By Erin McCarthy
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Extra info for Slow Ride
It felt a little like she was doing a maypole dance, but she was drunk and having fun, so she was going to roll with it. Diesel seemed amused by it himself, because he was struggling to contain a smile when she rounded his front side and glanced up at him. “You gotta go the other way now,” he told her, pointing back the way she came. “Oh, right. ” She reversed, her heel giving her a little bit of trouble on the turn. She almost lost her footing but Diesel grabbed her arm and steadied her. Huh. That felt kinda nice.
And the man she had now just spit chewed-up cake into his outstretched palm. Oh. My. God. She felt heat flood her face as she stared at him, trying to think of something, anything to say. “Sorry,” was the best she could manage. ” It was a lame explanation, but how did you really explain regurgitation onto total strangers? His eyebrows furrowed. ” Tuesday licked her lips, still tasting the coconut, still feeling like an ass. ” Food she realized he was still holding. ” She reached out and grabbed the cold, mushy, spit-filled blob off his hand.
Bemused, he told her, “We do exist. ” She nodded. “An endangered species. ” He wanted to make sure he didn’t come off as a total pansy. Tuesday laughed, wiping her cheeks free of tears. “Well, that just proves you’re clearly all male. I give you a compliment and you want to make sure you’re not appearing too sensitive. ” Feeling slightly sheepish, he just shrugged. “Hey, I’m not perfect. ” The thought made his nuts draw up into his body. He did not want to dance, under any circumstances. “It’s more manly not to dance.
Slow Ride by Erin McCarthy