Frog Hog: Valen and Hutch (A Frog Hog Novella Book 1) by Rachel Robinson

Author:Rachel Robinson [Robinson, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RACHEL ROBINSON
Published: 2017-05-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Valen

He gave me an Honest War, and I drained everything I wanted out of him. He’s either too skilled at lying or he really has nothing of significance to hide. Like Greer told me, I asked about his little dog. He said he loves it, and that it stays at a boarding facility during his training trips. I told him it didn’t make sense to have a dog and he explained he’s grown attached to it. That’s that. Man’s best friend: check.

Next up was his most recent ex-girlfriend. She only lasted a few weeks and she never met his friends. He said she was too young—still in college, and wanted to party more than she was interested in meeting his parents. He was her trophy, a beautiful play toy. Something most men would be interested in, but not Hutch. God forbid you use him for his cock and muscles.

We ended the video chat by having cybersex and I won’t lie, it was awkward seeing him when he arrived home a couple days later. I had to look him in the eye after I twerked in his face. It brought us closer, I think. My bad dancing and his Honest War. Now, we’re at dinner with his friends.

My Spanx are so fucking tight I feel like a sausage stuffed in casing. Except I won’t taste as good as sausage. When Hutch peels me out of these things tonight I’ll smell like polyester and vagina had a baby named, oh-my-god-stop-put-it-away. Taking a sip of my cocktail, I resign myself to removing these underwear in the bathroom, before a shower. Alone. Sucking in a deep ass breath, I remind my body who the fucking boss is around here.

I’m surrounded by Hutch’s married friends and their wives at a huge circular dinner table in a nice restaurant in the down town area of San Diego. Had I known his friends liked to chat about everything under the sun, for multiple hours, before ordering food, I would have chosen a different outfit. As it stands, I’ve had a miniscule piece of flatbread that was absent of cheese, and three strong drinks that had more vodka than tonic.

“Tell us about your job, Valen. God, I love your name. It’s so…different,” A woman named Chrisella says. I mean, there’s a joke there. About her name being a man’s name with an ‘ella’ at the end, but I’m not drunk enough yet, and Hutch looks so proud to have me here, that I’m not ready to cross that line in the girlfriend sand.

I drain my drink to ice and then give her the PG version of what I do for work. The layperson’s definition told in a way that leaves little room for question. I’ve perfected it over the years so it’s standard operating procedure. “Oh, and my Mom and Dad loved Van Halen. I was conceived while Runnin’ with the Devil was playing in the background. It’s fitting,” I explain, trying to keep a full-blown smile off my face.

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