So, with our mouths still pressed together, Marc tried to step out of his jeans instead. Tried to pull the boots through the pant legs. In my head, I was screaming at him to hurry, because I couldn’t wait any longer. But in real life, my lips were still glued to his, because I couldn’t bear to part from him.
And what happened next may or may not have been my fault because I tried to help him by stepping on the pants between his feet and our legs somehow got tangled and I was lightheaded from the kissing and there’d been wine, and, well—
The blood gushing from his forehead after hitting the coffee table when he tripped over our feet and fell just didn’t look good at all.
Five
“...and so then he had to get nine stitches in his forehead,” I said, wrapping up my account of Couch Night Part Deux at girl’s brunch the next morning. I’d gone back and forth about whether I should tell my friends about Marc or not, but in the end, the story was too funny not to share. “And, the worst part? I got my pajama pants back on, but I never got a chance to grab a fresh shirt, since I’d used mine to stop the bleeding, so I went to the ER in my bra.”
“No way!” Scarlet exclaimed. Lizzie and Ava were already wiping tears from their eyes, they were laughing so hard.
“This is truly the best story you’ve ever told,” Lizzie said when she’d finished wheezing. “And you’ve told a lot of good stories. I never thought anything would top your chin meeting Marc’s dick.”
“Thank you. I think.” I was sure I’d told several stories that were at least just as good, but it was nice to know my friends were always prepared to be a good audience.
“Her story doesn’t add up, though, did you notice?” Ava said to the table. I could feel my cheeks heat and my eyes go wide, because of course I’d tried to get away with not mentioning Couch Night Part One. If I told Ava about that, I’d look like a serial cousin-kisser, and though I hoped to be, I wasn’t really.
Plus, I was certain she’d laugh about one time, but be less amused by two.
“I noticed,” Lizzie nodded. That traitor.
“One question—you wear a bra with your pajamas?” Scarlet asked, whispering as she said the word bra as if it were a dirty word.
“It was my Superman sports bra. It matched the panties.”
Maybe I’d sounded a touch too defensive because Ava immediately slammed her hand on the table like a judge’s gavel, making my coffee jump. “A-Ha! See? She wore matching underwear! No one ever wears matching underwear unless they’re hoping for it to be seen.”
“I was not hoping!” I said even more defensively than the last statement. “I was trying to be prepared. Just in case.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie said, bouncing the baby up and down on one knee. “Just in case Marc came home from his mother’s farm and said, ‘Hey girl, how about a cucumber to go with the wine’.”
Well. One can always dream. And we were one ER trip away from making that dream come true.
I waggled my eyebrows. “It felt like a pretty fat cucumber…”
Ava winced. “You guys! Gross! This is my cousin. I can’t think about him like this. His manhood can only be funny when it’s being chinned.”
“I’m sorry.” I probably would have sounded more apologetic if I wasn’t still cracking up as I said it. “But even you have to admit that Marc is one hot cousin.”
More than hot, actually, he was also interesting and funny. That’s what we like to call the total package, but I couldn’t say the word package around Ava after the cucumber comment. She’d smack me.
“I can admit that, actually. We’ve got good genes.”
Just then, Lizzie’s eyes widened. Frantically, she elbowed Ava. “Look who just walked in!”
“Oh God, this is going to be amazing,” Ava said gleefully. Then, waving her hand in the air, she yelled, “Hey, Marc! Over here!”
“Ha, ha,” I said flatly. I peered over my shoulder anyway, knowing full well I’d be met with Ava’s spirited accusation of Made you look!
Instead, I was met with the very subject of our delightful conversation, standing in front of Russell-the-barista, staring back at me with the same look of surprise I must have had. My stomach did a happy slow roll before my brain caught up to reminding it this was a terrible time to see him.
It was exactly my luck. I should never have doubted it.
I sunk into my chair wishing, not for the first time in my life, that I had the superpower of turning invisible at will. Right about now would be a fantastic time to snap my fingers and slink out in all my see-through shame. Alas! I was still solid, and here, and blushing furiously.
Marc gave a half-smile and a half-wave, seeming to be as unsure about joining us as I was. I half-heartedly shrugged at him. Then he motioned that he’d be over as soon as he placed his order. I wanted to be near him, but not like this. Why, oh why, was he even here?
“Madison, did he know you’d be here?” Lizzie asked suspiciously. Apparently all my thoughts were on display today.
“That’s what I was just wondering,” Scarlet gasped. “We come to the Doughnut Lounge all the time and this is the first time we’ve bumped into him. It seems awfully coincidental.”
“Coincidental, indeed,” Ava agreed smugly.
“Oh, hush. This is the closest coffee shop within walking distance to our house. It’s not really that weird.” Actually, I was slightly annoyed that the Doughnut Lounge wasn’t exclusively my place anymore.
But, also, I was flattered.
Had I let it slip that I was meeting the girls here today? Was it truly possible that Marc had come here in hopes of seeing me?
I liked that idea a lot, but surely it was me projecting. After all, I’d totally be stalking him were the tables turned.
Then I remembered who my friends are. What they were capable of. The lengths they’d go to make this story even better when they re-told it amongst themselves later. “Hey,” I said sternly, meeting the eyes of each of the girls around the table including sweet eight-month old Charlotte on her mother’s lap. “Do not let on that I told you anything. Anything. I mean it. I swear, if any of you says a word—”
I cut myself off because Marc was on his way over, with a to-go cup and a white carry-out bag. I let out a sigh of relief—he wasn’t planning on staying. Thank god. I mean, I wanted to look at him all day, but this was not the correct circumstance.
“Hi, ladies,” he said, standing over us. “I’ve walked by here so many times. This is the first time I’ve decided to come in. How is it?”
“It’s so good,” Lizzie said, grinning a little too wide. “Please, join us.”
He held up the sack and his drink. “Thanks, but I really was planning just to grab and go. So I’ll leave—”
“Damn!” Ava exclaimed, interrupting him. “What on earth happened to your forehead?”
I almost choked on my Old-Fashioned old-fashioned doughnut. You know—an old school doughnut with the flavors of the—well, of the bourbon cocktail.
Lizzie brought her hand to her mouth and started coughing to hide her laughter. I kicked her under the table and gave her the death glare. It gave me a place to put my eyes because there was no way in hell I was looking at him at that particular moment.