“Take these,” I called to Wes, holding full egg carton out to him over the gate.
I must’ve looked like I’d lost my mind, but Wes took them without comment as I scaled the chest-high wooden gate and rolled over onto the ground, winded.
Wes was on his knees beside me in an instant, concern all over his face, eggs still safe in one hand.
That was good. If the eggs had been broken after all that, I might’ve just stayed here and died.
Something hard hit the gate next to me, and a second later an angryquacktold me it was that same duck, still out for my blood.
“I’m not interested in the girl ducks!”
“Hens,” Wes corrected, calmer than I thought he should have been. There was an angry duck who’d already had a taste of human flesh on the other side of that gate.
Well, human jeans, anyway. He hadn’tactuallytaken a chunk out of me, but I didn’t doubt for a second that he would have, given half a chance.
“The hens!” I shouted through the gate. “I don’t care about them, go away.”
Wes burst into laughter, standing and offering me his free hand to help me up.
I groaned as I picked myself off the ground, brushing dust off my shoulders and then giving up on the rest.
“Where does it hurt?” Wes asked.
“My pride, mostly,” I admitted. My ankles both stung, but it’d go away.
“Poor baby,” Wes teased, leaning in and brushing a kiss over my cheek. “Should’ve shown him your dick,” he said.
I blinked at him. “What? Why?”
Wes shrugged. “Well, if he reallydidthink you were a threat to his little duck harem, your dick would’ve proved you weren’t. It’s way too small for a duck.”
I blinked again.
“Ducks are hung!” Wes said, laughing. “They have the biggest dick-to-body-length ratio in the animal kingdom. You have absolutely no chance with the hens, sorry.”
Still blinking.
“Did you want me to introduce you to Mr. Killer Duck over there, then?” I asked. “Since he’s apparently got a huge dick.”
“His name is Count Duckula,” Wes said, with a lot more dignity than that name should’ve allowed for. “And he has anger management issues.”
“How do you know hisname?” I asked. This afternoon had been so weird, and the day had started out sonormal.
Wes shrugged again. “Talked to the owners while you were on your little egg hunt. You know they’ll just sell you a dozen eggs, right? Collect-your-own is for kids.”
My mouth fell open.
“Why didn’t yousay something?” I asked, stunned that I’d just been through all that needlessly.
“You seemed so enthusiastic about going,” Wes said, putting a hand on my arm. “I didn’t wanna spoil your fun.”
“That was not fun.”
Wes made a sympathetic noise, squeezing my arm. “But it’s a great story, and you’re okay. Right? Youareokay?”
“I’m okay,” I admitted, grudgingly. “Probably psychologically scarred for life. But okay.”
“Good,” he said. “Boyfriend?”
