Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(89)

“Give me that.”

“No way, you’re going to fuck this up.” He takes off toward the middle of the locker room in his briefs. I grip my towel and chase after him.

“I’m going to fuck it up? You’re the one who’s been fucking it up this whole time.”

“Uh . . . pretty sure I’m the one who got you this picture with my expert texting. By the way, you’re welcome.”

“She feels bad for me,” I say as I chase him around.

“Nah, she’s turned on by your eggplants and droplets. Told you I know what I’m doing.”

“You know shit.” I leap over a chair, but he dodges me and runs to the other side of the locker room.

“Watch daddy work his magic.” Posey starts typing away as he’s moving about the room.

“Do not fucking text her.”

“Oh, I’m texting her. Next pic she sends will be a nude.”

“Give me my goddamn phone,” I say as I pick up a water bottle and chuck it at him, hitting him directly in the hand and knocking the phone to the floor and across the room.

We glance at each other, and in slow motion, we move through the locker room and both dive for the phone at the same time, clashing against each other. My towel loosens, his legs tangle with mine, and we grapple on the floor, army crawling toward the phone until we both reach it at the same time.

That’s when I see what he texted her back.

Silas: Oye, my dick.

What in the actual fuck?

“Oye, my dick?” I scream. “That’s what you fucking wrote? Oye, my dick? What the hell is wrong with you, Levi?”

He pauses, a pinch to his brow. After a second, he says, “I’ll admit, that wasn’t my best work. You can blame yourself. The pressure of running around the locker room hindered my ability to be clever and sexy.”

Just then, the locker room door opens, and Hornsby walks in, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees me and Posey tangled up together.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Hornsby finally asks, “Why is your dick on Posey’s knee?”

“Is that what that is?” Posey asks, glancing down. “Dude, congrats on the soft penis. Like a velvet cloud.”

I kick at him. “Get the fuck away from me.”





Chapter Eighteen





SILAS





In case you were wondering, there was no recovering from “Oye, my dick.”

The text messages ran cold after that, and any chance we had at a nude pic vanished. Not that I wanted one. In a weird way, Posey did me a favor by writing “Oye, my dick” because I wanted to drive her away, and that about did it.

Now that I’m walking into my apartment, knowing she’s here working out, I’m dreading every second of seeing her. She’ll definitely give me shit for killing the buzz. But at least I’m not walking in here to a sexually charged Ollie, ready to pounce. Nope, she’s probably as dry as the fucking Sahara Desert after oye, my dick. I think everyone is dry after that.

Not to mention, I can’t get the feeling of my penis on Posey’s knee out of my head.

I’m all sorts of fucked up, and I know the one thing that I need is some peace. And the place I find most peace is in the sauna.

After setting my bag and keys down in the entryway, I head to my bedroom, where I strip out of my clothes and wrap a towel around my waist. My mind immediately flashes to my penis and Posey’s knee, and I mentally curse my disturbed brain.

I go to charge my phone just as a text lights up the screen. Wondering if it’s Ollie, I click on it but see that it’s Hornsby.

Hornsby: I gave it an hour, but I can’t fucking take it any longer . . . Taters and Posey were wrestling naked together, and I walked in on it. Taters’s penis was on Posey’s knee, and they both liked it.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a few deep breaths. My phone dings, and I mentally prepare for what’s to come.

Pacey: Uh . . . what?

Holmes: Like . . . they were both naked?

Posey: NO! Taters was naked. I was respectful enough to put on underwears.

Taters: I was about to put on my briefs. Also, only a child calls it underwears, you nitwit.

Posey: Do you really want to call me names after what we went through together . . .

Pacey: It seems like there’s meaning behind those ellipses.

Hornsby: There was meaning throbbing between the two of them on the ground.

Taters: Fuck off, there was no throbbing.

Posey: The eggplants beg to differ.

Pacey: What eggplants? Your eggplants?

Holmes: I’m really fucking confused.

Hornsby: I believe they were in the midst of a sexual tryst.

Taters: For the love of God.

Posey: HA! Taters wishes. He couldn’t handle me.

Hornsby: Seems like he handled you just fine . . . owning you with his penis on your knee.

Posey: I will admit to the group, I thought his penis felt nice. Honestly, it’s made me look at bologna in a different light.

Holmes: I can usually handle these text chains, but sorry, I’m out.

Pacey: Levi, I think you need help.

Hornsby: I keep hearing skin slapping together.

Taters: There was no fucking slapping!