The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,23
hums on a long exhale. “That feels good.”
“You feel good,” I say as I wash her arms, her belly, her breasts. “And so do your breasts. Why did you think I wouldn’t like them?”
She shrugs. “Because most guys think they like fake breasts, then they touch them and realize it’s just the idea of them they like.”
I slide my hands over them as the water pounds down on us, screwing up my face like I’m considering, evaluating. “Let’s see . . .” I glance down at my dick, half soft but perking up as I touch her. “Seems I like both the idea and the reality.”
She laughs, but then her humor fades. “Are you going to ask why I have them?”
“Do you want me to?”
She nods.
“Why do you have them?” I ask as she takes the gel and washes the rest of her body.
“Because I was tiny as a teenager. My breasts were tiny. Like, nearly flat in high school. And I was fine with that. I had brains, confidence, and a mouth.”
I run a finger across her bottom lip. “You’re very mouthy.”
She nibbles on my finger, playfully biting it. “I am. But by the time I was twenty-five, I decided I wouldn’t mind if they were a cup size bigger. So, as a birthday present, I bought myself some Bs. I figured there was no reason not to give myself a little boost when I could.”
“So, you did it for you.”
“I did it for me.”
“Seems like a damn good reason,” I say.
The nervousness flickers again in her irises. “You really don’t mind how they feel?”
I scoff. “I’m all good with everything,” I say, looping a hand around her waist as the hot water beats down. I don’t want to let her go. And I don’t want this to be a one-night-only thing. “So good that I’d like to see you again.”
She shimmies her shoulders. “Because of my girls?” she asks coyly.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Nope. Because I like talking to you and I like fucking you. Want to do this a second time?”
She nods, ropes her arms around my neck, and kisses me in the shower. “I would love to see you again.”
A little later, after we order and devour cold sesame noodles and chicken lo mein while sitting cross-legged on the couch, a large black tabby strides out of the bedroom.
I do a double-take. “You have a cat?”
“I do?”
“I don’t know, Bryn. Do you?”
“I had no idea. Is there a cat here?”
The black cat lifts his chin, sniffs the air, and saunters over to us. He stands on his back legs, setting his paws on Bryn’s knees. “Meow?”
I hold up an I’ve got this hand. “My cat translator is telling me he’s asking for a bite.”
“Did you wake up to ask for food, Bruce, you handsome devil?” She reaches out and strokes his head. He presses against her, and as he does, the light plays across his fur, revealing that he’s almost . . . striped.
“Your cat has cool markings. It’s almost like he’s got stripes, but only in certain light.”
“I considered calling him Jailbird, since he looks like he’s wearing a prison jumpsuit,” she says. “Plus, he’s kind of on house arrest here if you think about it.”
“I suppose all cats are on house arrest, then. Life is like a jail for cats,” I say, hanging my head in mock sadness.
She pats my shoulder. “It’s okay. His jailer is good to him. He gets three squares a day, plus an hour out of solitary for exercise. And here, I have cat exercise toys.”
“You are an excellent cat warden. But he’s not named Jailbird?”
“I called him that at first, but then one day I was listening to Bruce Springsteen—”
“I thought you only liked pop?”
“Hush. Bruce is like pizza. Everyone loves pizza. Have you ever met someone who doesn’t like pizza?”
“No. I can’t say I have.”
“Should I have named him Pizza, then?”
I laugh. “Not a bad name for a cat. Or Pepperoni. Anyway, how did Jailbird become Bruce?”
“So, I was listening to ‘I’m on Fire,’ and the cat actually sat on my chest. It was the first time he was borderline affectionate with me. I briefly wondered if he was trying to suffocate me, but then I thought maybe he just liked Bruce. So, I tested out the name—I called him Bruce, and he gave the faintest lift of his chin.”
“Ah, a clear sign.”
“Exactly. So I named him Bruce.”
“My incarcerated cat is named Queen LaTofu.”
She shoots me an