AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But I can’t breathe, so I just sit there, twitching, Beastman’s hairy, oily skin turning my humiliation into a perverted deep-conditioning treatment. I try to rise, but my face is crotch level with Will, mouth open in an O of surprise.
Do I really look like a blow-up sex doll when I do this? Beastman’s words flit through me as the room starts to dim, his weight seriously making it impossible to get oxygen in me.
I look up at Spatula, trying to ask for help. All he does is hold up his phone up and press his finger against the glass screen.
“You are not taking photos!” Will bellows, dropping my hand and moving toward Spatula, who sprints out of the room. Will’s suit jacket flaps as he runs after him.
All the beards race out the front door. Within seconds, two car engines start, tires peeling out as I stand there, arms and legs turning to ice blocks.
My high school crush thinks I’m a porn star.
I am found like this by the cops, seconds later, as Beastman wakes up, hand going to his crotch, crying out, “I’m ready for my close-up!”
And that is when I faint.
Here’s the problem with fainting: Sometimes it only lasts a few seconds.
Damn it.
Here’s the other problem with fainting: Will is now standing next to the cop, telling him in a firm voice, “I think she needs Narcan. She’s high and unresponsive.”
I sit up again, surprised I can do it. Beastman is on the other side of the room, hands cuffed behind his back, his jaw an angry red on the left side. Red knuckles attest to Will’s aching hand as he talks to the cop in a clear voice, unafraid to be heard.
“I don’t need Narcan. I’m not on anything,” I protest.
“That’s what they all say,” the cop mutters, giving Will a raised eyebrow and a look I really resent.
“I am not on drugs. I am not a porn star. I came here because I saw a job on Craigslist for a professional fluffer, and that’s what I do for a living.”
Blinks. I get blinks. Lots and lots of blinks.
Nothing but blinks.
A female cop joins us and as I look up at her, I realize she’s my next-door neighbor’s daughter, Karen Minsky.
My mom is going to hear about this in seventeen minutes.
You know how I know?
Because that’s how long it took for word to get back to her when we were busted at a house party by–you guessed it–Karen Minsky, when I was a junior in high school.
“You’re a fluffer?” Will chokes out. “The valedictorian of my high school class is a fluffer?”
“A house fluffer!” I say, indignant. “I make everything look better!”
“I’ll bet you do,” Karen says, pulling out a long zip tie. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Mallory, and we’ll do this the easy way.”
“You’re arresting me?”
“We found drugs in the other room, on top of the illegal occupancy and lack of a filming permit for–”
“You can’t arrest me! You used to babysit me! You used to bribe me with an extra root beer if I didn’t tell my mom your boyfriend came over and watched horror movies while I was asleep!”
“That was then, and by the way,” she says, giving me a dark look, “you blabbered about it and got me in trouble.”
“You and John Ralston let me watch Saw 3! I was six!”
Will is observing me with a calculation that makes my skin crawl, and not just the epidermal layer coated in Beastman’s coconut oil. I sniff the back of my hand.
