Twenty Eight

I don’t think this is keeping it lowkey.

I can feel Keri’s penetrative gaze on me, and it’s not helping the blush I’m trying to keep off my face.

“I’m good,” I say, shoving Ben’s hand away when he holds his fork to my mouth, asking me to have a taste of his sausage. Yes, he said that out loud, with a wicked glint in his eyes and a slight lift to the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe you’ll like mine better,” Adam says from my other side, his fork appearing in front of my mouth. “It’s quite delicious. Go ahead, wrap your mouth around–”

“Fuck off,” Ben tells him.

“I was not talking to you,” Adam tells him, and then he wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Isaac, whose sausage do you want?”

“Nobody’s.”

“You have to choose one.”

“I don’t like sausages.”

“Now you are just lying.”

“They are too salty.” I didn’t mean to encourage this double-entendre conversation, but I can’t resist.

“That they are,” Adam agrees. “Especially when they’ve got some sauce on them, right? The sauce is especially salty