Page 35 of The Starfish Method


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When she doesn’t say anything else, I release a heavy sigh and gingerly sit up. “Look, it’s not like we’ve been officially introduced or anything, but I know who you are. You’re Neighbour Girl; you’ve lived next door for the last four years. You have one friend you always hang out with who laughs like a hyena. I’m guessing no boyfriend because I’ve never seen a man here, and—”

Her hand flies out and covers my mouth. “Okay, I get it. You don’t have to tell me how sad my life is.”

I’m tempted to lick her palm just to see how she tastes, but that would be inappropriate.

After dropping her hand from my face, she holds it out in offering to me. “I’m Reagan.”

I glance at her outstretched palm then take it, wrapping my much larger one around her delicate one. “Rhett.”

She nods, seemingly pleased with herself. “I already knew your name. Girls scream it so loud it practically makes my bedroom wall quake in orgasm along with them.”

The hell did she just say?

My jaw pops open, and I wait for her to attempt to take back her words, to blush, to do anything but stare at me like she didn’t just say that out loud. But she doesn’t. I’m still clutching her hand in mine, and I notice how soft her skin is. The pad of my thumb strokes across the pulse point in her wrist, and she smiles.

That semi I was sporting when I arrived inflates to straight-up hard-on as dimples pop in her cheeks. Then her eyes flash downwards, and she drops the hammer she was still holding. Glass shatters. I release her hand to cradle my skull as my brain tries to burst through my eyeballs at the god-awful sound.

“Fuck,” I moan.

“Shit, my coffee table!” she yells. Then she crouches down in front of me and asks, “Are you okay?” Her palm comes into contact with my forehead. “You’re awfully warm.”

Her position gives me a bird’s-eye view straight down her loose top. And—sweet Jesus—she’s not wearing a bra. If I didn’t want to die this very second, I’d be hitting on her like there was no tomorrow. My throat thickens, and so does my cock.

All of a sudden, she’s no longer touching my forehead because she’s plastered to the wall on the far side of the room. Her hand rises and points—to. My. Dick. I drop my gaze to it, too. “Uh, sorry?”

She shakes her head back and forth slowly, then licks her pink lips. “Does it have a name?”

My brows pop. “What?”

Reagan blinks. Her big blue eyes slowly travel up my body until they come to meet mine. She repeats her question. “Does it have a name? Your penis,” she clarifies—as if she had to.

I gape. “My dick.” I tilt my head. “You— What—” I close my eyes. Am I still asleep? Surely that’s what’s happening here; I dreamt this whole situation up. I nod to myself then open my eyes again. Nope, she’s still there. No hint of embarrassment on her pretty face at all. And she’s still pointing.

My cock twitches as if waving to her, and I wrap my hand over him protectively. “He does, but it’s personal.”

She frowns and lowers her hand. “Oh, okay.” She shrugs but stays stuck to the wall.

I’ve had a hell of a lot of different reactions to the size of my dick, but this is new. Not once has anyone asked if he had a name. Or run away from him that far and fast. I observe her curiously. I’ve always known Neighbour Girl was on the quirky side, but this?

It would appear she is observing me just as closely as I am her. Those big doe eyes of hers rove over me. Inquisitiveness glints in their depths as she continues to stare.

For the first time in my life, I feel self-conscious. I sneer.Self-conscious?Ugh, I don’t fucking think so. I’m fucking glorious, and so is my dick.

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