“A costume. Skylar said it’s un-American to go to a costume party without a costume, so here I am.” She places her hands on her hips and rocks them forward, thrusting an oversized set of udders my way. “You know how I said if you got Coach James to agree to our date, I’d let you touch my boob?” She gyrates her hips in a circle, swiveling the gigantic udders on her cow costume with more agility than a real cow would have. “I’ve got all the bases covered.”
My mouth opens as my brow cocks. “Are you telling me my shameful, nearly tearful beg at Coach James’s feet was all to feel up cow udders?”
After nodding, Willow follows me into my bathroom. I spit out the foam in my mouth, rinse my toothbrush, then spin around to face her. “That wasn’t a part of our deal. I kept my side by letting you pick me up, so you’re not reneging on your half of our deal. I want boob action—goddammit.” Yep, I sound like a teen boy who’s never slid past second base.
Willow’s cow ears slant as much as her sexy lips when she drops her head to the side. “Don’t let the sexiness of my outfit deceive you, E. If you’ve got the right mooooves, you won’t need milk to get to the udder side of it.”
I grin at her spunk. “That took you all day to come up with, didn’t it?”
When she nods, I weave my hand through her hair, tug her head back, then plant a minty kiss on her smiling lips. I can do that now without looking over my shoulder. Not just because we’re in the safety of my home, but because the better I play, the more lenient Coach James is becoming. I have him so convinced Willow is my good luck charm, I’m certain theno sex before gamesrule he mandates for all the players during championship month would be null and void if I asked. He might even book hotel rooms and stage them for intimacy if it guaranteed his players would keep thrashing our opponents as we have the past eight weeks. Alas, Willow signed a legally-binding contract. Fortunately, it’s over in a little under two weeks.
I stop counting down the hours left in Willow’s internship when she asks, “I had a few to work with. Wanna hear them?”
I nod before heading back down the stairs we just climbed. As I move through my condo to gather my wallet and keys, she hits me with her best cow jokes.
“What did one cow say to the other cow? Got milk?”
“What do you call a sleeping cow? A bulldozer.”
“What are grumpy cows called? Mooooody.”
“What do you call a cow with a nervous twitch? Beef jerky.”
That one gets me laughing. I like that one.
Once she is out of jokes, I slip my wallet into my back pocket before pivoting to face her. It’s not hot today, but she’s feeling the heat in her getup. Sweat is dribbling down her neck, and her shoulders are hanging as low as her udders.
“Hot?”
She blows a rogue curl out of her eyes before murmuring, “As boiling as curdled milk in a saucepan. It’s totally worth it though. I’m udderly adorable.”
She is. She’s so fucking cute, even a ridiculously hideous outfit can’t take away her appeal. I like seeing her like this, fun and happy. She’s been loving life as much as me the past eight weeks. Excluding our little hiccup two weeks ago, things couldn’t be better. Lillian flew back to New York on her broomstick; Coach James agreed to let me “date” Willow as long as we keep our relationship on a Disney movie level, and a big chunk of the endorsement deal Danny negotiated on my behalf months ago will land in my bank next month. We’re scheduled to start shooting the first commercials next week. Life is golden at the moment. . . so perfect that I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Taking a page out of Willow’s book, I look for the positives instead of the negatives. “In all seriousness, though, where are your clothes? You should probably get changed; Coach James’s house is forty minutes away.”
Willow stops at the side of my dining room to glare at me. “Whatever do you mean?” She’s trying to act coy, but I can see the panic igniting in her eyes. “For one, you said Coach lived around the corner, and two, you’re the one who needs to get changed, right?”
I follow her wide eyes when they glide down the rolled-up sleeves of my dress shirt, over my black trousers before coming to a stop at my recently polished boots. When I hear her forcefully swallow, I raise my eyes back to her face. She’s as white as a ghost, her lack of coloring not compliments of the heavy costume she’s wearing.
She peers at me in shock. “It’s a costume party.”
“It is,” I agree with a nod.
“An American tradition more important than Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Super Bowl Sunday.”
I grimace. “You had me until your last comment.”
“You need to wear a costume, E! Skylar said!” She stomps down her foot in a way that shouldn’t be sexy, but is.
As quickly as her tantrum arrives, it disappears. Her eyes widen like she has a brilliant idea as her finger rises in the air. “How fond are you of your rug in the living room?”
I lose the chance to reply when she pushes off her feet and charges for the fur rug we wrestled on weeks ago. Her cheetah speed slows when I murmur, “You’re not hacking up my rug to make me a costume.”
She huffs. “Why not? You’d make the perfect Tarzan. You Tarzan, me Jane.” She makes a face likes she’s seconds from orgasming before murmuring, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to say that.”
“You’re not Jane; you’re a cow.” She pokes her tongue out at me. “And its cold out there. I’m not having any dick shrinkage pictures of me uploaded to the internet.”
“Anymoredick shrinkage pictures,” Willow corrects.
