“What did you say?” His voice is eerily calm.
One of them loses the cocky edge. He elbows the other in the ribs. I assume this may have something to do with them being skinny and dorky and Alex being broad and angry. Nervous guy’s buddy doesn’t get the hint. Instead he holds up his hand like he’s waiting for a high five.
“Spread the love, man.” He must be drunk. It’s the only explanation for his level of stupidity.
“Uh, Gene, we better go.” Skinny guy eyes Alex nervously.
“Wait.” Gene holds up a finger in his much smarter friend’s face. “It can’t be. No way!” He squints and pushes his black rimmed glasses up his nose. “Oh, dude, it totally is. Alex Waters!”
Word to the wise—NHLers shouldn’t hang out near colleges.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Alex’s irritation is evident.
“S-sorry.” The guy who isn’t an idiot hauls Gene away.
Once they’re gone, Alex shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away. It’s just . . . it been a while since I’ve seen you, and you taste really good, and it makes me want . . . yeah, anyway . . . sorry.”
“Oh, uh . . . it’s okay.” I wave my hand around like it’s no big deal. I enjoyed the dry hump as much as he did. Maybe more.
“So we’re still on for tomorrow night?”
The question confuses me at first. It’s not like it’s his fault a couple of drunk kids walked by while we were making out. Against the side of my SUV.
Alex rushes on. “Please don’t back out on me. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
It never crossed my mind, not even for a half second, to flake out on the date. “I won’t as long as you drop the perfect gentleman crap. That’s a deal breaker. My boobs won’t tolerate it.”
“I love your boobs, they’re so fun.” His smile is panty wetting. “I’ll pick them up at seven?”
We’re so weird. I like it. “Seven is great.”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect.” I return the smile. I’ll be counting down the hours until we can resume our make out session.
“I should let you go home.”
Alex holds my door open as I climb in. If I’d been thinking, I would’ve started it while we made out. However, such actions may well have led to an invitation into the backseat where he could have demonstrated how much better bigger is. Those drunk kids would’ve gotten the free show of a lifetime.
I turn the engine over. Alex waits patiently in the freezing cold for me to roll the window down manually.
“Thanks for the latte and the cake.”
“Anytime.”
I motion him closer and kiss his cheek, right where his dimple lives. It pops out at the invitation, and if it wasn’t so dark, I’d swear he was blushing. He’s as sweet as the dessert I polished off in the café. “See you tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The 4Runner makes an awful grating noise as I shift into gear. I should get it checked out.
Later on, Alex sends me a cute text to make sure my SUV hasn’t exploded and left me stranded on the side of the road. After forty-five minutes of texting, I say goodnight and shut off my phone, otherwise I’ll be tempted to message him all night. If I’m going out with him tomorrow, I have work to do. By work, I mean some beaverscaping.
It’s been a month since I visited my waxer. I’m currently living up to the furry nickname below the belt. I must return it to its mostly naked status in case Alex should want to pet it, or kiss it, or bury his wood in it.
I root around in my bathroom cabinet for my waxing kit. Typically, I only mess around with my legs, but this constitutes an emergency. The date is too last minute to schedule a waxing appointment.
I heat the wax in the microwave. Since I’m used to putting it on my legs rather than my cooter, I don’t account for how damn hot it is. I have to wait twenty minutes for it to cool, so I can work on ripping out the beaver pelt without burning myself.
Mimicking the actions of my waxer, I lie on the bathmat, apply the wax, and give a firm, quick tug. It hurts like a son of a bitch.
Usually my waxer leaves a wee triangle I trim every week, except it’s all wonky now, so I’m forced to rip that out, too. On the final strip, I mess up and redo the same spot, resulting in a mottled purple patch. It looks like I’ve been punched in the beave. Verdict: Beaverscaping is dangerous.
Coffee is my best friend in the morning. I slept like crap, too anxious and irritated by my excitement over the impending date. I enlist Charlene to come with me to Victoria’s Secret at lunch. I’m not planning to have sex with Alex again. I simply want to be prepared with a new bra and panties set should all my clothes blow off in a freak wind storm.