4. It’s Raining Dildos #2
Flinging myself forward, I barrel through the door with my hockey bag, tumbling inside. Jennie grunts as I accidentally sandwich her between me and the wall. My arm goes around her, pulling her tight against me to keep her from going down.
“Get off me.” She huffs, shoving against my chest. “Wrong apartment, fuckboy. Your hockey hooker lives across the hall.”
My face flames. “She’s not my—I’m not a…”
Jennie sniffles, chest heaving as she stares up at me. She shoves me once more, gently, but my feet stay rooted. That dancer’s body she’s worked so hard on is sculpted perfection, but I’ve got close to a hundred pounds of immovable body mass on her.
My hand slips to her bare waist, gripping it to keep her steady while I straighten. “I’m not looking for Emily, and she’s not my…” I clear my throat. “Hockey hooker.”
Jennie dusts off her boobs. Nice boobs. No dust, though. “That’s not what she said.” She cleans the remaining tears off her face. “What are you doing here, Andersen?”
“Carter said you were upset about Princess Jell—Bubblegum. I was passing by and wanted to see if you were okay.” I take in the mess in the living room, boxes ripped open, contents strewn across the floor. “How’s the search goin’?”
Jennie fiddles with her braid, scuffing at the floor with her toes. “I can’t find her. I’ve only got a few boxes left here, and a couple in the spare bedroom.”
“Hmm.” I shove my fingers below my hat and scratch my head, pretending not to notice the way Jennie’s eyes track the movement.
I’ve always been fascinated by her. She’s beautiful, and she knows it.
Thick chestnut waves, almost always tied back in a braid, finished with a ribbon.
Kinda tall, I think. Five-eight, maybe, still a whole lot shorter than me.
Long-ass legs I wouldn’t mind wrapping around my neck, draping down my back.
A brilliant, wide grin with heart-stopping dimples, and a fierce personality, so bold and confident.
But when her eyes meet mine, it’s the dashed hope in them that prompts my next words.
“I’ll help you look.”
“What?” Her nose wrinkles as I drop my equipment, the damp, sweaty stench wafting up to us. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Sure, but I don’t mind.” I move past her, choosing a stack of boxes before she can argue more.
Picking up the steak knife resting on top, I twirl it between my fingers and glance at Jennie as she watches me cautiously, fingers curling at her stomach.
“Poor Princess Bubblegum might need stitches when you’re done with her if this is what you’re using to open boxes. ”
I swear I see it, right there in the corner, the teensiest hint of a smile. Before it can bloom, Jennie’s lips flatten, and she slowly steps toward me.
“I broke the scissors because I was jabbing the boxes too hard.” She twirls her braid around her finger. “Uh, thanks. For helping, or whatever.”
“You’re welcome.”
I quickly slice the tape on all the boxes so I can tuck the knife away, and we sort through each one in silence, only the quiet music Jennie has playing on her speaker drifting through the room.
“What kind of stuffie is Princess Bubblegum, anyway?” I ask, flipping through a box of photo frames. It’s the last box in my stack, and the air has grown heavier with each one.
Jennie doesn’t respond. I find her staring at her box, knuckles nearly white as she grips it, coaxing me slowly in her direction.
“Hey. You okay?”
“She’s a pink bunny,” she whispers. “My dad got her for me for my sixth birthday. She’s got a ribbon on each ear and a-a—” she holds her arms out, thumbs and forefingers pinched together like she’s gripping the hem of a skirt, “— a pink tutu !” She chokes on her words, burying her sob and face in her hands, and I race across the room, arms outstretched.
I skid to a stop in front of her, resisting the urge to touch her. “You’re crying again.” Stupid . Of course she’s crying. She doesn’t need me to point out the obvious.
“I’m not crying,” she cries, jabbing a finger into my chest. “ You’re crying!”
Riiight…
“Uh, do you need a…hug?” Cautiously, I inch toward her, opening my arms in slow motion. She might, like, bite. I don’t know how this shit works. My sisters are a lot younger than Jennie; their problems are easily solved with hugs.
Jennie’s a Beckett. If she’s anything like her older brother, there’s a good chance her problems are solved with Oreos and orgasms. I didn’t come prepared with cookies, and I’d ideally like to keep my balls right where they are: attached to my fucking body.
“What?” Her chin trembles. “I don’t…I…” She groans, stomps, and balls her fists up as her chest heaves. “Garrett.”
“C’mon, Jennie.”
Taking her hands in mine, I gently guide her into me.
She comes willingly, dragging her ass about it though, and I wrap my arms around her.
She smells nice, intoxicating, vanilla and cinnamon and coffee.
When she carefully slips her arms around my middle and lays her cheek over my heart, I find out she feels nice too.
Warm and soft, like when my mom used to microwave my underwear on those extra-cold east coast winter mornings.
“Atta girl,” I murmur, palm gliding down her back. It’s meant to be soothing, but I forgot she’s only wearing a sports bra, so my fingers dance over her bare flesh, and both of us go rigid.
Jennie pushes away at the same time I rocket backward, and I rip my hat off, burying my hand in my hair.
“I’ll, uh…” I thumb down the hall. “I’ll check the boxes in the spare bedroom.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Yeah, cool. Good idea. You do that, and I’ll…stay.”
My casual stroll turns to a mad dash when I round the corner into the hall. Inside the bedroom, I press my back to the wall and breathe deeply. This is a disaster. The sooner I get out of here, the better.
There are only four boxes, and I go through the first two in no time. When I get to the third, the one labeled toys , I grin triumphantly, ripping at the tape.
“ Aha .” This is it; this is the box. If this doesn’t put me in Jennie’s good books, nothing will. “Here I come, Princess Bubbleg— ah ! Holy fuck !” I flip the top down and scream bloody murder. “ Help !”
“What?” Jennie slides into the bedroom, breathless, eyes wild. “Did you find Princess Bubble— Garrett !” Her hands go to her face. She’s screeching. I think I’m crying. “ What are you doing ?”
“ Looking for Princess Bubblegum !” I shout. The box I’m crushing against my chest, the one filled with dildos and vibrators, rumbles and shakes, coming alive.
“ She’s not in there !”
“Spoiler alert, Jennie: I fucking know that !”
“This box is private!” Jennie charges at me, squishing the box between us. Something starts vibrating, trying to jump out, and I think I might be sick. “You shouldn’t have touched it!”
“Why would you label a box of sex toys toys ?” I shriek back. My back hurts and my face feels really hot. I don’t like it.
“What else would you call them?” She tries to pry the box from my—for some reason unwilling—hands. A battle of tug of war promptly ensues, the box ricocheting between us. “ Give…it…back !”
I yank the box closer— why? —and Jennie tumbles forward, plastering the three of us—me, her, and the box—against the wall. She huffs, puffs, and pulls. Hard .
The box rips apart at the seams, the most beautiful rainbow of dildos and vibrators flying through the air between us in—I swear to God—slow fucking motion.
Jennie’s eyes lock with mine, wide and horrified, as a particularly meaty fucker with a suction cup base slaps me across the face.
It clatters to the ground, the length of it— why the hell is it so damn long?
—pumping up and down and winding in circles, spinning around the hardwood like a bad break-dancer.
Jennie’s shriek is nothing short of bloodcurdling. With both hands, she shoves me along the wall, out of the bedroom, down the hall. “ Out !” Her tiny fists pummel my chest. “ Get out !”
“ I’m fucking going !” I trip over my hockey bag, colliding with the wall. Scrambling to my feet, I whip the door open, toss my shit into the hall, and all but throw myself out of Jennie’s apartment before the door can hit me in the ass on the way out.
“Holy fucking shit,” I mutter, swiping the damp hair off my forehead. I have no idea where my hat went, but I’m sure as hell not going back in to find it.
I’m almost to the elevator when a door creaks, and my heart hammers at Jennie’s timid whisper.
“Garrett?”
I glance over my shoulder, finding that faint flash of violet-blue peeking through the crack in the door. “Yeah?”
She licks her lips, drops her gaze, and I barely catch her words before she slams the door. “Thanks for the hug.”
I scrub my hands down my face. “Well, I’m fucking dead.”