Authors: Lauren Rowe
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You do?”
“Well, of course. I’m not
blind
.” He motions to me like he’s saying something self-explanatory.
I feel myself blushing, yet again. “Thank you.”
“You’re super cute—no, you’re more than cute. You’re
pretty
. In fact, I’d go so far as to say you’re ‘highly attractive.’” He leans forward on his elbows and clasps his hands. “I’m not personally
attracted
to you, mind you, but I most definitely find you objectively
attractive
.”
I do a double take. “What the heck does that mean?”
“It means you’re smart and funny and cool and pretty and if I were thinking about setting a bro up with someone—you know, a guy looking for an actual
girlfriend
, and not just a pretty girl to bang—then I’d be more than confident setting him up with you. It means I consider you my honorary little sister.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I mutter, slapping my palm to my forehead.
“Hey, keep your boyfriend outta this, Maddy Milliken.” Keane leans back into his chair, squinting at me. “You’re really, truly not attracted to me?”
“Same as you. I find you
objectively
attractive, but I’m not
personally
attracted to you—at least, not sexually. But, I swear, if I knew a girl who was looking to have one night of meaningless fun with a horny Smurf or a psychopathic bobble-headed troll-doll, I’d totally hook you two up.”
Keane purses his lips but doesn’t say anything.
“All right, here we go,” the waitress says, appearing out of nowhere to lay plates of food onto the table. “Ketchup’s there. You need anything else, kids?”
Keane looks at me and I shrug.
“Nope. I think my honorary little sister and I are good,” he says, his eyes burning.
“Great,” the waitress says. “Enjoy.”
Keane and I silently dig into our food for a very long while, not looking at each other, until Keane suddenly and emphatically puts down his burger and leans forward sharply.
“You’re so full of shit,” he says, scowling. “You totally wanna bone me.”
I’m aghast. “Absolutely not,” I breathe.
He narrows his eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it.”
“Liar.”
“Oh my God. You really
are
a psychopath. No wonder you think you can have any woman you want—you’ve got delusions of grandeur.”
Keane squints at me and slowly shoves a French fry into his mouth.
“I can prove I’m not sexually attracted to you,” I say emphatically.
“Oh, really? Please do.”
“If I wanted to ‘bone’ you, as you so artfully put it,” I say, “then I wouldn’t even be having this conversation with you. Because when I think a guy’s hot—when I’m even the slightest bit sexually attracted to a guy—I become a babbling, pathetic pile of goo who can’t string two coherent words together. Every freaking time.”
“Well, clearly not ‘every freakin’ time,’ seeing as how you’ve been talking my ear off without taking a breath for the past four fucking hours.”
I gasp and put my palm on my chest. I feel like Keane’s just slapped me across the face. “Gosh, I’m sorry I’ve bored you so horribly with my constant babbling,” I grit out, but my haughtiness is an act. In truth, I feel like I’m on the verge of tearing up, just that fast. “Why the hell did you keep asking me questions if listening to me talk was so torturous for you?” I say, my voice straining. Oh my God. My eyes are burning. My throat feels tight.
“Maddy.”
“For your information, I hardly ever talk the way I’ve been talking to you with anyone, other than my sister. Normally, when I’m talking to someone I’ve just met, male or female, whether they’re rippling with muscles and dimples or not, I have to force myself to talk in complete sentences until I get really comfortable, which usually takes a stupidly long time.” My words are coming out in a torrent of embarrassment and hurt.
“Maddy, you’re—”
“It’s just that you kept asking me so many questions and it seemed like you were genuinely interested in what I was saying and it was just so easy to talk to you and you have that stupid blue hair and those crazy dimples and for some reason I felt like I could let my guard down and—”
“
Maddy
.”
Keane’s sharp tone has commanded my attention. I abruptly stop talking and bite my lip, trying to keep it together, my chest heaving.
“Calm your tits, dude,” Keane says softly, his tone much kinder than his word choice. “If you’ve got ’em under that god-awful shirt, that is.” He flashes me a kindhearted smile. “Tamp down the crazy just a notch, sweetheart.”
I smash my lips together, trying to keep them from trembling.
“I asked you questions because I was interested in everything you were telling me,” Keane continues in a calm, soothing voice. “Because talking to you is
awesome
and I’ve never met anyone like you, ever. I was simply making the point you’re clearly capable of coherent conversation with a guy you want to bone, that’s all. Don’t get all wilty-flower-insecure on me, okay? You’ve totally misunderstood me.”
My eyes are stinging, so I blink rapidly, trying to keep my threatening emotions at bay. Other than my first boyfriend, Justin, I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve warmed to someone so easily and quickly—but I’d certainly never tell Keane that. “I’m not normally so sensitive,” I say, clearing my throat and sucking back my emotion. “I think you just hit the bull’s-eye on a really big insecurity of mine.”
“I get it,” Keane says softly. “But, trust me, Maddy, you haven’t bored me at all. Have I bored you?”
I roll my eyes like that’s a ridiculous question. “I think
psychopathic
pigs would have to fly before you could ever bore me.” I rub my face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I reacted so strongly.”
“You just misunderstood me, that’s all.”
“I’m not normally so sensitive,” I assure him.
“So what if you are? Maybe I’m abnormal and un-charming, and you’re sensitive. Maybe together, we’re like peanut butter and chocolate.”
A little smile overtakes my lips. “Which one am I?”
“Chocolate, of course. Someone needs to take Zander’s place when he’s not here.”
I grin.
“Maddy, seriously. Even if I were being a prick to you, which I totally wasn’t, why would you give a shit what I think? I’m an abnormal and charm-less idiot.”
A full smile spreads across my face.
“Ah, there it is. Turn that frown upside down, choco-nana. Come on.”
I chuckle. “Where do you get all the weird stuff you say?”
Keane shrugs. “God.”
“
God
sent you ‘choco-nana’?”
“Hey, God likes ‘quiet moments of magic’ as much as the next guy.”
We share a beaming smile.
“You feeling better now, Mad Dog?”
I nod. “Sorry about that. I’m fine now.”
“Cool.” He looks at me for a long beat. “No more wilty-flower shit, okay? At least not with me. I love hanging with you. Swear to God.”
“I love hanging with you, too.”
“Cool. So now that catastrophe’s been averted, I’m gonna ignore you and suck down this milkshake before it melts, okay?”
“Please do.”
Keane takes a huge swig of his milkshake and his eyes practically pop out of his head. “Oh my fucking God!” he blurts. He shoves the milkshake across the table at me, his eyes on fire. “You gotta taste this, Madagascar. Best milkshake you’ll ever taste.”
I dutifully take a long sip and, oh my effing God, he’s right: it’s the best milkshake I’ve ever tasted.
“Insanity, right?” Keane says.
“Absolute psychosis.”
Keane flags down the waitress and she comes over to the table. “Could you bring us another glass? I gotta share my
amazing
milkshake with my
amazing
little sister here. We’re celebrating what an awesome, funny, smart, pretty and
amazing
little badass she is.”
“Wow, that
is
cause to celebrate,” the waitress says. “Coming right up.”
“It’s okay,” I say to Keane. “I’m pretty stuffed from my sandwich.”
“
Hey
,” Keane says sharply, pointing his finger at me. “Life’s short, baby doll. You gotta enjoy every ‘quiet moment of magic’ that comes your way—and I’m telling you sharing this milkshake with me is gonna top your list of quiet moments of magic.”
“So that’s your new catchphrase? ‘Quiet moment of magic’?”
“Yeah, pretty cool, right? I figure if I say it enough times, I can trademark it and make a gazillion dollars.”
I laugh for the millionth time today.
The waitress returns with an empty glass and a canister of whipped cream, and Keane takes great care pouring half his shake into the new glass. “You’ll thank me profusely for this,” he says, topping off my half with a mammoth pile of cream. “Which is what all the horny ladies do after I get through with ’em—they thank me profusely.” He winks and pushes the glass toward me. “Here you go, sweet meat.”
“Yeah, um. Back to that women-thanking-you-profusely thing.” I wait for a young family to walk past our table before speaking again. “How exactly do you make women throw themselves at you again? Do you just show up and say, ‘Here I am, baby doll,’ and they tackle you?”
“Pretty much.”
I make a face registering my disbelief.
“It’s true. Women sniff me out like dogs sensing an earthquake. They just
know
.”
“Oh my God, Keane. Don’t compare women to dogs. Pickles were bad enough.”
“Hey, at least I didn’t call ’em horny bitches, which I usually do when I’m making my earthquake analogy.”
I scowl. “Oh for the love of God. Please don’t call women bitches.”
Keane belly laughs. “I never do. My mom and sister would cut off my balls, trust me. I only do it when I’m making my earthquake analogy ’cause it’s a clever
pun
. Get it? ’Cause bitches are dogs and dogs sense earthquakes?”
“Yeah, I get it.” I push my plate aside and lean forward. “So, okay, I’ll bite,” I say. “What do women sense about you the same way
bitches
sense an impending earthquake?”
“You can’t guess?”
“Hence the reason I’m asking the question.”
“You sure you can handle it?” Keane says, his eyes darkening. “Because after I tell you, you’re gonna be obsessed with the idea of sleeping with me.”
I snort. “Lemme guess. You’re gonna tell me you have a big ol’ dong, right? Because according to studies, and as confirmed by my personal experience, that really doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, so we’re back to talking about your experience, are we?
Excellent
. So, tell me—”
“Move along, Keane,” I say, cutting him off.
Keane bites his lip. “You do realize you just implied you’ve only been with small-dicked men, right?”
“Move the
fuck
along, please.”
“Whoa. An f-bomb from Maddy Milliken. You must be especially hot and bothered.”
Oh, good lord, the expression on Keane’s face is so freaking cocky, I wanna slap it right off him. “Are you gonna tell me or not?” I ask. “Because I’m rapidly losing interest in this topic.” I put my hand to my mouth like I’m yawning.
“
Fine
. But first let me say, since you’ve asked me directly and you’re obviously
dying
to know, yes, I’ve got a big ol’ dong. Massive. A weapon of mass destruction. Puts Shamu’s cock to shame. Women spontaneously orgasm when they see it. Men cower. Dogs scamper away whimpering and communist countries surrender their nukes. But, no, that’s not what I was gonna say about what women sense about me.” He’s been slowly stirring his milkshake with his straw as he speaks, and now he pushes his glass to the side. “Okay, sweet little innocent Maddy Milliken. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Because I’m now gonna tell you my deep, dark secret.”
“Yay.”
“Brace yourself.”
“I’m braced.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I won’t.”
“I think you should sign a waiver before I tell you.”
“Consider it signed.” I make a motion in the air like I’m signing a document.
“And a non-disclosure agreement.”
I make another signing motion in the air.
Keane licks his lips. “Okay. Here it is.” He pauses dramatically and says his next sentence slowly, his eyes boring holes into my face. “I’m diabolically talented in the sack.”
I press my lips together and flare my nostrils, doing my mighty best not to laugh in his handsome face.
“You said making a video go viral is like racking up points on your own personal video game? Well, having fucking amazing sex is racking up points on mine.”
I cringe. “And how exactly do you ‘rack up points’ in your game? Sheer numbers of partners or something else? Actually, wait—don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.”
“Nothing to be scared of.” He smirks. “I rack up points by making the woman I’m with come as many times as possible in a sesh,” he says, his eyes blazing like hot coals. “I make her my puppet. I pull her strings and her body does whatever I want it to do.
And it’s awesome
.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, but, still, I don’t reply.
“There’s a shitload of ways to do it, depending on the woman. Everyone’s different. But there’s one thing that works like a charm pretty much every single time, and usually within a matter of minutes. My brothers and I call it ‘The Sure Thing.’”
I bite my lower lip, my eyes locked with Keane’s. “Well, good for you,” I manage to squeak out, my throat tight.
“Good for both of us,” he says, smirking. Keane levels me with a heart-stopping smolder. “
And that’s what women can sniff on me
.”
I open my mouth to reply but nothing comes out.
Keane leans back in his chair, his eyes burning. “Uh-oh, Maddy Milliken. Have you suddenly lost the ability to string two coherent words together?” He pulls his milkshake toward him and takes a languid suck on his straw—a gesture that makes me think about those lips taking a languid suck on various parts of my anatomy. “You still think you’re not my target demographic?” he asks. He bites his lower lip and smirks. “Because, if that’s the case, baby doll, then I think you’d better check your neck for a fucking pulse.”