Page 36 of The Fed Sex Man

Jenny’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The rush of excitement?”

“If I’ve gone stiff, you can bet there’s someone in front of me that excites the hell out of me.”

“Always?” she asked.

“Always.”

Jenny gestured toward Tyson with her thumb and then bit off half the chip. “Out of all the times that you’ve been wingman for your buddy here, you’ve never taken one for the team?”

“Not once.”

“You only bone chicks that excite you?”

“That’s affirmative, Ghost Rider.”

Her brows raised. “Do I excite you?”

“I’ve been on the verge of collapsing from lightheadedness since we met at the bookstore.”

She laughed. “Is that right?”

“It’s the damned truth,” he said. “I’m feeling dizzy right now.”

“What’s your position on condoms?” she asked.

He went bug-eyed. “Excuse me?”

“Condoms,” she said flatly. “What’s your position on condoms?”

He coughed out a laugh. “I think they’re a great idea for guys with normal sized dicks.”

She glanced in his lap and then met his gaze. “You’re telling me you can’t find a condom that fits?”

“A condom that fits, doesn’t fit,” he explained. He turned sideways in the booth and gave her a serious look. “Do you like ice cream?’

She looked at him like he was a lunatic. “Did you just ask me if I liked ice cream?”

“Yep.”

“I love ice cream,” Jenny said. “But I wasn’t done talking about safe sex.”

“Neither was I,” Shawn said matter-of-factly.

A puzzled look washed over her. “What’s ice cream got to do with condoms?”

Shawn glanced at Tyson and then me. He grinned and shifted his eyes to Jenny. “Favorite flavor?”

“Butter pecan.”

“Imagine eating a butter pecan waffle cone. Not at Baskin Robbins or any of the normal three-dollar-a-cone shops. You’re at some specialty shop, eating a fifteen-dollar and fifty-cent cone. This is one of those ice cream shops that buys advertisements in the back of those artsy-fartsy architectural magazines that advertise fifty-million-dollar homes that overlook the coast. This place is as gourmet as gourmet gets. You’re about, hell, I don’t know, six or eight licks in. It’s the best goddamned cone you’ve ever eaten. You’ve got this shit running out of that little hole in the bottom of the cone, down your forearm, and dripping off your elbow. But, you don’t give a fuck. All you can think about is getting another lick in. It’s that good. Half a dozen more licks in, you’re having an ice cream orgasm. All you can think about is that you don’t want this buttery cream pecan-filled goodness to end. You look up from your dwindling cone, and some mustachioed maniac grabs you by the neck and starts choking the absolute fuck out of you. He’s squeezing your neck so fucking hard that your eyes are bulging out. You’re in and out of consciousness, barely clinging on to life. You’re not quite dead, but you’re not really alive, either. Somehow, you’re still clenching that cone.”

He paused, looked right at her, and raised both eyebrows. “While you’re on the cusp of being choked to death, do you think you can enjoy that blissful cone?”

“Do you seriously want me to answer that?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“I don’t like being choked,” she said. “I wouldn’t be able to enjoy anything.”