LARRY SAID I aced the press conference. He had no idea what was going on inside my brain or should I say-sex organs. Sitting next to Aiden Patrickson was a lesson in unfulfilled desire. The man smells. His pores leak some kind of pheromone that grabs your insides, twists, and lights them on fire. Who knew? Most definitely not me. Whatever he bathes in, sprays on, or shampoos with is one hundred percent nuclear. All I could think about was licking him to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. He might have actually helped with the press conference because the butterflies disappeared as soon as I inhaled him.
I'm standing in a toilet stall inside the arena with only a few minutes to spare, and what am I doing? I'm using my phone to Google Aiden Patrickson to see if he sponsors a cologne line. Why, might you ask? Because I'm ordering a case of the stuff and demanding any man I date wear the stuff twenty-four-seven.
