Page 194 of The Reason I Married Him
My face burns as I whisper, “What are you doing? Oh God, don’t say anything to him.”
“I won’t,” she whispers back just as Wyatt appears and pauses as he looks at us both, huddled together, probably looking anything but innocent.
A grin spreads across his face as he says, “What are you two doing?”
“Nothing,” Echo says casually as I shout, “Talking about you.”
Echo glances at me in shock as fear takes over me. Fear that he heard what we were talking about.
“Talking about me, huh?” He casually leans against the bee house and folds his arms over his chest. “What in particular were you saying?”
Echo casually waves her hand. “Oh, you know, nothing?—”
“Your penis,” I shout again.
Yup, penis talk. That seems safe. I’d rather him think I’m talking about his penis than the feelings I have for him.
“My penis?” he asks. “What exactly were you saying?”
Echo looks at me for help, but I come up short. That’s apparently all I have in me, so Echo improvises and says, “Just that she thinks it’s nice.”
“Nice?” he asks, looking over at me.
My cheeks are so hot right now that I truly think it would be easier to burn on the spot than finish this conversation.
“Yeah. Nice.”
“I see.” He glances back and forth between us, his perceptive eyes probably picking up on our blatant lie. “Well, can’t hear that enough. Although, I’d prefer that my dick is referred to as mean rather than nice. A nice dick presents the idea that it doesn’t do the type of punishing it’s able to do. Rather just presents a gentle time, like an afternoon picnic under the sun. A mean dick, now that’s something to be proud of. A mean dick strips you away from the picnic, bends you over the park bench, and takes what it wants while giving at the same time.”
Echo looks at me.
I look at her.
She glances at Wyatt.
He smiles at her.
And then both of them look over at me.
Smiling awkwardly, I ask, “What does a neutral dick do?”
Wyatt lets out a roar of a laugh as he walks over to me and takes my hand in his. “Why don’t I show you.” And then with a quick goodbye, he moves me away from the bee house and Echo and toward the four-by-four.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I want to show you something.”
He helps me in, then hops into the driver’s side.
“Who gave you permission to drive this?” I ask.
He starts it up and grins at me. “Mrs. Preston.” And then he jolts us forward, flying us down the dirt road of the farm and straight toward the guest house. “You know, I have a feeling you weren’t talking about my dick back there.”
Oh yeah, what gave it away?
“But if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” he says. “And for what it’s worth, the nervous chatter about my penis to cover up what you were talking about, I didn’t hear anything. So no need to worry.”
Ease settles in my chest. “Well, we weren’t talking about anything, you know, bad. If you’re worried about that.”
