Oh.
“Do something with that,” she whisper-hisses, like that will make it better.
“What the hell do you want me to do with it?”
“I don’t know!” she shrieks. “What do you usually do?”
I raise a brow.
“Oh, you horny fucker.”
“That is not—”
“Your mother is about to knock on that door, and you are pitching a tent in your trousers while I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush.”
“You look loved.”
My attempt to love her into submission doesn’t work either.
She resumes pacing.
“Great. Fantastic. Perfect timing. I confess my undying love, you attack my face, and your mother is five minutes away.”
I adjust myself discreetly.
She notices.
“Stop adjusting it. It’s like you’re negotiating with it.”
I laugh despite myself.
“This is not funny,” she snaps.
“It’s a little funny.”
She stops pacing and looks at me. “Why aren’t you freaking out right now?”
“Why would I freak out?”
“Because your mother is coming here with the man she was spanking with a spatula in her kitchen the last time you saw them.”
The color drains from my face.
We both glance down at my crotch.
Madison blinks. “Well, that worked.”
I swallow hard. “I’m going to be sick.”
Now I’m pacing.
She’s pacing in the opposite direction.
Neither of us can catch our thoughts long enough to keep them in one place.
Then there’s atap, tap, tapat the door, and we almostcollide.
We slowly look at each other then we both glance down again.
