Her fingers curl at the crown of my head, and she lifts me by my hair. Her normally soft green eyes are hard.

“What am I supposed to believe, Miller?”

“I’m sorry about the pictures. I wasn’t even awake for the dickface ones, so you can’t really be mad about those.”

“But you were naked.”

“I can’t sleep with clothes on.”

“You were at Lance’s house. And there were hooker bunnies!”

“I’ll wear boxers to bed when I stay at Lance’s from now on.”

“Boxers aren’t going to solve the problem. I don’t know why you have to stay at his place at all. It’s, like, a twenty-minute drive to your place, isn’t it?”

I don’t know how she knows this. Sunny’s never been to my place, or Lance’s. Sometimes we talk on the phone while I’m driving there, so maybe that explains it. It’s not important now, though.

“We’d been drinking, and Lance scheduled a workout at his place in the morning. I was being responsible by staying put. I’m trying here, Sunny. It’s been a long time since I’ve done the relationship thing, and it’s a lot different than it was in high school, you know?”

“You’re just figuring that out now?” She’s doing that thing she does with her hair when she’s nervous or upset, twirling it around her finger.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been doing my own thing for the past five years—”

“You mean playing the field.”

“I guess. If that’s what you want to call it.” It sounds a lot better than bunny banging. “There’s a learning curve involved here. I really like you. I wanna see if we can make this work. I’m asking you to be patient.”

“I have been patient. And tolerant. Put yourself in my sandals, Miller.”

“My feet are way too big for your sandals.”

“I’m being serious. How am I supposed to believe what you say when all the pictures of you out there make it look like the exact opposite?” She holds up her phone and scrolls through the posts of girls hugging me. There are a few new ones from the bar last night that I don’t remember. In one I’m doing shots with Dick Yeller and Flash Beaver. I’m not doing anything wrong, but the comments in the post make it seem like something happened that didn’t.

“Shit. Okay. That looks way worse than it is. I didn’t hook up with any of those girls, Sunny. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since we started talking. I promise I’m only using my hand when I’m horny.”

She’s staring, and she looks confused, or maybe disturbed, so I keep going, hoping to clarify.

“Last week I considered sticking my dick in a bag of marshmallows that I’d left in the sun because they’re soft and warm, but I figured it’d be a messy clean up and kinda fuckin’ weird, so I went with lotion instead, but I wanted to try it. Technically that means it’s not just my hand, but if I don’t use lotion I chafe, especially during the regular season when I’m always wearing a cup and all my gear. Is that too much detail?”

Sunny covers her mouth with her palm. I hope she doesn’t puke.

“It’s too much detail. It’s all the time I’m spending with Vi. Her lack of filter is rubbing off.”

A laugh bubbles up, and Sunny’s shoulders start to shake. “You know, that explains a lot.”

“Vi’s a bad influence.”

“No, she’s not. And that’s not what I’m talking about. When Alex was a teenager I used to wonder why he went through so much lotion, and so many pairs of socks.”

I don’t know why she’s bringing up her brother and his sock issues when we’re talking about me whacking off. “What do socks have to do with anything?”

“He used them when he . . .” She gestures below my waist and makes a whacking-off motion. “You know, to contain the explosion.”

Her cheeks go pink, and she looks away. Then she pokes at her cheek with her tongue, giving me the BJ signal. I don’t think it’s intentional, since the only thing she’s done so far is put her hand down my pants. Aw, fuck. I’m hard. And distracted.

“He blew his load in a sock?”

Her nose scrunches up in this cute way, similar to her reaction when I suggested we go for wings and beer, before I knew she didn’t eat animals.

“Man, he must have gone through an awful lot of socks.” When I was a teenager I blasted the cannon three times a day, if not more. Sometimes in high school when Barbie Claremont wore her little white sundress that didn’t fit dress code, I’d have to take a time out during second period so I could manage the rest of the morning. And that was after I’d already taken care of my morning problem in the shower.

“He went barefoot a lot. His sneakers smelled awful.”

“I bet. It’s kind of genius, eh?” It would cut down on the use of tissues, that’s for sure. “Wait. How do you know about Waters’ masturbating habits?”

“I used to do his laundry ’cause he always helped me with homework and stuff. But I stopped after I discovered his mountain of crusty socks.”

“I can see how that might happen. I usually stick to tissues or whacking it in the shower. I’ve tried aiming in the sink or the toilet, but the trajectory isn’t always predictable, and my dick isn’t bendy when I’m hard.” I’m still kneeling in front of her, so she can’t see my current wood. “We should probably talk about something else, yeah? Other than my whacking-off practices.” I’m not even sure how we got on this topic in the first place.

“Probably.” Sunny brushes the hair she’s twirling between her fingers across her lips. She never wears lipstick, so the soft strands sweep across without getting caught in any gunky, sparkly crap. Kissing Sunny is nice. I don’t end up looking like I made out with a circus clown, and she doesn’t taste like artificial candy flavor.

I lean closer until my chest is pressed against her knees and our faces are only inches apart. I can tell she thinks I’m going to kiss her. It’s what I want to do. But she still looks uncertain, and I’m not willing to make more mistakes than I already have.

Instead, I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger, watching the silky, golden strands slip around and around. I twist them until they fan out like a paintbrush and rub them over my lips to see what it feels like.

Sunny laughs. It’s a soft, breathy giggle. Cute. Sweet. A little uncomfortable, even. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. What are you doing?”

Her gaze shifts past me. “Thinking.”

“About what?” I drop her hair and run my fingertip along the contour of her bottom lip. She has fantastic lips. I haven’t had them on mine in more than two weeks. I want to fix that right now.

“About how I’m not sure what you want from me.”

I drop my hand and hold onto the armrests instead. “You still think I’m trying to play you?”

“You’re always talking the talk.”

“You think so, eh? Well, why don’t we look at the facts?” I drop that bit of Canadian in there to make her smile. She does, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appears.

“There you go again! You’re doing it right now.”

“Doing what?”

“Saying eh, being all cute.”

“You think I’m cute?”

She pushes at my chest with her toe. Annoyed. “You have the biggest ego in the world.”

I grab her ankle and run my hand up the outside of her calf. Her legs are amazing—long, toned, and sun-kissed. I want my hands and my mouth on every last inch of skin, starting at her ankle and ending at her mouth.

“Your brother has the biggest ego,” I tell her. “It’s at least ten times the size of mine.”

“He does not.”

“Fine. My ego is bigger. Let’s get back to the facts. How long have I been calling you?”

“Since you came to Toronto.”

“How many times have I come to Guelph to see you?”

“This is the third.”

“How many times have I tried to get in your pants?”

Sunny taps her lip with her finger. “You mean for sex?”

I release her leg and hold onto the arms of the chair again. My knees hurt from kneeling for so long, but I’m making a point, one I hope is going to win a lot of favors. “Yeah, I mean for sex.”