And then there it was—a huge bumblebee, bobbing on the unseen flower highway. It buzzed my ear, dive-bombed my neck, laughed in my face, and flew right down between my outthrust boobs.
I instantly became a flailing, screaming, beating-at-my-chest ball of freak-out. I tore off my shirt to get at the bee and ran in circles around the tree, slapping at my bra while shrieking at the top of my lungs.
“Roxie? Roxie! What the hell are you—”
“Beeeeeeeeeeee!” I shouted as he stopped me cold, closing his hands around my arms and trying—but not hard enough—to not look down at my tits, now struggling to stay inside their cups.
“Okay, calm down. It won’t sting if you calm—”
“Yes it will! Bees are assholes!” I screamed, shimmying like Charo and trying to break away.
“Are you allergic?”
“No!”
“Then stop squirming!”
“No!”
“Settle down, please.”
“Fuck off!” I thrashed as the bee buzzed inside my bra. “Beeeeee!”
My primeval brain kicked in, and suddenly a vertical escape seemed to be my only option. I climbed Leo like a totem pole. He got a mouthful of abdomen as I surged onto his shoulders. I wrapped my legs around his head, thighs to ears, and arched backward into the tree. With bark at my back and a scream at my lips, I struck at my bra again. The bee looked at me, and I looked at him, and he glared.
Though I’ve never been stung by a bee before, I’ve always had a fear of all things buzzy. I’ve left garden parties, eaten inside at barbecues, and refused to hold flowers at an outdoor wedding once, all because of one tiny buzz.
I swatted at my boobs again once more, and finally succeeded in knocking him clear. He zigged and zagged drunkenly a few times, throwing me a nasty glance over his bee shoulder, then buzzed off into the forest to do whatever he was doing before the crazy lady decided to implode. “Ugh,” I said, shivering.
“Ugh?” a voice said from below.
I remembered where I was, what had happened, and where Leo now had his face. Looking down, I brushed his sandy blond hair back from his brow to see his eyes staring up into mine.
Oh. I was so mortified. “I’m so sor—”
“Ah gawna seh oo donna,” came the muffled reply, and I scooted further back against the tree, freeing his lips from my rather short shorts.
“Sorry?” I sang out, trying to make this not at all awkward.
“I said”—he grasped my hands—“I’m gonna”—giving me a little bounce to get him out from under—“set you”—I flew up in the air before he caught me neatly—“down now.”
I stood in his arms, shirtless, hair full of bark, my chest red from my slapping. He was covered in mud from my scrambling shoes, breathing heavily, and keeping his hands firmly at my waist, holding me at a safe distance. He shook his head. “You’re a bit of a train wreck, aren’t you?”
I puffed a bit of hair away from my face. “Choo choo?”
Thank goodness, he laughed.
Then he gallantly turned around while I put my T-shirt back on, which was sweet, considering he’d already had a substantial peek at the goods. Then we began walking back toward the Jeep.
“So what’s with the bees?” he asked.
“Where?” I asked, automatically ducking. My heart rate spiked at the thought that the bee had returned to get his revenge.
“Easy there, he’s long gone.”
“Good,” I said, scanning the area.
“He’s probably telling all of his buddies to steer clear of the lady in the woods in her underwear.”
“Hey!” I said, giving him an elbow. “It was just my bra.”
He just shook his head and chuckled. “No more nature for you today.” He placed his hand on the small of my back again and guided me toward the road.
It was quiet, just the sounds of our feet crunching through the underbrush. I looked up at him, his face almost in shadow. It was past dusk; we’d been out in the woods for a while. The fireflies were beginning to turn on, sparking here and there in the twilight. We’d spent the better part of the afternoon together, and it had flown by.