Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Blood once again rushes to the area she’s referencing, proving it still works, but since this throb is different, I admit, “Yeah. I swear I heard a crack.”
I’m joking, but you wouldn’t know that from McKayla’s response. “Oh no. We should get it checked.”
“I’m joking.” I’m proven a liar when I attempt to sit up. My head is woozy, throbbing as much as my cock. “You can’t break your penis.”
The color drains from my face when McKayla replies, “Ah… yeah, you can.”
I stare at her with scrunched brows. “You only said yesterday that a penis is flabby tissue controlled by muscles close to it.”
“Flabby tissue that is filled with veins. Veins pop under pressure. A popped vessel is classed as a breakage, so yes, probie, you can break your penis.” She stands before once again offering me a hand. “If you don’t want permanent issues down there, we should get it checked.”
“I’m not flopping my dick out for a random stranger.”
I realize I underestimated McKayla’s wit when she snaps out, “Why not? Is that only appropriate on the weekends?”
She melts under the heat of my glare. “Despite what the rumors say, I am not a slut.”
Physically repulsed, she gags. “Don’t use the S word. It is worse than the C word.”
After mimicking the arm she curls around my waist but several feet higher, I say, “If you don’t like the C word, don’t ever visit Australia. If they don’t call you a cunt, you’re not their friend.”
When the paintball owner spots my slow hobble to the registration area, he is quick to snatch up the non-defamation clause we signed upon arrival. He has no reason to fret. I’d rather die of an internal dick hemorrhage than admit I took myself out with a whack to the nuts, especially since I’d have to admit my tutor made me hard by doing something as simple as breathing.
Chapter 15
McKayla
After pulling to the curb at the front of Cash’s frat house, I remove my seat belt then twist my torso to face him. His cheeks are still white, and the bag of ice the paintball owner gave him has melted into the crotch of his pants.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get it checked?” I choke over my words when I realize we’re talking about a part of his body I have no experience with. “I could take a look. I-if you want. I’m studying to be a vet, but you often call yourself a pig, so…” A shrug finalizes my reply.
Cash glares at me like he did the other hundred times I suggested he go to the ER before he tosses open the passenger side door and gingerly climbs out.
After embarrassingly almost kissing him, I’m also desperate for a quick exit, but my hopes are dashed when I spot Cash’s hoodie in the back seat of my ride while seeking an opening in traffic.
He loves his hoodies as much as he does basketball, and although I’d love to add one to my collection, I’d rather he gift it to me like he did his poncho.
After snatching up his hoodie, I shadow his slow walk inside.
Kamil spots Cash’s slow stumble before I can catch up with him. “Why the fuck is he walking like that?” He tosses the last crumbs of a bag of Cheetos into his mouth before shifting his eyes to me. “You know the rules, right?” When I stare at him, mute and confused, he barks out with a frisky wink, “If you break it, you pay for it.”
Even with the timing wrong—Cash could be seriously injured—I grin.
“McKayla didn’t break my penis.” Cash’s usually deep voice is low with pain. “But I think I did.”
“Then why did you make me bring you back here? You should be at the ER.”
Kamil backs up my worry. “You should listen to her, Milo. A broken cock isn’t a laughing matter.” You wouldn’t believe the worry lines etched on his forehead if you could hear how brittle his voice is with laughter.
Cash shoots daggers at him. “It’s not broken. It is just really fucking sore.”
I wonder what major Kamil is undertaking when he asks, “Sorer than normal?” He must spot my shocked expression as he’s quick in his attempt to ease it. “Blue balls are a major issue amongst twenty-two to fifty-five-year-old men.”
“Cash is only twenty-one.” I learned that after I googled him last night. I wasn’t snooping. I was merely… snooping.
His brother’s accident was horrific, but I’m lost as to why Cash blames himself. He wasn’t driving. He was first on the scene. And if it weren’t for his quick actions, his brother would have died.
“Yeah, but he has something us seniors like to call acute malutitus.”
“Acute what?” I’ve not heard of his last word, and I read encyclopedias for fun as a child.