The Lineup(115)

I shake my head, the softness of the pillow making my eyes heavy. “No, this is the first time the little lady tried to escape.” Barely able to lift my hand, I tap his forearm and say, “Be a dear and lecture the poor thing and stuff it back into place.”

“I’ve never lectured a boob before.”

“You got this. You’re a strong, confident man with a commanding voice. Give that breast a berating.” When he just continues to stare at me, I shift my head to the side and rub my cheek against the smooth fabric of the pillowcase. “Don’t be shy,” I encourage him. “Just lift it up and shove it back in.”

He rests his head next to mine, the mattress shifting and bouncing with his movements. Still staring at my boob, he reaches up and cups it in his hand. “Heavy,” he says quietly.

How sweet.

And utterly romantic.

I’ve never been told I have a heavy boob, but by God, it makes me smile. Good job growing, Emory.

His abnormal but delightful compliment is the last thing I remember before I drift off and fall into a deep slumber.

It’s the last thing I remember before I wake up in the middle of the night in a stranger’s room, passed out with my boob in said stranger’s hand. So much for tucking her back in.

Welcome to Brentwood U.