Man down.
Heat washes over my cheeks when I look up at JP, just as he starts to step over me. I might be embarrassed by my pitiful attempt to stop him, but I’m not giving up. Ohhhh no. I will not go down without a fight.
This man will talk to me if it’s the last thing I do.
I twist my body so my stomach is pressing against the ground, extend my arms out, latch onto his leg, and pull myself closer, hanging on for dear life.
“What the fuck?” he asks, staring down at me. He shakes his leg, attempting to rid himself of me—as if I’m an inconvenient piece of toilet paper that’s stuck to his shoe. Too bad for him, my grip is strong. “Kelsey, what the hell are you doing?”
With my cheek pressed against his leg, the bottom of his shorts tickling my nose, I say, “You’re not getting away from me, sir. No way. You will talk to me.”
“Let go.” He places his hand on the wall for balance and shakes harder.
“Never!” I cry out. “If you want me off you, you’re going to have to pry me off.”
Bad choice of words, because the next thing I know, he reaches down and plucks at my fingers.
I swat him away.
He swats at my hand.
I swat back.
He swats again.
I open my mouth and start chomping at his hand to scare him away.
That does the trick because the swatting ends and I resume my lethal grip.
“Kelsey, seriously, let the fuck go.”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I have no problem claiming squatter’s rights on your leg. I have nowhere to be all night. It’s just you and me, bub, so it’s your choice. You either come talk to me, or you spend your evening with me attached to your foot.”
He looks down at me, looks up at his room, and then, to my chagrin, he starts dragging me along the floor. He can’t possibly be serious.
“JP, I demand you stop at once.”
He doesn’t. He keeps walking, me dragging behind him.
“Stop this insanity,” I call out. “Just talk to me.”
Drag.
Drag.
... drag.
Frustration consumes me, my ears heat to boiling levels, and I can feel the anger start to take over. I tried to be nice about this. I attempted a smooth conversation. Yes, I had to resort to becoming an actual ball and chain, but now... oh now, I’m getting upset.
Keeping one hand planted on the leg that’s dragging me, I reach for his other leg but miss by a long shot. In a horrible attempt to grasp anything so I don’t lose him to a full-out sprint when he shakes free of me, my fingers curl around the fabric of his shorts.
I don’t really register that I have shorts in my hand. All I know is that I have a hold of something and it’s time to pull.
That’s exactly what I do.
I yank on his shorts so hard that he stumbles forward, and because I’m holding on to his other leg, he can’t catch his balance.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is where things go terribly, terribly wrong.
