grown a second head. He sighs and laughs at the same time. “Historically speaking, I mean. Everything has to have a starting point. We all know what a great invention it is now, but I’m just wondering who was the first person to think—”
“Hey, why don’t you put your dick in my mouth?” Thatch supplies helpfully, and Kline groans.
“I know there’s context involved, but please don’t ever say that to me again, T.”
“Well,” I say, more curious now than ever. “Someone is going to have to Google it.”
“Not it,” Trent yells, followed by a resounding chorus of the same. Thatch and I are the only ones not to say it, both rolling our eyes and taking out our phones.
I type into the search engine and scroll through the results as they pop up. I click on one of the ones near the top and start reading. “The first documented blow job was evidently good enough to resurrect an Egyptian god. The first blow job was between god-king Osiris and his—oh God, no.”
“What?” Thatch shouts.
“His sister-turned-wife, Isis.”
A resounding chorus of groans rumbles around the room.
“I’m just the messenger,” I say. “Not the creator of the information.”
“And I can’t even blame you for starting it,” Wes says before turning to Kline. “I’m completely surprised you’ve brought this upon us.”
Kline just laughs. He’s easily the most demurely self-assured person I’ve ever met. His confidence is quiet. Complimentary. But I have no doubt it’s every bit as expansive as my own.
“That’s simply the way it was back then,” he reasons. “You guys are just being real pussies about it.”
Thatch’s eyes get wide. “Oh my God, Klinehole. Did you just call us pussies?”
Kline rolls his eyes.
“I feel like my little boy is growing up right before my eyes. What’s next? Finding your come-filled socks all over your room?”
“Jesus, man,” Harrison chortles.
“You guys don’t even know. I’ve got little shits all over my house. I could start a money system with the come socks I’ll have to deal with in the future.”
“Oh Goddd,” Wes groans. “Remind me to keep your boys away from my daughter.”
“Ditto,” Kline adds, and the rest of us laugh again.
Still, mine isn’t as boisterous as usual, and Theo is the one to notice. “What’s going on with you, Cap? Something seems off.”
Thatch nods. “You’re right. You haven’t even argued with me today.”
“There’s still time,” I remark dryly, and Trent’s eyebrows pull together.
“Okay, there really is something going on. What’s up, Cap?” he asks.
I sigh, drop my phone and my book on the table, and shake my head. “I overheard her. Saying that she’ll never sleep with me. ‘Not now, not ever,’ she said.”
Quince and Trent look at each other, and I scoff as I add an important detail. “She said it several times, in fact.”
Thatch whips a notebook off a shelf behind him and grabs a pen. I blink at the quick motion, but he doesn’t give me any time to question it.
“How many times? Precisely.”
“How many times what?” I ask, confusion setting in.
“How many times did she say it?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble, and Thatch scowls. Wes bites his lip, but the rest of the fuckers are remarkably quiet. I can’t fucking believe none of them are saying anything.
“How many?”
“I don’t know!” I yell. “Three or four, I guess. Maybe five.”
“Good, good,” Thatch remarks, scribbling in his notebook. “And who did she say it to?”
“I don’t know.” When he starts to scowl again, I throw my book at him. He deflects it easily. “She was talking to herself, but it looked like she was texting someone, maybe. Possibly.”
“And what did she say before that? Anything?”
I search my memory for her exact words, and though I’m not sure I hit the mark entirely, I think I’m pretty close. “I think she said something about even though she’d enjoy it, she shouldn’t. And she won’t. Not now, not ever.”
Kline and Milo high-five, and I come close to losing my shit. “What in the ever-loving hell are you high-fiving about?”
Thatch cuts in before they can get anything out. “All right, Cap. I’ve finished my detailed analysis, and you’re in luck. I’d say you’re right on the cusp of landing your woman.”
“What? Are you drunk?”
“Fortifying her resistance as opposed to her desires is often the last step before giving in, Cap,” Kline explains. “Just look at Heart of a Highlander,” he says, shaking his copy of the book. “The tension is at its highest point right before she blows him, is it not?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing,” Trent interjects. “It’s just part of the process. Keep doing what you’re doing. Hey, come up with an excuse to take her away for the weekend. To your lake cabin. It’ll be like the highlander and Lady Viola.”
