Текст книги "Reckless"

Автор книги: Devon Hartford

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter 18

SAMANTHA

Ten days later, I stood behind the counter of the local Grab-n-Dash, an all night convenience store. It was still early in the afternoon, but I was already zombie-tired and had raccoon circles around my eyes.

When the manager had hired me, he’d said I couldn’t work the late shift because it was too dangerous. So he gave me the afternoon shift.

Nothing like two jobs and four classes and tons of homework to tire a girl out.

The neon-urine colored uniform shirt with the Grab-n-Dash logo I had to wear was a nightmare unto itself. Made from some sort of material that only bunched and wrinkled, it made me look like a Chinese paper lantern, or the person with the lowest score on Project Runway’s alternative materials challenge.

So not flattering.

Worse, the shirt trapped odors like a sponge, and I had to hand-wash it in my kitchen sink every night after work or else it smelled like grilled hot dogs.

My manager said the bright color was exciting for the customers. Yeah, maybe if it triggered seizures. I’m telling you, looking at it too long made your eyes vibrate. Beyond that, I couldn’t see what was so exciting about it.

Oh yeah. I forgot to mention the equally glowing Grab-n-Dash baseball cap. My pony tail stuck out the opening in the back.

Super sexy.

But hey, I was getting paid nine bucks an hour to whore out the Grab-n-Dash mantra to everyone who walked through the doors.

“Welcome to Grab-n-Dash. How can I brighten your day?”

I had to say it every damn time.

Wasn’t the blinding yellow shirt and cap enough?

My customers were teenagers off from school during the first half of my shift, and people coming home from work during the second.

The school kids always stared at me. I was never entirely sure why. One of them, who couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, talked like a cross between rappers 50 Cent and Eminem. I dubbed him Eminickle, because he was about a tenth the size of 50 Cent. Eminickle asked me out every time he came in. Flattered, but no. He hadn’t even hit puberty, from what I could tell.

The working stiffs were either angry and clearly irritated after a long day of work, or exhausted and mellow because they were too tired to care.

All were jonesing for sugary snacks, cigarettes, energy drinks, lottery tickets, or beer. The high school kids wanted beer and cigarettes too, but they were S.O.L.

I totally felt their pain. I suspected working at the Grab-n-Dash would inevitably turn me into a chain smoker or closet drunk. Maybe my parents were onto something by making me get a crappy job.

I hated them.

:-P

When the shop was slow, things were no better. Like now. Grab-n-Dash was a wasteland. Devoid of all activity. I stared at the clock hanging on the far wall.

The second hand seemed frozen.

I waited for it to tick. Was it stuck? I didn’t remember it being stuck. It had worked earlier. Come on, move, stupid second hand! I stared at it as hard as I could. It wasn’t going anywhere. I kept staring. One of us was going to blink sooner or later.

MOVE!

Nothing.

MOOOOOOOOOVE!!!!

Click.

Finally! What took you so damn long?

Okay, one second down. How many more to go? I did a quick mental approximation. My dad was right. My math skills were always handy. Twenty thousand? I wasn’t going to make it to the end of my shift at this rate.

Amongst sundry automotive items like motor oil, wiper blades, and air fresheners, we also sold radiator fluid. You know, antifreeze. Customers actually bought it now and then. I’d heard it was sweet, and dogs would drink it, not realizing it was lethally poisonous, and it killed you slowly and painfully.

I considered pouring myself a glass.

Mmmm.

So neon green. I bet it would match my shirt and cap.

Groan.

I stared at the ICEE machines. They hummed hypnotically, always tempting me to nap while standing up. They weren’t helping my focus. But I refused to fall under their sleepy spell. That didn’t stop me from thinking about their cool sugary treasure waiting to tickle my tongue.

I’d always wanted to do that thing where you stuck your head under the spigot and filled your mouth until you got brain freeze.

I glanced from side to side. The store was empty.

Now would be a good time to try.

As I walked out from behind the counter to give it a try, the front door’s alarm-bell bing-bonged as a new customer walked inside.

I skulked back to my post at the register. My ICEE high would have to wait.

In the past, I’d thought the sound of those bing-bong bells was kind of cute. I remember, whenever I’d walk through the doors in some random store and heard that bing-bong, I’d go back-and-forth a bunch of times, just to hear the sound. The cheery bell sounded cartoony and funny to me. I’d never understood why store clerks always glared at me when I did it.

Now I did.

I hated that fucking bell.

During peak hours, it went off every two seconds. Recently, I’d started hearing it in my sleep.

I focused on my new customer, who was still nothing more than a silhouette in the blinding afternoon sunlight coming through the front windows.

I couldn’t make out any details yet.

On my first day of work, I’d felt ethically obligated to warn my boss that the name Grab-n-Dash was basically an invitation to shoplift. He utterly denied it.

Since that day, I knew for a fact that at least ten candy bars, seven bottles of water, and a bottle of aspirin had been stolen. Did I catch the snack burglars? No. My manager told me about it at the end of my first week.

I encouraged him to change the name of the store.

He said no.

I had shrugged.

He had jabbed his finger in my face, almost jamming it up my nostril. “No more shoplifters, young lady!” He had very bushy eyebrows.

I had almost laughed, because of his eyebrows, but I wanted to keep my job. Because I totally loved it.

Sigh.

Anyway, now I was hawk-eyed for shoplifters.

Everyone who came in was a candidate for Crook of the Week.

As the new customer ventured further into the store, I could finally make him out. He was a disheveled homeless man, grimy from head to toe. He moved so slowly, I didn’t think he’d try to nab anything while I was watching. But I was going to need to mop up after he left. Ew.

He shuffled through the aisles, literally walking up and down each one. Twice. He was doing laps, almost like a rat in a maze. That’s how I felt when I was here.

The man continued to wander aimlessly.

Was he lost?

I hoped not, otherwise I was afraid I’d have to call an exterminator.

Thankfully, he eventually made it to the refrigerators in back. He grabbed a twelve-pack of beer. Would it be his lunch, because he was a late riser, or an early dinner? It didn’t matter to me. More power to him.

He shuffled up to the register.

“Welcome to Grab-n-Dash. How can I brighten your day?” Yeah, I had to say it to everyone.

He grunted.

Whatever.

I was supposed to card anyone who looked under the age of sixty. I’m pretty sure this guy was over a hundred.

I rang up his twelver of Budweiser.

“$6.99, please,” I beamed.

The guy was squinting at me. They all did. It was the shirt. It had no brightness control. Deal with it.

The man reached into his pants, and I mean, into his pants, like, right down the front, into his cash drawer, if you know what I’m saying.

He pulled out a greasy wad of bills. Like, literally greasy. Dark, stained like they’d been buried in a deposit of petroleum under the earth’s crust for at least a billion years, the same amount of time the bills must have spent in this man’s crusty pants.

He tore off a small wad and dropped it on the counter.

Um, no?

I really needed one of those radiation-proof containment-boxes you see in TV shows, the ones with the windows where you stick your arms inside the rubber gloves attached to the sides? Yeah, those. Maybe I could ask my manager to build one around the Grab-n-Dash cash counter? Or not.

I eyed the black wad on the counter with some measure of revulsion. By some measure, I meant a number higher than modern mathematics has yet been able to count.

Was it even money? Did I have to find out?

I wondered if I could just pick it up with the hot dog tongs and drop it in the register? I would totally throw the tongs away after using them instead of hanging them back on the side of the hot-dog griller. I wasn’t gross. But I suspected my manager would freak out if he found the tongs in the garbage. I didn’t need him yelling at me and adding more stress to my life.

I needed another solution.

I looked between the man, his dirty money, the man, his dirty money.

I couldn’t bring myself to touch the blackened ball.

“I need change,” he rasped.

I was ready to sob.

Then, genius struck.

I grabbed my purse from under the counter and pulled out my own comparatively immaculate cash. “You know what?! Today is your lucky day!!”

He blinked.

“Your beer is free!!!!” I sang.

“Did I win something?” he grunted doubtfully.

“No! I’m paying for it!” I smiled as widely as possible, until my cheeks hurt. I’m pretty sure what I was doing was illegal, since it was beer. Fuck it. My generosity was above the law. I was the Robin Hood of beer, and this man would pay for beer over my dead body.

“Oh, I can’t take your money, young lady,” he rasped, then nudged the wad toward me with his grimy hands. The ball of bills tumbled toward me, almost toppling over the edge of the counter.

I winced, thinking I would have to pick it up. I reminded myself I still had those hot-dog tongs in case of emergency.

“I can pay,” he rasped.

“Oh, uh, I meant, YOU’RE THE WINNER!!!”

“Huh?” he was confused.

“You’re the, uh, millionth customer today! And every millionth customer gets a free twelve pack of Budweiser!” I’m sure I sounded as sane as Charles Manson at that point.

“Really,” he smiled. “You don’t say?”

“I do say, I really do!” I grit my teeth into the biggest smile I could. “Take it!”

“Thank you, young lady.” He picked up the twelve-pack.

Was he going to take the money? I think it was burning a hole into the countertop. Because it was radioactive. “Your money, sir? You don’t want to forget your money!” Please don’t forget your money!!!

He smiled at me, revealing one tooth. “Thank you, young lady. You’re a peach. You really are.”

“You’re welcome!!” I grimaced.

He set the twelve-pack down, scooped up the wad, pulled the waistband of his dirty cash drawer open, and dropped his wad inside. I know, it was as wrong as it sounded.

The poor man shambled outside.

Toward the end of my shift, the busy after-work crowd had thinned to nothing. I eyed the ICEE machine.

I really needed a brain freeze, otherwise my brain was going to instruct me to drink that antifreeze before the end of my shift. Again, I checked that the coast was clear. I tiptoed over to the ICEE dispenser. Not that anyone would’ve heard me.

I leaned my head under it. It was sort of awkward, but I was determined to get my mouth beneath the spout without wrapping my lips around it. Blue-raspberry, here I come. I was going to drown myself in it and brain freeze away my boredom.

I grabbed the lever with my hand and—

“Sam, what are you doing?!” Romeo laughed.

I twisted around and managed to bang my forehead against the spigot. “Ow!!”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my forehead.

“Shouldn’t you use a cup?” he smiled.

“Uh…we have to pay for them.”

“You don’t get free ICEEs?”

“No.”

“Your boss is a miser.”

“He has bushy eyebrows,” I said. “Didn’t Scrooge have bushy eyebrows? I think the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future visited me today.”

“Oh, Sam, that’s terrible. This situation definitely calls for an ICEE,” Romeo smiled and leaned under the blue-raspberry spout. He turned the lever before I could stop him. Blue-raspberry funneled into his mouth. “Ahh, eah, at’s oooo ooood.” He sounded exactly like Homer Simpson.

I broke into laughter.

Romeo kept going, swallowing more and more and more ICEE slush. “Stop, Romeo! You’re going to hurt yourself!” I pushed the lever closed.

Romeo stood back up, an ICEE-eating grin on his face. His eyes were watering.

“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.

Looking around nervously, he choked out a cough.

He looked back at me, eyes glazed.

“Romeo? Are you okay?” I was getting worried.

He blinked several times forcefully, then his face pinched to a pinpoint. “Owwwwww!!” he hollered in extreme pain. “My head!!!!”

I burst out laughing. Sometimes, when doing something stupid, it was safer to let the idiots go first. “Do you want some hot coffee or something?” I offered compassionately.

Romeo shook his head like a wet dog. His lips flapped and he made a “Gugga-gugga-gugga” noise, then winced and jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “My eyes feel like someone’s stabbing them!”

“Let me get you some hot water.” I filled a coffee cup with hot water, then added cold water from the soda machine until it wasn’t scalding. “Drink this.”

Romeo gulped it down.

“Hold some in your mouth,” I said, “to warm your, ah, brain?”

He did. A look of relief washed over his face.

“Don’t choke on it,” I cautioned.

He swallowed it carefully down.

“Better?”

He nodded. “Remind me never to do that again.”

“Will do. Where’s Kamiko?” She and Romeo always seemed to be joined at the hip, but not in the way we all know Romeo liked to join at hips.

“Kamiko has some lab for Biology. I think she said they’re dissecting unicorns today. So, how’s the old Grab-n-Dash treating you, Sam?”

I returned to my seat behind the cash register. “Fantastic,” I said sarcastically.

“Sorry,” he said sympathetically. “Are you at least managing to get some studying done?”

“No. I’m not supposed to. Anyway, it’s usually pretty busy. I doubt I could concentrate.”

“Sam, I know you need the money, because of your parents and all, and I’d totally offer to have you live with me in the dorms, but I wouldn’t want you ruining my reputation. I mean, if people saw a girl sleeping in my room, they’d think I was straight,” he said, as if sniffing dirty sweat socks.

I giggled. “Thanks anyway. I’m doing okay. As long as I don’t have any other bad news drop into my lap this quarter, I’ll be fine,” I smiled nervously.

Because, it was possible that things could get worse, no matter how unlikely that seemed.

I crossed my fingers and sighed to myself. I sure hoped not. I didn’t think I could handle anything else.

When business started to pick up, Romeo left. I thanked him for keeping me company, but he knew I needed to work.

Despite the frenzy of customers over the remainder of my shift, a sense of loneliness permeated my bones and a growing worry filled my belly. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I texted Christos, but never received a reply.

When I finished my shift at seven, I called him. But all I received in answer was a text.

Slammed busy at studio. Talk later.

I really, really hoped this wasn’t becoming a routine with us.

SAMANTHA

Another week had gone by and nothing had changed. Christos was always busy at his studio. I was always busy at work, or in class, or studying.

I was overwhelmed. I slept poorly and my stress level was pushed to the max. It was starting to mess with my head. I noticed it recently in sculpting class.

It was that stupid Hunter Blakeley.

Not that he was doing anything different. He still hit on me with annoying regularity, but I blew him off with equal frequency. It wasn’t him.

It was the sculpting.

Sculpting was some kind of crazy voodoo magic, I’m telling you. Making a sculpture of a naked person standing right in front of you connected you to their body in an intimate way, whether you wanted it to or not. In Life Drawing last quarter, this hadn’t been a problem. One reason was that none of the male models had been hot, other than Christos.

Yes Hunter was hot, but I think sculpting him made my anxiety worse than if I’d been drawing him.

In drawing, you put down charcoal on paper in a visual representation of what you were looking at. Your contact with the two-dimensional drawing surface was through the tip of your pencil.

Sculpting, on the other hand, required that you use your hands and fingers to shape the three-dimensional sculpture. To touch it. Lately, I’d started noticing that weird voodoo magic at work. On me.

The more I worked over my sculpture of Hunter, touching it, massaging it, and caressing the clay into an emulation of Hunter’s musculature, the more it sort of felt like, well…like I was touching Hunter. And I had the eerie feeling he somehow felt it. Stupid, I know.

The moment I finally realized this, I had gasped quietly and pulled my fingers away from my sculpture, as if I’d been touching his naked flesh.

I had been about to reshape the inner thigh of Sculpture Hunter’s right leg, right up near his…yes. His package, which hung from my sculpture in a 1/3rd scale representation of his actual…package.

You had to include the clay package because if you didn’t, it constantly threw your proportions off. Most of the other students had a little clay blob to represent the man bits, as did I. Romeo, of course, had made his totally lifelike down to every mushroomy detail.

But even with my blobby, nondescript lump hanging between Sculpture Hunter’s legs, there was that final, distinctive moment when I’d felt like I was about to bump the side of my hand into Hunter’s actual package as I slid my fingers between the thighs of Sculpture Hunter.

I suddenly stopped myself, feeling like I was about to cheat on Christos somehow. I couldn’t explain it.

Was I attracted to Hunter? I shuddered.

No.

There was no way.

I took a deep breath and looked around the room at the other students. All were busy working away, their faces intense with concentration.

Was I the only one having trouble with this part?

I steeled myself. I could do this. It was just a class assignment, right? Just lumps and blobs of clay. Nothing more.

Right?

I took a deep breath and tried again. I ran my fingers up the inside of Sculpture Hunter’s legs. It wasn’t so bad. I pressed my fingers more firmly against Sculpture Hunter’s thighs, right near his blobby package.

That was when I noticed Hunter smirking right at me. Like he’d felt my touch.

OMG! Had he?

I yanked my hands away.

My face boiled with embarrassment as I grabbed a sculpting tool and busily worked over Sculpture Hunter’s left foot. I felt my cheeks flashing like fire engine lights.

That big toe on Sculpture Hunter was WAY too big! Better trim it down before it ruined everything! Big toes! Only thinking about big toes!

I tried not to notice that Hunter’s smile had widened.

Oh, boy. He’d caught me good. I’m sure he would take this as an invitation to hit on me with new purpose.

The moment class was over that day, I bolted out of the classroom. I needed to get away from everyone.

I didn’t even wait for Romeo.

I needed some fresh air.

Badly.

I feared something monumental in my life was shifting. I didn’t understand it at all. But I knew one thing:

I didn’t like the feeling that was making my hands shake one bit.

Change was coming.

SAMANTHA

When I reached the Student Center, I texted Madison to see if she was around campus still.

At the libraryshe texted back, fourth floor.

C u there in five.

I walked to the library and took the elevator to the fourth floor. The Main Library had windows all the way around and had a great view of all of San Diego. Studying in it was like having your own corner office in a high-rise building. The skies were clear and I could see for miles.

I circled the fourth floor until I found Madison in one of the study rooms. At this point in the quarter, there was little competition for study space. I walked in and closed the door behind me. Madison was surrounded by her books and her laptop on the large table.

“What up, Mads!”

“Hey, Sam!” she smiled. “How’s SDU’s star artist doing today?” She held up her hand for a high-five.

I gave it a friendly smack. “Artist, maybe,” I sighed as I sat down. “I don’t know about the star part.”

“Don’t deny it, Sam, you know you’re totally rockin’ the lady balls since changing your major to Art.”

I grimaced. “Okay, I know some women say ‘lady balls’ all the time nowadays, but seriously, can you explain it? I mean, do guys go around saying ‘Dude, you’re totally rocking the man clitoris!’ or ‘Dude, I’ve got brass man-labia hanging between my legs!’? No! Because no guy would ever say that. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Madison smiled thoughtfully. “You’re right, Sam. You’re absolutely right. No more lady balls for either one of us.” We exchanged another high-five. “Maybe you should change your major to Gender Studies,” she joked.

“You might be onto something.”

Madison giggled. “But I have been with one guy who had a man-clitoris, or a very small willy-nilly. Emphasis on the nilly part.”

“You so did not say that!” I guffawed.

Another high-five.

“It’s not Jake, is it?” I asked, suddenly mortified.

“No!” Madison protested. “Jake totally has man balls and a man dick. No woman parts whatsoever.”

“Oh, phew. I was ready to feel bad for you.”

“Nope, Jake’s good to go. And go, and go, and go.”

I leaned into her, giggling.

“Keep it down in here, this is a library and some people are trying to study,” Hunter said, his head sticking through the door.

 I frowned, “What are you doing here?” How the hell did he find me? Um, stalker?

“I needed to look something up,” he smiled.

“You’re not even a student here,” I said.

“Am I missing something?” Madison asked.

“Oh, uh, this is Hunter Blakeley,” I said sourly, “he’s the model in my sculpting class.”

He took that as his cue to walk completely into the study room and close the door behind him.

“Ooh,” Madison twinkled her nose, “does that mean Sam gets to look at you naked?”

“Mads!” I bumped her knee under the table with mine.

She took the hint and said no more.

Hunter didn’t waste any time picking up the slack. “It’s all part of the job description.”

“What is your job, anyway?” I asked. “Do you actually do anything besides model for Bittinger’s class and stalk me?”

“Of course I do,” he said casually.

“Do what?” I sneered. “Stalk tons of other uninterested young women?”

“No,” he smiled, undeterred, “outside of class, I model for all kinds of things. Some pretty high profile work.”

“Like what?” Madison asked innocently.

He chuckled. “You’re probably not going to believe this…”

He was probably right.

“You know how when you buy underwear for guys,” he grinned proudly, “there’s always a photo of some dude with amazing abs and a huge, uh, package printed on the, uh, package?”

“Yeah?” I said. Not that I bought men’s underwear, but I’d seen the “packages” he was talking about.

“I’m that guy,” Hunter smiled.

I frowned. It seemed too ridiculous to be true. But I knew firsthand that he was certainly large enough to fill a pair of briefs.

“You’re the package guy?” Madison gawked.

“Totally.” He nodded and smiled. “I still have residuals coming in from underwear I did four years ago.”

The study room had windows that faced into the library, so other students could see us inside. Hunter glanced around cautiously, as if he was about to reveal secret intelligence vital to the preservation of the United States of America, and didn’t want any stray SDU students hearing what he had to say and selling the information to the Taliban. When Hunter was sure the coast was clear, he leaned toward Madison and me and muttered conspiratorially, “The dirty secret none of the underwear manufacturers want you to know is, I’m ‘that guy’ for all of them.” He stood up to his full height, which was over six feet, and nodded, very proud of himself.

I rolled my eyes. I was in the midst of a celebrity. Groan. I considered begging him for an autograph. But…no.

“I also do ads for fitness equipment,” Hunter winked.

“Sorry, haven’t seen any of those,” I said. Hunter was starting to strike me as the sort of guy who spent more time in front of a mirror than any woman ever would.

“Me neither,” Madison said, picking up on my vibe.

“Well, I also do runway work,” he said, “but that’s seasonal.”

When I pictured Hunter doing runway work, I imagined him at the airport with the DJ headphones and the glowing red sticks, waving in jumbo jets, wearing only tighty-whiteys and work boots. I snickered, but tried to cover it up.

Hunter flashed his amber eyes at us. “What? Did I miss something?” he smiled hopefully.

Mine and Madison’s deflating interest was shriveling up his ego. I realized we needed to let him off the hook before he shriveled up any further and lost his dick modeling contracts.

Crinkling my nose, I said, “We kind of need to study, Hunter.”

“I can come back later,” he offered hopefully. “Maybe walk you to your car?”

As nice as the guy seemed, he tried way too hard, and he didn’t listen. I think I’d told him I wasn’t interested, oh, I don’t know, every time I saw him? Okay, one more time.

“Hunter, you’re a sweet guy. But I’m not going out with you, no matter how many times you offer to walk me to my car. Please respect the fact that I have a boyfriend.”

“I do. But you have the wrong one.”

I dropped my head into my forearms on the table. I had walked right into that one. “Please, Hunter, I’m begging you—”

“That’s more like it,” he chuckled. “I like it when you beg.”

“—to go away.” I laughed that desperate laugh when you don’t want to be rude, but you can’t think of anything else to say to make a person go away.

He nodded confidently. “No worries. I’ll see you in Bittinger’s class.” He winked at me when he walked out.

Why did he always have to wink?

“Wow, what a stalker,” Madison said. “Cute stalker, but man, he was desperate. Or head-over heels for you know who!” she grinned.

I dropped my head back into my hands. “No, please no. I’ve tried to be nice, but no matter what I tell him, he keeps coming back.”

“You’re not sending him mixed signals, are you?”

“What?! No! Not at all. I’ve told him over and over again I’m not interested.”

“Maybe you’re telling him too forcefully,” Madison suggested.

“I’d rather not tell him at all, but he won’t leave me alone,” I groaned as I pulled my laptop out of my book bag and turned it on.

“He was pretty hot,” Madison said thoughtfully.

“You think so?”

“Are you blind? Of course he was.”

“But,” I said nervously, “isn’t it weird to be attracted to another guy when you’re dating Jake?”

“Wait, are you saying you’re attracted to this guy Hunter?” Madison gasped. “What about Christos?”

“What? No! Don’t turn this around on me! I’m totally attracted to Christos. He’s uber hot. Hunter isn’t even close.” I took a relaxing breath. “But I mean, Hunter is good looking. How could I not notice when he stands naked ten feet away from me every time I have sculpting class?”

Madison gave me a long, considering look. After a minute, she spoke, “Sam, relax. When you fall in love, the rest of the world doesn’t cease to exist. It’s still filled with attractive people. If you happen to notice that some random guy is hot, who cares?”

“I’m sorry, Mads. You’re right. I guess it’s just bugging me because I’m being forced to stare at the same random guy naked, several hours at a stretch. Twice a week. For ten weeks straight.”

“Don’t worry, Sam. You’ll be over him sooner or later. His cock will become invisible to you,” she grinned.

“Like someone lopped it off?” I smiled hopefully.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she giggled. “But no, eventually you just won’t care anymore. Staring at Hunter’s hickory dickory will become business as usual.”

I laughed. “That is so wrong.”

“What, it’s made of wood, isn’t it?” she giggled.

Madison putting the idea of wood into the same notion as Hunter’s unmentionables was having the wrong effect. “Not helping,” I warned.

Madison cackled at me. “Fine, then pretend it’s made of broken glass.”

I winced. “Ew!”

“Ok, how about a red-hot rod of iron?”

“Not helping!”

“Okay, fine! Pretend his thing is a gun and bullets come out,” she giggled. “But make sure his safety is on when he’s cocked and loaded!”

“Mads! Stop!”

We both broke into laughter.