“I’m painfully aware of that.” He glanced down at his crotch and back up to me, smirking.
“Please wipe that smirk off your face. I said no funny business. What happened last night?”
“Well, little firecracker, here’s the whole story. I carried you into my apartment; you finally woke up and punched me in the chest about twelve times. Then you proceeded to strip off all of your clothes and throw them at me—at which point I tried to cover you with a blanket, but you tore that off, too. I did see every inch of your magnificent body, but that was all your doing—not that I minded. I begged you to take a shower, which you begrudgingly did, while I sat outside the door. Afterward, I went in with my eyes shut and toweled off your ungrateful but perky ass, and then put a T-shirt on you. You tried to kiss me about six times, so I threw you over my shoulder, gave your bare butt a little swat, and then threw you into my bed. You begged me to make love to you—your words, not mine—but I told you ‘no way.’ I covered you with a blanket and then ten seconds later you were asleep.” He smirked.
I was mortified but I knew it was all true. Foggy memories were coming back to me in fragments. “Umm...”
“Nothing to say? You had a lot to say last night. You told me I had a nice body and a beautiful face.” He laughed.
Oh god, I did say that.
“And that I was the smartest guy you’d ever met.”
“I never said that!”
He squinted. “Well, I thought I heard you say it.”
I tried to swat at him but missed. “What time is it? And do I smell pancakes?”
“French toast, actually. And it’s noon.”
“Oh my god, my parents are gonna kill me.”
He held out his palm. “I called your mom and gave her my address. I asked if she wanted to come and get you, or if I should let you sleep it off. She said she was heading out the door, to the spray-tan lady, or some shit like that, so I just let you keep sleeping.”
“Geez,” I scowled. “She didn’t even care?”
He walked toward me. “Penny—”
“Don’t come any closer.”
“I’m not gonna touch you. I slept on the couch, I swear. I left Jackie Chan in here to keep you company.”
“I’m just warning you, I have the breath of a very sick dragon, and it feels like there are tiny sweaters covering my teeth.”
“Yeah. I know, I can smell it from here.”
“Thanks.”
“You can use my toothbrush if you want.” He looked like he felt sorry for me.
“She takes my sister to the spray-tanner for pageants.”
“What?” Gavin came over and sat on the end of the bed. “You’re kidding?”
“No, it’s absolutely deplorable.” I looked up to the ceiling. “I still can’t believe she wasn’t worried about me sleeping at a stranger’s house with his forty-year-old tattoo-artist roommate.”
He picked up a guitar and starting strumming. “Well, she doesn’t know that part, obviously. Anyway, Mike’s out of town; otherwise, he would have gotten quite the show last night. You ready for some French toast? It’s my very own recipe.”
Who is this person?
He was strumming the song “Just Like a Woman,” trying to work out the chords. “French toast sounds good, but I need my clothes.”
“I’m washing them in the laundry room in the basement. They were in pretty bad shape, Penny.”
“Oh god.”
“My T-shirt’s not good enough for you?”
