“As real as my twenty-inch cock. Care to come in and see it?” He takes a step to the side and sweeps his arm from one side to the other, motioning for me to come in. “Excuse me?” I nearly choke on my tongue and take a step back as I envision him pulling down his pants and whipping out his anaconda. “Are you insane or something?” “Inviting you inside is what we folks down here call southern hospitality, sweetheart.” He flashes me one of those smirks I’d write about in my novels where the girl’s panties instantly combust, and although this man is sex on a stick, I’m not falling for it. “I do not want to come inside and see your python-sized cock, okay? Just give me the keys, and I’ll find my way around.” He starts laughing. Laughing. The asshole. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t talking about my python-sized cock—although you aren’t wrong on how big it is—but I was literally talking about my rooster, Henry.”