Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. Harmony was a complete professional, but Lennox and Dustin’s confrontation before, during,andafter his waxing left a lot to be desired. They were having a pissing contest, but regretfully, none of their bickering was about me.
I’ve told myself numerous times the past four hours that Lennox didn’t need to fight since Dustin respectfully left the room when it was my time to be tortured, but the stern talking to hasn’t done me much good. I still feel like the outcast reject, even more so when Lennox stops to sign some autographs.
His first competitive game isn’t in Ravenshoe until this weekend, but everyone knows who he is, although they’re nowhere near as eager to take him home when I ask, “Can you catch herpes from sharing a pen?”
Forever ready to rebut my snarky attitude, Lennox replies, “Depends on how you’re using it.” With a wink that has me taking a mental note to never use any of his writing apparatuses, he finishes scribbling his name across scraps of paper before rejoining me on our walk. “You know your screwed-up nose is the reason people think we’re fucking, right?” He drags his index finger down the crease in my nose I didn’t realize it had until he points it out. “It indents right here when you’re eating spicy food, cramping from PMS, and when you’re green with envy.”
He chuckles when I ram my elbow into his ribs. My strike isn’t to maim. I love how easily we flow back into sync after a mishap. Embarrassment, sexual want, and misunderstandings mean nothing when you have a relationship as solid as ours. “And, of course, since you are perfect in every single way, none of the blame for their ill misconceptions lands on your shoulders. You are entirely innocent.”
“Of course,” he replies before tugging me in even closer, which doubles the number of envious glances I’m getting. “But I’m not bothered by their assumptions like you are.”
“They don’t bother me.” I hate lying, and this is by far the worst one I’ve told. “I just loathe that they think my needs are being so thoroughly taken care of, they don’t bother offering up their services.” I bump him with my hip like he didn’t walk in on me attempting to pleasure myself less than twelve hours ago. “Unlike some women who’d claw another woman’s eyes out for a piece ofherman, most men don’t like watering another man’s turf.” He’s about to jump in, but I continue talking before he can, “Your father excluded, of course.”
Lennox smiles as if he has the world at his feet when I grumble under my breath, “Even the whales in the ocean are getting more action than me right now.” His grin sags when I endeavor to work out why it now takes him twenty minutes to shower instead of the standard five. “I guess you’re feeling the same way. How long has it been for you? Three-and a-bit weeks. That’d be a new record, wouldn’t it?”
My stomach gurgles when he asks, “Depends. Are we talking about sex or coming?”
“You’ve…comesince we’ve been here.” Conversations like this are nothing out of the ordinary for us, but this is the first time I could accuse Lennox of withholding information. He usually boasts about his sexual conquests, so I’m a little stunned he’s kept his summer adventures to himself.
I am also insanely jealous and hurt, but I’d rather keep that between us. His comment that he isn’t embarrassed people think we’re an item soared my confidence to a never-before-reached height, but knowing he’s vented that sexual tension onto someone else burns like a motherfucker.
The heat roaring through my veins gets a moment of reprieve when Lennox replies, “Yeah, ahandful of times.” He’s never hidden the fact he believes masturbation is a perfectly acceptable form of stress relief, and the way he voiced his reply discloses this is solely how he’s relieved the tension these past three and a half weeks. “Some morning woods don’t go down by themselves. They need a little bit of help.”
With my confidence back bigger than ever, I mutter, “Little, hey?”
This time, Lennox ribs me with his elbow. “There’s nothing little about me, Cocoa. I figured you’d know that by how hard you eyeballed my cock earlier.”
“I didnoteyeball your cock.” I apologize to an elderly couple we’re bypassing when the comment leaves my mouth with the speed and loudness of a freight train. Once I’ve absorbed their scolds to their full effect, I shift my focus back to Lennox. “I was merely seeking the thick black hairs Dustin mentioned. I’d hate for you to scare away the locals when you wear the new swimsuit I purchased for you. It leavesnothingto the imagination.”
“If that’s true, you havenothingto worry about.” He expresses his ‘nothing’ with the same shit-stirring tone I used. “You don’t need to imagine when the real-life visual is better than you could ever comprehend.” Usually, I’d tell him to pull his head out of his ass since he’s so far up himself, but since his eyes were raking my body when he said his comment, I rest my head on his pec, then grimace when crumbling paper trickles into my ears. It’s the phone number of the waitress who gushed over Lennox so much at the start of our festivities, it took her over thirty minutes to take our order. “Did it hurt—”
“When I fell from heaven?” Lennox’s pompousness assures me the question he interrupted no longer needs to be discussed. I was about to ask him if it hurts only being able to swap numbers tonight since Harmony placed us on a sex ban for ten hours. “No, but occasionally my back gets itchy from where I lost my wings.”
His ribs get as much of a workout tonight as his arm did when he gave me hell about the situation Harmony brought under control.
Between you and me, I told a couple of fibs earlier today. I did contemplate using Lennox’s razor to clear away the mess peeking out the side of my bikini bottoms, but I was so afraid I’d make myself shark bait since I had no clue what I was doing, I went against it.
My father told me natural blondes don’t have to worry about body hair because they’re so thin and light no one can see them. My twelve-year-old self stupidly believed him.
Lesson learned.
Although I’m tempted to pretend I don’t know any better when Lennox steers us past the ice cream parlor we’re meant to have an extremely important meeting at. Even impressed with how guiltlessly his junk now maneuvers in his boxer shorts, Lennox’s firsthand knowledge of the torture women go through to be presentable for their prospective partners not only saw him offering me a gorge-fest at any restaurant of my choice, but he also said he’d supply me with an unlimited amount of sugar for both PMS weekandwaxing day.
Cookies and cream ice cream was the first item on my hit list.
“I thought we were getting ice cream?” I question with a pout when Lennox directs me toward our hotel like he forgot to order my burger without mayonnaise.
I know for a fact that isn’t true because not only did he specifically state no condiments for the greasy concoction I scoffed down like a pig, he personally checked my order before it left the kitchen. I’m not going to say that was because he was more interested in exchanging digits with the waitress than making sure my irritable bowel didn’t act up, or I’ll be swamped by a third bout of jealousy I have no right to be experiencing.
Lennox’s playboy ways are nothing new to me. They just feel weird since we’ve shared the same bed for the past three weeks. More times than not, I find myself staring up at the ceiling at two in the morning, wondering what he’d be doing if his leg wasn’t hooked around my waist. The numerous notions that ran through my head had me waking up so grumpy, Lennox tossed tampons and chocolates at me from the safety of the bathroom more times than required for the one PMS day I’ve had since we’ve been here.
The pill my father was adamant I must commence taking at sixteen makes my period almost nonexistent. My moods, though…
When Lennox’s strides fail to slow, I ask, “What’s got a bee under your bonnet? Anyone would swear you have an allergic reaction to attention, which we both know you don’t. That would be the equivalent of saying Mother Theresa was evil.”
I want to stomp my foot down like a child when my comment doesn’t instigate the slightest rile from Lennox. If I don’t keep him entertained, someone else will, and she’ll most likely be busty and brunette—two things I am not. But I can’t since Lennox’s breakneck speed is almost too fast for my feet to keep up with. He races us down the littered-with-people boardwalk before guiding me into my room like he’s outrunning the police.
The unease making a mess of my skin more than our sprint back to our room calms a little when Lennox hands me a bottle of water and a bottle of pain medication while saying, “Remember, no showering until the morning.”
