Kiss the Girl (Naughty Princess Club 3)

“I don’t think you’ll need a Band-Aid. And I’m pretty sure you can’t die from cat scratch fever,” I tell him, tossing the towel aside and inspecting his hand. “Wait, actually, I think you can. Are up to date on your shots?”

I giggle to myself, and when he doesn’t answer me, I look up from his hand to find him staring at me.

“What?” I whisper.

“I just . . . I’ve never had anyone take care of me before.”

I really want to start cursing and throw things, since I just got done telling Cindy and Belle that I’m not taking care of any man . . . but I can’t. Not with the way he’s looking at me right now. Like he’s amazed. Like he’s grateful. Like I’m the best thing that’s ever told him to eat shit and die.

Dropping his hand before this gets even heavier and I do something stupid like cry, I take a step back from him and lean my hip against the counter.

“You never said why you’re home early,” I remind him.

His face lights up with a smile.

“I cut out early when I found out something awesome was happening today. Get dressed. We’re going out,” he tells me.

I look down and myself and then back up at him, narrowing my eyes.

“I am dressed.”

Well, sort of. I’m wearing red yoga pants with a giant coffee stain on them, and one of Eric’s T-shirts, which I stole from his drawer, although I absolutely did not go snooping through his stuff to see if I could find something weird and kinky, and just happened to find a shirt that smelled like him. I’m definitely not dressed to go out. I’m dressed to work from home, complete with a messy bun that has started tipping to one side of my head. But after the little intense moment we just shared, I feel the need to lighten things up.

“Um . . . I . . . yeah, of course you are!” He laughs nervously. “And you look beautiful, as always.”

“Uh-huh,” I mutter. “Fine. Then I’ll just slip on a pair of Crocs and we can be on our way.”

His eyes widen in horror, and he quickly tries to hide it with a smile.

“Super!” he says with entirely too much excitement.

“Great. Then I’ll just go put on my Crocs.”

I slowly start to walk away from him, my eyes never leaving his, until I get a few feet away and he finally cracks.

“For the love of God, please don’t make me go out in public with you wearing Crocs! I’m serious, you look beautiful, even though I know you probably think I’m lying. I’m not. You could leave this boat wearing a fucking potato sack and you’d still be the most beautiful woman wherever we went. But please, if you care about me even a little bit, leave the Crocs at home. SHOES SHOULD NOT HAVE HOLES IN THEM, ARIEL! IT’S NOT RIGHT! IT’S JUST NOT RIGHT!”

The sheer panic in his eyes as he yells is enough to make me completely lose it. I laugh so hard I have to bend over, clutching my waist.

“What the hell?” Eric mutters when I finally get it all out of my system and stand back up, a few stray giggles coming out as I walk over to him and pat his cheek.

“I’m totally fucking with you. Like I’d ever wear Crocs. Jesus, get your shit together, Sailor,” I tell him with a shake of my head as I turn around and walk to the stairs. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. Come over and get me in twenty.”

“You are an evil, evil woman, Ariel!” Eric shouts after me.

“Just making sure you don’t forget it!” I yell back as I head up the stairs.

Chapter 17: I Want the Fucking Fairy Tale

“Oh, my God,” I whisper, staring in awe out the front windshield of Eric’s SUV as he pulls into a parking space.

“Is that a good oh my God or a what the fuck are you doing oh my God?” Eric asks.

I glance away from the sight in front of me to see him staring at me with a nervous smile on his face, and it makes me feel all soft and mushy in the general region of my chest.

I am feeling soft and mushy for a man.

I wait for the little voices in my head to tell me to stop being so weak and pathetic and not to fall for the same shit from a different guy, but they never come. Because there is nothing similar about this shit. This is all new shit. This is bigger and better shit. This is sweet shit. Hot shit. Important shit. Romantic shit.

You scoop one litter box and now you can’t stop thinking about shit.

“It’s definitely a good oh my God,” I tell Eric, quickly grabbing my purse, reaching for the door handle, and jumping out of the SUV, meeting Eric at the front of the vehicle. “I can’t believe you brought me here.”