“You did what?” Zellman’s hands fisted in his shaggy hair as he gaped at me.
I’d just finished relaying the entire story, while both Jordan and Cross kept quiet. Zellman was anything but.
“She’s not going to give it up to me anymore. I won’t be able to see the V anymore. My times in that p***y are gone. Man, Bren. Really? She felt so good. Those boobs.” He raised his hands, as if squeezing them in the air. “God. They felt so good. So firm.” He groaned, slumping onto the couch in Jordan’s warehouse/shed.
Jordan had talked his dad into letting him renovate so it was half a party shed, and half a place for us to hang out or live (if need be). There were couches, a bed in the office area, and a large screen mounted on the side wall. Another corner had been turned into a gym. A punching bag
