Innuendos (It Had 2 B U Book 1) (14 page)

“I bet I can go longer without sex than you can, Max,” I blurt out.

Where did that come from? Why did I even say it?

“Is that so? What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re a horn dog that’s incapable of functioning like a normal human being.”

“What about you, Mrs. I Miss Sex? You were just talking about it a few seconds ago.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is I know for a fact that I can last longer without sex than you can. I’m sure of it. I’m so sure that I even bet I can go longer without talking about it or saying the word
sex
, too.”

I’m not sure where this idea for a sex bet is coming from, but I’m kinda liking the forwardness I’m feeling. Sometimes, Max needs to be put in his place. What better way to do that, than to take away his nightly barfly action.

Max’s face lights up. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll participate in this little bet of yours. What are the stakes?”

“What do you mean?” I ask in confusion.

“You threw down the gauntlet of all bets. I’m calling your bluff.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I did?” I must still be drunk.

What are we talking about again? Oh right, sex
.

“Yup, I can go longer without sex. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m in. I bet I can go longer without sex than you can, Breezy.”

“Impossible, but okay, I’ll play. You also can’t talk about it or think about it.”

“No, that’s
impossible
. You’re not a mind reader.”

“Okay fine, we can’t participate in sex of any kind, including oral, and we also can’t talk about it, not even mention it or say the word.”

“Sounds good, what do you want if you win?”

I think really hard. I’ve wanted a lot of things over the years, but there’s only one thing I’ve wanted more than anything else. “A puppy,” I grin at Max and he groans.

“Really? Not the puppy thing again, Breezy. Out of anything you could pick, you want to get that stupid puppy?”

“A puppy is not stupid, and yes, that’s exactly what I want.”

“Fine, if you win, I’ll buy you a damn puppy,” he groans. “But you’re taking care of it. I’m not going to be your mutt’s pooper scooper.”

“Max, you know you’ll fall in love with the little guy or girl after I win.”

“I know I won’t, because you’re not going to win.”

“Pretty cocky there, aren’t you?”

“Well, what I want if I win is pretty important to me, and I will do anything to get it.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“A kiss.”

“Huh?”

“If I win, you have to kiss me—not one of those lame mouth pecks either. I want thirty minutes of tonsil hockey while my hands explore your body.”

Instantly my cheeks heat up. “Why do you want that?” I lean a little closer to him.

“Call me curious. If I win, I get to taste your mouth.” He gently takes my bottom lip with his thumb and brushes it. I’m like putty in his hands and practically melt into him when his fingers move from my lips, to my chin, across my cheek, and settle on my thigh. I close my eyes and hope he gets the message to kiss me. I feel him leaning towards me; his breath caresses the pout of my lips. He’s going to kiss me! Max is going to kiss me, and I actually want him to.

“Kiss me, Travis,” I whisper. I’m not sure why Travis’ name leaves my lips instead of Max’s. I want to take it back immediately, especially when Max pulls away and gets up off the couch.

“So are we doing this? The bet thing? When will it start?”

“Right now. No more talking about it, participating in it, and if I could read your thoughts, you wouldn’t be able to think about it either. I’ll let that one slide, though.”

I’m pouting over my stupid Freudian slip of Travis’ name and how it messed up my chance to kiss Max. He walks over to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water.

“Okay, if we’re going to do this, then I need to get
it
out of my system first. You know, go to the bar, pick up a hot chick, bring her back here, and . . .”

“Then I’ll be getting my puppy tomorrow. You have to quit cold turkey or you lose.”

“So, I’m officially celibate?”

“Yup, you’re going to have to give up your whorish habit cold turkey.”

“What about jerking my snake . . .”

“Nope, you can’t even manhandle your anaconda. Cold turkey or you lose.”
He won’t be able to do it. Max can’t live without pussy. It’s just not feasible.

“This bet sucks,” he grumbles.

“We’ll see. I’m going to go to bed. Thanks for taking me dancing tonight, Max, even if you ditched me for the blonde bimbo.”

“Breezy, come on, nothing hap . . .”

“Happened. I know. Good night, Max.”

I turn and hightail it to my bedroom before I do something I will regret. Two times tonight, I’ve almost kissed Max, and both times I wanted it to happen. What’s wrong with me? Why am I suddenly obsessed with kissing Max? I need to win this stupid bet so I won’t have to kiss him. With the confusion I’m feeling right now, the best thing to do is stay as far away from Max’s lips as I can.

It’s time to focus on beating Max and winning myself a puppy—no more crazy Max thoughts. From now on, my only goal is winning this bet.

Chapter Fourteen

Max

I’m pretty sure a truck has backed over me twice. My head is pounding when I wake up. My night of dancing with Breezy has turned into the hangover from hell. At least I think I went dancing with her. I vaguely remember being attacked by some kind of lip monster sometime during the night. I don’t remember much after that.

Groggily, and with much protest, I manage to make it out of my room and into the kitchen. Even though my stomach feels like a meat grinder, I still want to make Breezy and me breakfast. I hear her door open, and she stumbles into the room with mountain-sized bed head, eye boogers, and drool-stained cheeks.
God, she looks beautiful.

“Morning sunshine,” I reply, finishing her omelet.

“Grumble humph,” she growls. She snatches the plate from my hand and plops down at our table.

“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“I’d like to sue the freight train that ran over me last night. My head is pounding so loudly it’s become a song.”

“A song?”

“You’re drunk, buh buh buh. I think that’s how it goes. I may have forgotten it already.”

“Aww, sweetie, what you need is a good old fashioned dic…” Then something from last night pops into my memory. A bet, no sex or sex talk, and I get a kiss. I immediately snap my mouth shut.

Breezy grins. “Oooh, that was a close one. I think I’m going to name my puppy Buster, or Snookums. You’re making winning this bet way too easy for me. ”

“Snookums?” I pretend to vomit.

“What’s wrong with Snookums?” she asks, stabbing a piece of bacon and waving it around. She eyes the bacon like it’s made out of fish guts and drops it back on her plate. “I’m not hungry.”

“Me neither.”

“See, if we had a dog, he could eat this, and it wouldn’t go to waste.” She goes over to the trash and scrapes it off.

“You have to win the bet first for that to happen.”

“Oh, I’m going to win, Max, it will be easy. All it will take is a few choice words, and you’ll be humping our couch cushions begging me for it.”

“What exactly is
it
? I ask smugly.

“Why s . . . se . . . something of course. Good one. You almost got me there.”

“Cause, I’m going to win.”

“No you’re not,” she shouts at me.

“I’m going to win right now, Breezy. I can do it really easy, too.”

“How so?” She questions nervously.

I walk over to the table where there’s an empty box from something she received in the mail and examine it. I can think of a million ways this box reminds me of a pussy; the thought gives me a brilliant idea.

“Because I know how badly you want your box played with.” I throw the box at her. She looks at it before shooting me a confused look.

“Why would I want my box played with?”

“Because it’s empty and needs to be filled.”

“Filled with what? It’s not like we’re packing for something, Max.”

“Oh Breezy, I’m always packing.” She’s obviously still hung over and not getting this huge innuendo I’m hurling at her.

Her expression twists in confusion. “I don’t get it. Why do I care about my box being empty?”

“Because every box needs to be filled with the right packing materials, and I just so happen to have the right material to fill it with.”

“Ghost poop?” she asks.

I laugh. That’s what Breezy calls those stupid foam packing peanuts. I swear those things multiply like fucking rabbits.

“No, not ghost poop, another white substance that’s slightly salty and completely fills you.”

Her mouth drops. “Maxwell James McGowan, you’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about, are you? Last time I checked, we were talking about this damn box in my hands.”

“Are we talking about that box, Breezy? Are we?”

She examines the box, examines my face, and then looks down at her crotch. I burst out laughing. Suddenly, I feel the empty cardboard smack me right upside my head. I land straight on my ass, and now she’s laughing at me.

“That’s what you get.”

“For what?” I ask innocently.

“For talking about packing my box with your damn white substance. We both know that you’re going to lose this bet if you keep that shit up.”

“I’m not going to lose, and I’m quite sure you would enjoy what I’m packing. It has a ninety-seven percent success rate of filling all empty boxes to the rim.” I wink at her, and she lets the box fly this time. I repel it with my fist, sending it sailing across the room.

“You just punched my box!” she screeches.

“I did not punch your box. I merely deflected it in a different direction. Trust me, Breezy, if I punched your box, you would know. You wouldn’t be able to walk the next day.”

“I’m still talking about that box, not this box.” She motions to her vagina and laughs.

“You have the dirtiest mind of all dirty minds, Breezy. How can you possibly think I’m talking about your box and not that box?”

“Cause if I have a dirty mind, then your mind is swimming in a sewage infested cesspool. I swear you’re the worst.”

“You love every minute of this. Don’t deny it.” She’s quiet for a second and smiles.

I know she loves this, just as much as I do.

“I’m sorry; I can’t help it. I’m not allowed to talk about
it.
So I’m not talking about
it
.
Frankly, I think what I said was perfect. I’m following all your rules.”

“Except the one where you don’t think about
it
.
Ugh! I need to find another word to replace
it
,
or I’m gonna slip up and say
it
by accident.”

“That’s okay. I want you to slip up, so I can play with your box.”

“The bet wasn’t so you could play with my box. The bet was for a kiss,” she retaliates.

“With wandering hands. Did you forget that part?” I hold my hands up and threaten her with them. “Wandering hands that have a fetish for boxes—especially wet ones.”

“I win! You talked about
it
!
That was so easy! I’m going to go pick up my puppy today.” She storms past me; I grab her wrist, halting her to a stop.

“I did not say anything of the sort. You don’t win unless one of us actually says the right word. Not once did I mention
it
,
nor did I say anything about
it
.
All I talked about was wet boxes. If your dirty mind takes that somewhere else, that’s your fault.

“You’re not playing fair.”

“All’s fair in love,
it
, and innuendos.” I purposely leave out the word sex just to emphasize my point on how serious I am about winning this damn bet. I’m going to get my kiss, even if I have to pry it from her lips.

“I hate you,” she grumps, turning around and heading towards her room.

“No you don’t. You adore me. You’re just mad that I’m better at this than you are.”

“I’m gonna win this bet, Max, and when I do, you’re picking up the doggy poop.

I watch her until her door slams shut. I’m having way too much fun with this not talking about sex thing, and I can’t wait to think of more innuendos I can use to fully torment her.

This is going to be great!

Chapter Fifteen

Breezy

It’s been almost a full month since Travis broke up with me; I’m feeling his absence. Every day that I see him at work, my heart breaks a little more. There are times I think he’s going to come over and talk to me, and each time my heart soars because I think that maybe he will say he’s sorry and try to get back together. Each time though, he shakes his head, and walks the opposite direction I’m going, purposely to avoid me.

Today is no different. This morning I stood two people behind him in the coffee line. When he whipped around with his half decaf, mocha latte, he almost dropped it. I’m surprised the guy behind him didn’t wear the entire thing all over his suit. I wave at him, trying to open up the gates for him to talk to me, but he quickly exits the line and makes a beeline for the elevators. I need to figure out a way to get him to talk to me.