Page 21 of Grief & Glitter

“No, someone looked at Taftwell, removed four letters, and decided their work was done.”

“That’s generally how hockey nicknames work.”

“Bob doesn’t have a nickname.”

I shrugged. “No one shortens Bob’s last name to anything. He’s just Bob.”

“Nicknames should have imagination.”

“Ry is short for Ryan. Should I call you that?”

He fake-gasped. “My name doesn’t require improvement.”

I stared at him. He stared back.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, and his mouth twitched.

“Thank you.” He collected some chicken with his chopsticks. “So, we need something better.”

“We really don’t.”

“We do. Let me think.” His gaze moved slowly over me. “Giant.”

“No.”

“Stretch.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Tree.”

“Ryan.”

“Redwood?”

“Why am I a tree?”

“You’re huge.”

“I’m six-four.”

“Exactly. Freakishly enormous compared to little ol’ me.” He fluttered his eyelashes, and my cock plumped up, which was some weird Pavlovian response to everything he did that was remotely cute. Ryan chewed thoughtfully, studying me with narrowed eyes. “Tufty.” His face lit up. “Oh, my God. Tufty.”

I nearly choked on a noodle. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No one is calling me Tufty.”

“I am absolutely calling you Tufty.”

“I won’t answer.”

“You will.”

“I won’t.”

He said it again, then a third time, and when I didn’t look up, he kept saying it until I finally lifted my head.