I smirk. “So hand in hand, we went into the depths of the corn maze, and when we found a spot that no one was going to traipse through, you dropped to your knees, pulled my jeans down, and went to town. I don’t know if it was because your mouth felt like a fall festival, all cinnamon and cidery, but I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard while being blown.”

She runs her tongue over her teeth and says, “First of all, your dick doesn’t have taste buds; there’s no way you’d have been able to know that my mouth was a fall festival. Second of all, I’d never do anything like that in public.”

My brow shoots up. “Wait, you’ve never had sex in public?”

“Uh, do I look like a heathen?”

“I mean…the black eye is giving you a certain vibe.”

She rolls her eyes, and I push her with my foot under the table.

“Your turn,” I say. “When was your favorite time I went down on you?”

“Never.”

“Ouch,” I say, clutching my chest. “Pips, now that’s hurtful. I’ve spent five years on the assumption that I’ve been licking you the right way. Is that why we’re really here? Because I haven’t been pleasuring you correctly?”

“You realize there’s something seriously wrong with you, right?” she says, leaning forward on a whisper.

“Babe, just tell me. Is it my tongue? Is that what the problem is? Because I can get it pierced again.”

Her expression morphs into interest. “You had your tongue pierced?”

“Yeah, for a while, but when I was trying to sell off Soda Tracker, my advisors thought it would be best if I got rid of it.”

“Did you have your lip piercing then as well?”

“No, got that after I sold Soda Tracker.”

“Why not the tongue again?”

“Why so interested?” I ask with a large smile.

Flustered, she says, “I’m not… I’m just… Seems like the typical thing to do would be to get the piercing again that you had to get rid of.”

“I’m not the typical kind of guy,” I say.

“Clearly.” She wets her lips casually and asks, “Do you have any other piercings?”

“Does it look like I have any others?” I ask.

She looks around my ears and then shakes her head. “No, I guess not.”

Wiggling my eyebrows, I say, “Didn’t look hard enough, Pips.”

She offers me a confused look, but I don’t get to elaborate, because Sanders gets on stage with a mic, and the room falls silent as they start clapping for him. I join in because you have to hand it to the man. If he’s going to stand up there in front of a room of people while sporting a cutoff suit jacket, then he deserves some praise.