When we brake at a red light, the couple in the car next to us glare at me with their brows pulled together. Elvis’s head is hanging out the window like a dog enjoying a late afternoon drive in summer. There’s just one difference: he has plugged his nose.
Not the least bit embarrassed at the attention we’re gaining, Elvis waves at the couple with his spare hand. They don’t wave back.
“Please stop. They’re looking at me funny.”
My words arrive with a barrage of giggles, making the tightness in my stomach even more noticeable. I can’t do this. Just like it isn’t possible to have both a big bust and a tiny waist, it’s impossible not to giggle and fart at the same time.
I clutch my stomach with all my might, praying that whatever is in there stays put until I make it back to my dorm. “Just go, please!”
“It’s a red light.” Elvis’s deep timbre is muffled since he’s still protecting his nose from the horrid stench lingering between us. “I can’t run a red light.”
“Yes, you can. I’ll pay the fine if you get one. . .” My words taper off when the most unladylike noise rumbles from my stomach to my throat. It may be only a burp, but it’s as unpleasant as the sneaky fart I released two minutes ago. “Please, Elvis. Please, please, please, please, please.”
I stop begging when his dark car slips through the intersection at a rate fast enough we don’t collide with any cars that have the right of way, but not fast enough to miss the flash of a red camera light. I’m as broke as a pregnant hooker, but I’ll find the money to pay his fine. I’ll work extra shifts, or force Skylar into a rant that will have our swear jar brimming with one dollar bills. I’ll do anything. . . once I’ve brought myself out of the trench I plan on hiding in for eternity.
Elvis’s eyes stray from a row of buildings on our right to me. “Which one is yours?”
“Any. The closest. Just pull over!”
Not waiting for him to heed my demand, I fling open his door, toss off my seatbelt with so much force I nearly whack him in the head, then hightail it to the closest dormitory. All the buildings in my university are configured the same way. They have a lobby with two guest toilets. One of them better be free, or I’m about to gain a new nickname.
“Shall I call you?”
I’m clutching my butt cheeks together as forcefully as vomit is racing up my esophagus, but nothing will stop me flipping Elvis the bird. He didn’t ask his question with genuine interest. It was brimming with hilarity, like my embarrassment is the most entertaining thing he’s ever encountered.
Wanker.
CHAPTER SIX
Presley
Iwait for Willow to enter the dorm she’s charging toward before slipping into my car. My body is shuddering so hard, my chuckles have coated my skin with a dense layer of sweat, and my stomach is aching.
I’m an ass for laughing, but my god, when Karma comes to play, she leaves no survivors. Willow is a hoot; she speaks it as she sees it and doesn’t hesitate to put people in their place, but even she was left speechless by the smell her body was excreting. The stench was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. It reminded me of when the guys and I went on a spinach diet to shed the chub before our championship weekend. Seventy eighteen-year-old males doing a cleanse with only eight toilets. The odds were stacked against us from the start.
After dragging my hand across my nape to remove the sweat sitting there, I latch my belt. Its click sounds familiar, but the noise coming from my stomach is brand new. I’ve never heard my gut make such a disturbing noise. It’s usually as solid as iron—nothing affects it.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” I murmur to myself when pain shreds through my midsection so hard and fast, I nearly fold in two. “Oh, no, motherfucker, you’re not doingthathere.”
Burning rubber lingers in my nostrils when I slam into reverse and tear out of the parking spot I barely made it into before Willow evacuated my car as quickly as my stomach’s contents are attempting to exit my body.
Guilt for laughing at Willow slams into me as I race through the isolated streets at a speed too fast to be safe. The pain is intense, almost as extreme as when she rammed her cue stick into my nuts.
I make the usual twenty-minute trip to my apartment in under eight. The light traffic aided in my race, but so did my foot’s love of the gas pedal. A plume of gas follows my track up the stairs to my front door. Every step is the equivalent of having a knife stabbed into my rectum.
What the fuck is this, and why is Karma biting my ass?I behaved tonight. . . for the most part.
“No!”
I hold my finger in the air, suspending Danny from breaking into a conversation when I enter my home. He’s camping on my sofa while his place is being fumigated. Little does he know he’s about to face a brand new type of fumigation. My charge across the living room should advise him of my urgency, much less the tight grip of my jaw.
I’VE BEENin the bathroom for nearly ten minutes before Danny risks death to knock on the door. “Are you alright? Do you want me to light a match?”
I groan, hating the mirth in his tone but understanding it. I thought it was hilarious when this was happening to Willow. Now I feel like a dipshit.
“I’m never eating Chinese again.”
“Oh. . .” I can’t see Danny, but I can imagine his face screwed up in thought. “There’s an all-night pharmacy around the corner; want me to go grab you something?”
