Because I’m hot. Is anyone else hot?

I need a fan.

Did he just say pierced?

I think he said pierced.

He downs the rest of his drink and then says, “Your turn.”

My turn?

He expects me to just answer a question after he announced to the table that he’s pierced down below? Does he really think I can just function? As if everything is okay?

Because it’s not.

Everything is not okay.

I have questions.

Serious questions.

Like…where exactly is he pierced? Does he like it? Does it feel good for him? Would it feel good for…other people? Why did he decide to share that private information?

Why is he looking at me right now as if he could put me on this table and…eat me?

“How’s it going over here?” Sanders asks, startling me.

“Fine,” I yelp. “Fine. Everything is fine.”

“Really? You seem a little jumpy.”

“No, not jumpy.” I push my hair behind my ears.

Just turned on and questioning every choice I’ve made leading up to this point.

“She does seem a little jumpy, doesn’t she?” Wilder asks. “I think it’s the questions that are making her jumpy.”

“Ah, yes, I can imagine. Which one did you just answer?”

“What color underwear I like her best in,” Wilder answers, clearly not caring at all about privacy. “Of course, it’s a clear-cut answer. None. Then I went into detail about a scenario I’ve thought about when she’s not wearing any underwear.”

Sanders chuckles. “Hence the jumpiness.”

“I’m not jumpy,” I defend.

“Seems like you’re jumpy,” Wilder presses. “Not sure she could handle my suggestion of what she’d do with no underwear.”

“Uh, I could handle it,” I say, even though I don’t believe it for a second.

“You know, there’s only one way to find out,” Sanders says with a wiggle of his brow before he takes off.

I cross my arms at my chest and huff. “I could handle it.”

“I don’t know if you could. Have you ever gone without underwear?”

“Uh, yeah, every night. I don’t sleep with underwear on, so…eat that.”

“I’d love to fucking eat you,” he says and pops a piece of cheese in his mouth.

“I didn’t say ‘eat me.’ I said ‘eat that.’”

“I know. I heard you.”

And then, as if he knows…he tugs on that godforsaken lip ring, and I feel my nipples go hard as I watch in slow motion the most nonsexual sexual thing to ever happen. A black lip ring. Who knew? Who knew that would be my kryptonite? Who knew that it would make me weak in the knees? Who knew that a freaking piece of jewelry the radius of my pinkie finger would turn me on to the point that I’d want to howl for attention?