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Samantha jumps out with me, by my side even in a bad situation. “Hiii-yah!”
But there’s not an intruder looking to rob the club. Or at least not in the way I worried.
It’s a raccoon who lazily turns his eye masked face toward us, looking annoyed at our interruption.
“Aaaaaah!” Samantha screeches, virtually teleporting into one of the dining chairs at the couple of tables we have set up for people to eat their snacks. Crouching there, she points at the raccoon to make sure I’m seeing him. As if I could miss him.
He’s roly-poly fat, obviously well-fed, and laid back against one of the vending machines with a bag’s worth of M&Ms scattered around him. The lure of the candy is probably why he doesn’t so much as flinch at our loud appearance. She’s acting like he’s going to rabidly attack her, while he’s looking at us like ‘’Sup?’ and ready to offer me a blue M&M.
I can’t help but laugh at her overreaction to the cute critter.
“It’s okay,” I reassure Samantha, holding calming hands out to her rather than the animal. “He’s more scared of us than we are of him.”
“Agree to disagree!” she shouts.
As if teasing her, the raccoon plucks a green M&M from the floor, looks at it, and then nibbles it from his black, too-human hand. He’s not scared at all. He’s chilling as if this is his place and we stocked his pantry, then interrupted his solo snack party.
Deciding the raccoon is the least of my worries right now, I reach a hand to Samantha. “Come on down.” Awkwardly, she takes my hand and steps uncertainly to the floor, but her eyes are locked on the critter as if he’s going to fly up from his M&M stash to attack her with grabby paws and snapping teeth. “You’re fine.”
Once her feet hit the floor, she ducks behind me, her face pressed to my shoulder. I can’t help but grin at her dramatics. This woman is badassness personified, but she’s terrified of a raccoon who can’t be bothered to run when approached by humans?
“Hey there, Rico,” I purr soothingly, giving the raccoon an impromptu name. “How’d you get in here?” Construction and remodeling have been done for months now. Has Rico been trapped in here this whole time, or is he coming and going in some way we haven’t discovered? If he has a secret door, it’d have to be a pretty big one to fit his belly.
“More importantly, how do you get him out?” Samantha asks.
I pull out my phone to look up pest control companies that do all-nighter calls and dial the first one I find. After waking up a grumpy, grumbling man, I explain the situation and he tells me he’ll be here asap. I have no doubt that his trip will involve a pit stop for coffee and it’ll be a while before we see him.
We settle in to wait, sitting in chairs, though Samantha chooses one furthest away from Rico and pulls her legs up into the chair. Trying to seem cooler with the whole situation than she obviously is, she teases, “Even your intruders are male. Guess I should be flattered that I’m the only woman allowed entry.” She points over to Rico, who’s got his back legs spread to the sky, making his furry belly and balls glaringly obvious.
“There’s a joke in there about manspreading, but you’re right. You’re the proof that I don’t always follow the rules,” I offer. “Not sure I’m going to shout that from the rooftops, though. There’s something to be said for thoughtfully breaking a rule when you keep most of them at all times. A calculated risk.” After a moment, I add, “The guys here? Some of them break rules regularly, like it’s the only way they know to live. The mere existence of a rule chafes them. They’re the ones I try to reach, to show how rules can be good for them.”
“Yet here we are, breaking all the rules,” Samantha says with a satisfied smirk. “You gonna show me your office after we get Rico evicted? And your big . . . hard . . .desk?” She laughs, proud that she’s got me on a short hook because I was not thinking about my desk and we both know it.
Fuck, I think I might be breaking a few more rules before the night is through.
CHAPTER11
SAMANTHA
Rule numberoneof hookups:Don’t text him. It shows you’re potentially clingy, which I’m not.
However, I’m having a hard time sticking to that rule because it’s been a few days since Chance dropped me to my car after our Rico the Raccoon adventure. I’ve been hovering over my phone to see if he would message me and talked myself out of at least three different possible conversation starters I could text him.
Knee’s feeling much better. Should I expect a Dr. bill for the ‘house call’?
You up?
Another idea is a GIF I found of a raccoon wearing a party hat and confetti... a surprise Rico, if you will.
Of course, none of those are going to work. One makes it sound like I’m paying for dick, two is desperate, and three is stupid. All potential red flags.
I could just be honest—10/10 dick, would ride again!
But I’m pretty sure that’d have Chance blocking my number, not to mention making any run-ins with Luna and Carter a bit awkward. I’ve talked to Luna every day, telling her everything because that’s what besties do, and she was blowing up my phone by eight a.m. after Chance swept me out of the ice rink, wanting immediate answers. And a good story.
She was shocked when she connected my story about the hotel sex god with her brother-in-law, but when I told her about him blowing out my back again, she nearly crawled through the phone to shake me in excitement. For me, it confirmed that he’s as straight-laced as she’s always said he is, and this thing between us is a boundary-pushing adventure. For us both.
And could happen again... if he’d text me. Or call. Or send out a fucking smoke signal. I’d be there with nipple clamps on, ready to go.
