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There are about ten balloons stuck to his body and I find myself walking towards him, a grin plastered on my face. As I reach him, my hand falls against his chest and I push up onto my tippy toes to brush my lips against his. “Happy birthday, Spitfire,” he murmurs.
I smile up at him. “Do I even want to know how you ended up in this situation?”
Noah lets out a sigh. “They hijacked me in bed.”
“Oh, no,” I laugh, looking back over my shoulder and taking in a very proud Tully as I slap a hand over my mouth to try and control myself. I turn back to Noah. “How though? Surely you can overpower them.”
“Usually, yes,” he says. “But they tied my ankles and wrists while I was still sleeping then tossed me in the fucking trunk like a hostage. I didn’t even get a chance to fight them off.” Seeing my face, a heavy scowl sets itself into his features. “It’s not funny.”
“Yeah, it kind of is,” I laugh before running my fingers over one of the balloons and squeezing it. “What’s with the balloons?” I ask.
“Don’t pop it,” Tully yells eagerly. “It’s a game.”
I spin around to face her with excited eyes. “Game?” I question, hurrying back to her. “I like games.”
She reaches around herself and pulls out a slingshot from her back pocket. “Do you like games where you get to use one of these?”
I look at it a while before laughing. I mean, apart from ‘Bart Simpson,’ who the hell uses slingshots? “What the fuck, Tully?” Noah groans from behind me, clearly not being let in on her little secret. Though, that just makes it all the more exciting.
I take the slingshot from her hand and study it as she pulls out a pile of little rocks that she must have collected. “So,” she says, looking up at Noah. “Each of the balloons has a piece of paper inside containing a present. You get five shots and for each balloon that you pop, that’s a present you get to keep.”
“And if I don’t pop any balloons?”
“Then no birthday present for you,” she grins. “And just a little hint, that balloon right there by his junk, that’s the best present of all.”
“Well, damn,” I laugh, reaching for a little rock and testing out the slingshot.
“Babe,” Noah grunts. “I know it’s your birthday and all, but you’re not seriously going to play along with this, are you?”
“How could I not? I like me some presents!” I slip the rock into the back of the slingshot and hold it up, closing one eye to aim. “You better hold still,” I warn him.
“What? Are you worried I’m going to run away?” he shoots back at me. I silently test the elasticity of the slingshot. “Babe,” he panics, low. “Come on.” All I can do is grin. “Just…fuck. Just don’t aim for my balls.”
“As if I would aim for them,” I laugh. “They’re my favorite part of your body.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” he tells me.
“No,” I grin. “You’re lucky that I love you. Otherwise, this could be so much worse. Now, shut up and let me concentrate.”
I focus on the balloon that’s taped to his chest. My eyes narrow on it, wondering what could be written on the little slip of paper inside. All I know is that it better be good.
I stretch the slingshot back and with a final grin, I let the little rock fly as Noah cringes before me. I watch as it sails straight for a little while before it starts lowering. I suck in a breath. This isn’t good.
The little rock slams right into the inside of Noah’s hip. “Fuck,” he grunts, scrunching his face up in pain.
“Shit, sorry,” I cringe, hating how bad that made me feel, but damn, I really want those presents.
A little red mark instantly appears on his hip and I promise myself to make it up to him later, as for now, he better be preparing himself for round two.
I grab another rock and Noah lets his head fall back to the tree, deciding to take it like a man.
I send another rock shooting towards him, only this time, I pull back on the slingshot a little harder and aim just a smidge higher. The rock goes flying high as I watch as Noah’s eyes lock on the little thing, terrified of where it’s going to land.
The rock hits his chest, just above the balloon and I let out a long, drawn out groan. “Damn it,” I whine as Noah tries to school his features, not letting his pain show, but let’s be real, that couldn’t be comfortable. “Sorry,” I grin.
He narrows his eyes on me. “Are you actually aiming or just shooting and hoping you hit one of the damn things?”
