Sailor: You can have one beer.
HHH: I’m sorry, do I look twelve?
Fair point, but I really didn’t want to bend the rules too much.
Sailor: My friends are hot. Hanging out with them alone will be a good time.
HHH: Nothing like shooting the shit with hot girls when you’re fucking celibate. Up your game, CT.
Sailor: Stop calling me that!
HHH: Stop looking like him!
Sailor: Why don’t you just tell me what you want?
HHH: Why, I thought you’d never ask. A kiss.
Sailor: From who?
HHH: A flame-haired banshee.
There was a fluttery, warm thing struggling to break free behind my sternum, and I sucked in a breath, feeling my entire body tingle. I hoped it was the heart attack I clearly deserved for considering kissing him.
Sailor: Why? You call me Carrot Top and think I’m obnoxious.
I felt my fingertips growing sweaty as I typed.
HHH: Carrot Top is not obnoxious. He’s actually pretty funny for a thousand year old. Yes or no?
Sailor: That’s cheating. You’re supposed to be celibate.
HHH: There’s an ocean between kissing and fucking. More specifically, the visual offense you refer to as clothes.
Sailor: You’re disgusting.
HHH: And you’re tempted. You want to try me for a ride. See what the fuss is all about.
Sailor: Don’t put words into my mouth.
Hunter: What about other things? ; )
Sailor: You can’t even stand to look at me. It’s been five days since you acknowledged my existence.
HHH: It’s been five days since I looked in the mirror, old sport. Shit’s been intense. YES OR NO?
Sailor: When?
HHH: Whenever the right moment presents itself. My call.
Sailor: No tongue.
HHH: Yes tongue, no fondling.
Sailor: YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE ME.
HHH: Jesus, what does liking you have to do with this? You’re the only available female in my radius.
Sailor: Thanks.
HHH: Welcs.
Sailor: The kiss will mean nothing.
HHH: Should’ve said that before I printed out our wedding invitations. Wear a dress.
“We found it!” Persy shrieked, waving one of the gowns by its hanger.
I looked up, my cheeks so hot, I was sure I looked like I was going to explode.
“Whoa.” Emmabelle dropped a heap of clothes to the floor, her eyes zoning in on my face. “Why do you look like you just got invited to your own funeral, Sailor?”
“Because…” I tore another, final piece of dead skin from the corner of my thumb with my teeth. “I think I just did.”
Belle and Persy were one squeal away from leaving me completely deaf when I told them they were coming to the fundraiser with Hunter and me. When the day arrived, they swung by my place a few hours before the event, looking like modern goddesses. Persy was clad in a romantic white gown, while Belle rocked a leopard mini dress. They shoved me into my own gown—an antique pink off-shoulder dress with a sweetheart plunge. The striking floral appliques at the front miraculously highlighted my nonexistent curves, and Persy put my hair up into a messy-yet-sexy chignon, with bits of flyaways framing my face. Emmabelle applied my makeup, and we found out nude colors and a thick layer of eyeliner worked best for my pale complexion and red hair. By the time Hunter woke up and shoved his Adonis form into a suit, I looked the best I ever had.
It was funny how Hunter believed he was dumb, and I believed I was unattractive—and that these opposite sources of insecurity made us enemies. I despised him for his looks, and he thought I was an unattractive bore.
He strode out of his room, cuffing his cufflinks with a frown, his black velvet bowtie still undone. The minute he spotted the three of us in the living room, Emmabelle leaning over me to apply lip gloss while we took advantage of the natural stream of sun pouring from the glassed wall, he halted.
“Holy shitballs.” He whistled low.
All three of us raised our heads to look at him. Persy gasped at his imperial beauty. I could tell Belle was undressing him, one article at a time, with dilated pupils.
“Told you they were gorgeous.” I cleared my throat.
“You’re the one I’m looking at, Carrot Top.” He stared at me, making everything else around us melt into a fuzzy background. His gaze radiated heat that could perish me. At that moment, I wished it would. “No offense, girls.”
“None taken.” Emmabelle grinned conspiratorially.
“I was talking to Sailor’s tits.”
That earned him a wild laugh from both my friends.
Momentarily losing the ability to produce words, I turned my head back to Belle. Our eyes met, and hers were twinkling with mischief and delight.
“Disney movie,” she mouthed, standing to her full height. “Make the prince fall in love. Seize the castle. Become his queen.”
She’d officially lost her mind.
“You ready?” Hunter asked, tying his bowtie with one hand as he walked to the kitchen and poured himself some coffee. I forgot he’d had the upbringing of a duke and knew how to do all sorts of things that weren’t un-sexy, like tying a necktie with one hand.