Tousle Me

by Lucy V. Morgan

  “I’ve had a wonderful evening,” he says. “Haven’t you?”

  “Yes, Hunter.”

  He presses the back of my neck to bring me in for a kiss. It’s confusing, wet, and tastes like barbecue sauce—which is just how I like my von coffee, thanks for asking.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He throws me back on the bed and lands atop me, arms bracing either side.

  As he pants, I stare up at his red pallor and bulging eyes. He’s got a real Rabies Maddox look about him when he gets all horny and primal. Then he yanks off my jacket and tears my dress right down the middle. I can see now why he paid for it—the last thing a guy wants after a night of sexy truncheon dunkin’ is a bill for alterations.

  “Oh, Hunter.” I pant right along with him, feeling helpless beneath his bulk. I’m finally going to get laid by an alpha anti hero. I can’t wait to text Enid! And Archer—he’ll be so happy for me.

  I’m finally going to get laid. The enormity of it hits me while Hunter rubs his denim-encased erection against my hipbone.

  “That’s it, baby,” he grunts as I lie there, completely motionless. “You know just what I like.”

  But I don’t. I have no idea what he likes. I mean, technically, I’ve read about 899999 sex scenes, so I know how it all works…but I can’t recall any of them. Sure wish I’d read some memorable sex scenes right about now. God damn you, genre fiction.

  Hunter moves up for another kiss, and at the same time, he palms my crotch through the lace panties I put on earlier. My girlcore goes all warm and peanut buttery. I feel like a book longing to be opened, pages needing to be flicked, spine about to be split right down the middle as my innocence shatters against the wall.

  When he puts a single finger under my panties, I squeal. And then I freeze. For a second, I’m even tempted to call on Captain Purity. Hunter peers up from between my thighs, his hair tousled with almost-sex. I’ve never seen him look so scrummy.

  “Is everything okay, gosling?”

  “I…uh…” PANIC! SOUND THE VIRGINITY ALARM! “Stop! Octopus!”

  He frowns. “You what?”

  “Octopus,” I blather. “I have…a pet octopus…and I need to go pick him up.”

  “That’s a euphemism, right?” he says hopefully.

  “Er…no.”

  “You have a pet octopus.”

  My eyes dart left to right. “All book bloggers have them. It’s, uh, a thing.”

  He leans on one elbow, his erection still bobbing in his jeans. “I see. And exactly where is this octopus now?”

  “At the vet,” I blather on. “The aqua vet.”

  “Right. Okay then.” He chews on his pouty bottom lip. “Does this mean no trip to the Vaj Mahal?”

  God, why does he have to be so strangely alluring? “Vaj Mahal is closed.” I pause. “So’s brown town.”

  He switches to lean on the other elbow in a feat of gymnastic skill. “Huh. Well this doesn’t usually happen.”

  “I really need to pick up my octopus,” I insist. I almost believe it myself.

  “Should I ask Labron to take you?”

  “Uh…no. I can get there by myself just fine.” I try to smile. “I’m a pretty independent kind of girl.” Who wants to bawl her eyes out because she’s so pathetic and terrified. But not a slut, so hey—winsies.

  “You know,” he says darkly, “I could just insist that you have sex with me anyway. I bet you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

  “I thought that was all a bit 2012,” I mumble.

  “Oh.” He gives a defeated sigh. “Dagnammit, you’re right.”

  I take this opportunity to wriggle out from underneath him and yank my dress back down. It still gapes open at the front where he tore it, and I have to pin it together with my fingers.

  “So I guess I’ll be going to see the vet now,” I say slowly, backing toward the door.

  Hunter sits on the edge of the bed and ruffles his delicious hair. “The one that’s open at one in the morning?”

  “Oh, aqua vets are pretty flexible.”

  “So I gather.”

  “I’ll be seeing you.” I grope around behind myself for the door handle.

  He raises one eyebrow. “You’ll be seeing me, all right.”

  “But not before I…see my octopus.”

  Then I hurry out of the door and run down the corridor, resolving to hide around a corner until Hunter von-leaves the building. It’s not long before I realize that:

  1. I’m alone in a dark hall, dressed like a baby prostitute.

  2. I didn’t bring any keys.

  3. I didn’t use keys to get into my room in the first place, so that one’s a red herring.

  4. I OWN GOODREADS

  So I guess tonight isn’t such a lost cause, aside from the abject humiliation. And the fact that I have about sixteen hours to purchase a pet octopus. They do those, right?

  CHAPTER SIX

  The following morning, Enid barges into my bedroom and dumps a bunch of packages on my desk.

  “Good morning, mecha whore!” she trills, sweeping the curtains open.

  I wince, shielding my eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Time you gave me the skinny on your date with Hunter, that’s what.”

  “Do I have mail?” I blink at the packages.

  “Yeah. But first…” She lands on my bed in a flurry of blond hair and boobs and cheap perfume. “I want to know where you went, what you did, everything.” Her upper lip twitches. “Jeez. Why does it smell like random exploding weasel in here?”

  “I need…caffeine…” I manage to mumble. My head feels like it got gangbanged at Pi Pi Beta Pi. I waited over an hour in the hall for Hunter to leave, and when he finally did, I collapsed into bed with my clothes and make up still on. Which means…

  “Oh my God!” Enid yanks on my torn dress. “He went caveman on you. So hot. So. Hot!”

  “We, uh, went out for dinner,” I say, carefully omitting the McDonalds part. Enid just wouldn’t understand. “And then he came back here.”

  “And boned you like your hoo-ha was going out of business?” Enid lifts her crotch and does a few air thrusts.

  “Ah…um…” For someone who didn’t want me to date Hunter, Enid sure is enthusiastic about my apparent deflowering. “We had a nice talk.”

  “A talk? A talk?”

  “Lips moved. Words were exchanged. That sort of thing.”

  “I can’t believe you. Hunter von Styles doesn’t have dates without sex. Actually…he doesn’t even have dates.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You must be seriously special.”

  Special is a good way to describe me, true.

  “So when are you seeing him again?”

  “I’m not sure. I mean, he said he’d be seeing me, but who knows what that means.” I motion to my packages. “Gimme.”

  “Since you asked so nicely.” Enid pulls the two boxes off my desk and plants them on the bed. “You get way more mail than me. S’not fair.”

  “One of the many benefits of reviewing books,” I say with an air of feigned-but-not-really superiority. Then I tear the brown paper off the smaller package to reveal a publisher’s logo. “Oh, sweet Lord. This had better be what I think it is.”

  Enid cocks her head to get a better look. “And what’s that, exactly?”

  “It’s…oh yeah. Come to Mamma.” I lift the book out of the box and hug it to my chest. I draw the line at giving it a kiss, though; these lips belong to Hunter. “It’s my advance copy of the new Juniper Armenseabass.”

  Enid snorts. “Is she the chick that has a new book out like, every three days?”

  “Eight days, Enid. Every eight days.”

  “Boy, her wrists must be sore.”

  “You mock all you want, but this book is supposed to be amazing.” I brandish my beautiful copy of Half Hood at her. “I mean, sure, plenty of new adult authors have tackled inexperienced heroes. Even virgins. But Juniper Armenseabass is the only one brave enough to write about
a hero with a botched partial circumcision.”

  Enid presses her lips together and looks away. “Riiiiiiight.”

  I’m busy stroking the gorgeously ambiguous cover when Enid thrusts the other package at me.

  “So what’s in this one?” she asks. “Please tell me it isn’t more books.”

  “I’m not expecting any, I guess.”

  “It’s heavy. Can I open it?”

  “Knock yourself out.” I’m too distracted by the lure of Juniper’s strangely addictive prose.

  Enid brings the parcel close to her face and frowns. “You realize this one has a post mark from Belgium, Cammie?”

  “Whuh?”

  “Oh, I give up.” She tears into it, peeling open a card and then splitting the lid of the box. She falls silent for a moment. “So this one’s from Hunter.”

  I snap up. “Hunter?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “What is it?” I say eagerly.

  “You should probably take a look for yourself.” She passes the box to me with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

  I look inside.

  HOLY FAKE PET OCTUPUS.

  “He wants you to call him when you get it,” Enid goes on, still looking as stunned as I feel.

  I scramble around for my cell, and dial his number. He picks up after three rings.

  “Good morning, gosling,” he purrs.

  “Uh. Morning.” God, I hate making phone calls before I’ve brushed my teeth. My stale cheeseburger breath keeps blasting back at me.

  “I take it you got my package,” he says.

  “I did.”

  “And do you like my package?”

  “Um…what is it, exactly?”

  “It’s an advance review copy.”

  “It is?”

  Hunter clears his throat. “Of my penis.”

  I choke down the phone.

  “Hand-crafted in the finest Belgian chocolate,” he goes on, a wicked tone taking his voice.

  “That’s very…very thoughtful,” I manage.

  “Do you like the veins?” he asks. “They’re flavored with a hint of lavender. My idea. I’m especially proud of the big one that winds around the top.”

  “Oh, it’s something.” I stare inside the box at the thick chocolate rod. “Is it, uh, life-sized?”

  “Of course.” He puts on an accent from somewhere in Europe. “With zis Ferrero Roger, I am really spoiling you.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Hunter sighs. “Gosling. I understand what happened last night. You…want to wait. For the right time for us. And this is my way of saying that it’s absolutely fine with me.”

  My heart flutters, and my pulse begins to twerk. “Oh, Hunter. Really?”

  “Really. You know how much you mean to me.”

  I break into a smile. “Your dick does look pretty yummy.”

  “I get that a lot.” There’s a rustling sound over the phone, as if Hunter is tossing his hair.

  Enid gapes at me; I giggle like a school girl.

  “So,” Hunter goes on, “I’ll be picking you up tonight at eight.”

  He knows exactly what he wants. I love it. “Eight’s great.”

  “Have a wonderful day, gosling.” Without waiting for my response, he hangs up.

  I sink back against the pillows, holding my cell against my heart with a contented sigh.

  Enid points to the box. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I hum to myself. “An advance review copy. Of his cock.”

  “Smells like chocolate.”

  “It is chocolate.” I purse my lips. “And life-sized.”

  Enid traces a finger along one of the bulgy veins. “Hubba. Choc-cock. He should take this on a blog tour.”

  I start giggling again. “I could review it. With GIFs.”

  “Can I try some? It just smells so creamy and sugary. Ugh,” she moans.

  “Oh, go on then. We’ll both eat it.”

  While we much our way through Hunter’s hand-painted helmet, I tell everyone on Facebook that me and Enid are having Hunter’s cock for breakfast, and we both snigger with our mouths full while the campus’s greatly exaggerated rumor mill goes into overdrive.

  His cock tastes pretty damn good.

  * * *

  One shower later, I’m covered in expensive body cream instead of chocolate, and on the hunt for a pet octopus so Hunter won’t know that I lied when he arrives later. I mean sure, he insinuated that he knew I was lying, but his implied understanding of my flaws isn’t the most important thing here. Being right is.

  There’s only one man who can help me snare an animal. Well, one besides the guy who’s actually called Hunter (whose wing of the frat house I carefully avoid when I go in).

  “Cam-Cam.” Archer beams from ear to ear as he opens his bedroom door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He’s wearing a full suit of armour, except for his bare feet, and his messy hair is even more handsomely messy than usual.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” He steps aside with a creaky bow. “Make thyself welcome, fair maiden.”

  I love it when Archer talks like Chaucer. It’s so hot. If only he was less normal, and more emotionally damaged.

  Archer’s bedroom is decked out with all of his re-enactment gear, including tapestries with coats of arms on the walls and a big tub of Schaffer’s Helmet Polish on his bedside table. The furniture is worn, but in an antiqued way (Archer always has money, but since his parents have a little farm, nobody knows how. Huh). He closes the door and cradles a huge prick.

  “Like my lance?” he asks with a grin.

  “Oh.” I do a little jump to dodge his prodding prick. I mean, er, lance. “Been jousting?”

  “Early morning joust. Gotta love it.” He rests the lance against one wall and strokes it lovingly. “I won, by the way.”

  I give him a thumbs up. “Congratulations.”

  “So what’s the happy haps, homeslice?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Oh?”

  “In about five hours, I need to have a pet octopus set up in an aquarium in my room.”

  He winces. “Pet octopus? Do they, like, even do those?”

  “I don’t know. But Archer, please—my life depends on it.”

  He creaks over to me in his armour and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “And you know I’ll defend your life with my own,” he whispers.

  I stare into his piercing lancey blue eyes. “I know.”

  Oh God. Are we having a McMoment? Surely not—Archer’s like my brother, only not. Only kind of.

  “So I guess we better get on this octopus shit,” he says with a grin. Nice recovery—for a second there, I thought we were getting sexual. “I need to shower off the joust. You take my laptop and Google local octopi stockists.”

  I give him a grateful smile, and while he does his best Fjorn Brimstone impression in the shower, I scour Wikipedia and other reliable sources for advice on keeping octopi. All the while, I imagine what Hunter will say when he realizes I wasn’t lying, how he will fall to his knees and hug my thighs and shower me with superficial apologies. And then maybe I’ll invite him into my panties after all.

  Archer surfaces from the bathroom in a cloud of mid-price range body wash, his hips clad in a small white towel. Toned muscles ripple beneath his tanned flesh, and a tattoo of a sword plunging into his heart bisects his pecs. The handle of the sword reads Cam-Cam…which is quite the coincidence, when you think about it.

  “How’s it going?” he asks.

  “Uh…not so good.” I swallow. “Turns out this might not be as simple as I thought.”

  “So can you actually get a pet octopus?”

  I nod. “You can. But not without a couple of, ahem, complications.”

  Archer sits beside me, pressing his damp skin into my clean and unslutty clothes. He peers at the screen and scans the article from Octopifancyers.com.

  “High level of intellige
nce….very dextrous tentacles…need to put heavy weights on tank to stop them escaping…serious carnivores...” He trails off, looking pale. “I’m beginning to see what you mean.”

  “You see that last line? Octopi have a tendency to get into places they shouldn’t.” I shudder. What if I wake up and it’s in my Vag Mahal?

  “But your life is at stake, Cam Cam.”

  “I know.” I sigh. Why the hell did I have to pick an octopus? I blame Squid Patrick Harris. “There must be some way around this. You know, a way that doesn’t involve me being tentacle raped like one of those horrible Japanese computer games your frat buddies play on Thursdays.”

  “Hey. Don’t knock Hentai night,” he says, wagging a finger. “They even got approval from the UCLAP feminist society—we don’t steal all the WiFi so they can upload their Lorde fanfic, and we get Hentai night without one of their shitty protests.”

  “Okay, okay.” I pout at him. “Still kinda worrying though.”

  “Says the girl who’s dating Hunter von Styles,” he mutters darkly. “Oh. Wait. I think I’ve got it!” He shoots up in excitement, and his towel falls down.

  I clap a hand over my eyes before I can be introduced to Archer’s ham ram. I’ve had enough penis-related trauma for one day already (and as a romance heroine, I’m allocated roughly seven minutes of penis trauma every sixteen hours. Roughly).

  “Sorry, sorry.” He rummages on the floor for his towel and ties it safely back over his crotch. “Just let me get dressed, and we’ll get our quest on. You okay on my motorbike?”

  I shrug. “Will the octopus be okay on your motorbike?”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Ooh. TENSION.

  Two hours later, Archer and I pull up outside my dorm with a packed sidecar. Our plan isn’t perfect but I think we have everything covered. I smile to myself as he hauls everything up the stairs and grunts with the exertion of carrying both an octopus and a full sized aquarium; I told Hunter that I had to pick up my octopus and I actually am. I’m like a self-fulfilling prophecy, or something.

  “You okay, Archie?” I hold the door open for him.

  He heaves the aquarium on to my desk and leans over the chair, panting. “Oh, I’m…good. Fine. Ugh.”