Bad Cruz

Note to self: stop trying to appease people who don’t want anything to do with you once you grow a pair. Over and out.

Note to self: stop trying to appease people who don’t want anything to do with you once you grow a pair. Over and out.

Note to self: stop trying to appease people who don’t want anything to do with you once you grow a pair. Over and out.

That thing has a mind of its own.” She lifted a speculative eyebrow, looking down between us. “Can I touch it again?”

You can take it home, put it in an aquarium, and call it Sally if it makes you happy.

Feed me, Dr. Costello.” I tossed my hair dramatically, adopting an English accent I stole from the Bridgertons. “For I am famished and no longer want to debate that imprudent, fortuitous kiss.”

“Why do you sound like you swallowed an Oxford dictionary?

Mental note number one hundred and sixty: Charge. That. Vibrator.

Your craziness heightens your hotness.”

You put salt in your ice cream?” He dropped his newspaper, glaring at me.

“The saltiness heightens the sweetness.”

“I wouldn’t choose it for my own son, no. Then again, I wasn’t the one who pushed a seven-pound human out of an intimate hole in my body after eight hours of contractions and nine months of heartburn, so I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask.”

“Nice answer. And it was ten hours, not eight.”

“Christ. No wonder you turned to Jesus.”

Cruz’s adopted. His mother was in the circus, and she did a lot of weird stuff with her body while pregnant. He came out with all sorts of problems. Haven’t you noticed his head is shaped a little like an eggplant?”

“Well, now that you’ve pointed that out…”