Page 14 of When the Time Is Right
“And?” He blinked at me, waiting.
I shrugged. “Not so much.” Then I took another long drink and stared down into the glass, totally convinced that the beer was colder than it had ever been. I wasn’t complaining though. It was getting me through this conversation.
“Wait.” One of his eyebrows lifted, and I could have sworn he blushed. “You think I have big dick energy?”
I didn’t have anything to hide. “Hell yeah. You’re all buff and manly and stacked. All that swagger you toss around. Plus, I know your dick is big.” Facts were facts. Big dicks were big dicks. And I didn’t make the rules or hand out the dicks.
I refilled my glass and poured a little more in his.
“You’ve never seen my dick.”
“Oh, yes I have. I saw that monster your senior year of high school when we went skinny dipping at the Foresters’ pond.”
He scratched the back of his neck and grimaced. “Don’t look at my dick.”
“Well, I haven’t since then.” I laughed. “But I bet the damn thing is even bigger now.”
He readjusted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable about talking about the size of his genitals. Though he had nothing to worry about. I had seen it for sure. Forgive the pun, but I had a really good, hard look at it—and it was impressive. If he weren’t close enough to be family, I would have chased him and his big ol’ hog around that whole summer until I’d gotten him. Well, that and our neighbor Lauren and him had something going on—or at least that was the feeling I got when she’d been around back then. Turned out they kind of did, then really did, and then didn’t at all.
It’s a shame she let that beautiful wiener go.
He waved his hands in front of his face. “Mercy. Uncle. Shut up. I don’t want to talk about my cock with you.”
“You don’t talk to anyone about your cock, let alone show it. Craig wasn’t a winner, but at least I got laid this year.” For the record, it had not been good, and in hindsight, no sex would have been better. I wasn’t going to let Hudson know that though.
“I’ll have you know I get laid. Plenty. Thank you very much.”
I nodded, pursing my lips sarcastically. “Sure you do.”
“I’m serious.” He stood and nodded at the dart board near our table, and I slid out too. “At least I don’t have to have my mommy get me any dates.”
Now I’m not advocating for violence, and believe me, I’d never really hurt the big oaf, but I might have gut-checked him.
“Uff,” he groaned when my fist connected with his rock-hard stomach.
I shook my hand, wondering who’d been injured more.
Watching me flex my grip open and closed, he chuckled. “Serves you right. Didn’t Cal or I ever teach you how to throw a punch?”
“Guess not.” I bent over the booth to retrieve my darts. Yes, I had my own. The ones at Huey’s were shit, and we all had our own for that reason. I had kickass black ones with neon-pink-and-green tails, and Hudson’s were a boring matte gunmetal gray. “I think you just said that because you can’t win unless my hand is as jacked as your dick.”
I straightened, wishing for the millionth time I was a few inches taller so I could measure up to Hudson or my brother. But there I was, just under his shoulder, glaring up at him and pursing my lips like the smartass I was.
He grinned down at me, not commenting on my theory. “You know what, Lex. You’re smart. You’re pretty. You’re loyal. If it weren’t for your smart mouth and your no-fucks-given attitude, you’d be a good catch.”
My second punch must have shown improvement, because he was still buckled over after I shot a one-seventeen and my hand felt fine.“Hudson?” my secretary, Libby, called over the intercom that Saturday morning. It was Lauren’s weekend with Jack, so Libby had met me at the office to work on the mile-high stack of filing that had gotten backed up over the last few weeks.
We’d been slammed with new jobs and all the warranty work on the subdivision we’d completed last year. Working six days a week was the only way to catch up. Most everyone, including Libby, liked the overtime, so it was something of a win-win.
“Yeah?” With sweat beading on my forehead, I kept doing sit-ups. I’d gone for a run that morning, but with no way to break away for a trip to the gym at lunch, the floor of my office would have to do.
“Dr. Calvin Targaryen Lawson, MD is here to see you.”
I barked a laugh, which gave me a stitch in my side. That motherfucker.
“Let his royal highness in,” I called back, but Cal was already strutting through my door at least three shades darker than he’d been when I’d seen him last. A honeymoon in Bermuda would do that to a man.
