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Still, though, she didn’t expect the aghast look on his face when she gingerly opened the door. Or the way he said “Bleeding hell fire” in a voice that sounded like he’d just come out of a working men’s club, circa 1987. Oh, and he staggered back, too. Sort of like she’d punched him.
And then shielded his eyes with his hand.
So that was all super cool.
“You said you wouldn’t think it was awful.”
“I don’t think it’s awful,” he said. Then right as she was starting to calm, he couldn’t seem to help adding: “I just don’t know what to do when tits attack my face.”
Because he was an arsehole; he was a big, ridiculous arsehole.
“Oh shush. They are not attacking your face. They are being very calm, in fact. They just also appear to have gained about five hundred percent extra boob somehow when I wasn’t looking.”
“Only five hundred?”
Damn you, she thought.
Even though he a point. “All right, a thousand.”
“Got to be. It’s literally all I can see, and I’m not even looking.”
“You can look if you want,” she said. “I’m not going to think you’re doing wrong.”
“Yeah, you might not, but I will. Good god, it feels like I’m violating you with my eyes when I so much as catch a glimpse. You’re fully dressed, and yet somehow at the same time I’ve never seen anyone so naked in my life.”
“So you agree then that I can’t go out like this.”
She waved her hands at herself.
She didn’t know why, though.
He still had his hands cupped around his eyes.
“Well, not unless you want every person in the world calling you for a date.”
“Every person in the world would not want a date because ofboobs.”
“They would when the boobs are that fucking bananas. You could probably get an alien who doesn’t even know what boobs are on side with those fucking weapons of mass destruction. That wall is turning its head right now, and it neither has a head nor is capable of turning. It’s an inanimate structure, made from mostly brick,” he said, all in a big angry go. Then the anger dissipated, like it always did, and he seemed to realize he’d metaphorically blown out her brains with his imaginary gun. “See, and now I’m talking way too much about your tits again.”
And in far too complimentary a way for me to cope with, she thought.
But of course could not say. She had to stick with joking around.
“In your defense I want to, too. Even though they’re mine.”
“Yeah, but when you do it, it’s cute. When I do it, I’m a pervert.”
“You’re not a pervert for noticing something that can be seen from space.”
“Gonna go knock some astronauts the fuck out in a second for ogling you.”
She cracked up laughing almost before he’d finished speaking. And she did it loudly, and for a long amount of time. So long, in fact, that he broke, too. She heard him doing it behind his hands—like he found it too infectious when she did it, or even hadn’t quite realized just how hilarious what he’d said was.
Because she’d noticed: that was a thing with him.
He didn’t seem to expect people to get the joke.
Or find him funny.
