“You mean make Julian into Julia?” Dylan dished back. All three laughed.
They had no right to laugh! Not when everything in Laura’s mouth turned to sawdust and Josie stared at her like something in an insane asylum under twenty-four hour watch.
“I’ll make a scene and you can crawl out through the kitchen,” Josie suggested.
“What?”
“And then I’ll go over there and hang with them and we can be besties and I’ll,” she licked her lips again, “get my own taste of Superhero Sandwich. I can be the meat.”
“You are a sick woman.”
“I got the fever and they got the cure.”
“I know you’re joking, but this isn’t funny anymore.”
Josie dropped the act instantly. “Sorry. You’re right. What can we do?”
Crawling on hands and knees was starting to look like a great option, except she would have to abandon the rest of her cake. Was saving face worth leaving this luscious, green-tinted pistachio chocolate mound of salvation?
With ice cream? And the untouched homemade mint whipped cream?
No. She would stand her ground.
For the sake of gastronomical integrity.
Someone had to. And she would make that sacrifice. Determined, Laura took another enormous bite of cake, ice cream, whipped cream and all dipped in peanut butter sauce.
The moan that escaped her body rivaled anything she’d made in bed with those two.
Which is why they both turned in unison, she imagined, staring as she devoured her true love. Thor could have his hammer. Dylan looked enough like a short Christian Bale to be Batman. Right now, though, she was going green, getting her most important hole stuffed by the Hulk.
Peanut Butter Hulk Smash cake allowed her to be the avenger now.
Could those two be any weirder? Following her here to Jeddy’s, where she still had their funk on her. In her. In places no man had ever been before on her body. Places she suspected no one except maybe, once, the gynecologist had touched during a routine “Hi! Welcome to 25!” exam.
Was it getting warm suddenly? “Are you hot, Josie?” she asked through a mouthful of cake.
“No. But they are—hey! One of them is coming over. Thor,” she drooled.
“Not funny.”
“It is when I’m not you, hon.” She nodded behind Laura. Shit. Mike really was walking over here. Covered in food splotches from haphazardly digging into the delights, she wondered if the rest of her was as disheveled. Barely able to look, she forced herself to anyhow. The ratty old sweats that seemed like a good comfort choice at home made her look like Tori Spelling after giving birth. Her hair was shoved into a knotted mess and makeup— what makeup? It had been smeared off long ago. Hell, some of it was probably still on Mike’s torso.
Her mouth watered. And not from the food.
“Hey.” Why did his voice have to have this reaction on her, like a warm breeze on wet skin, her every pore attending to his presence before she even looked back? Why did his tone make her body inhale sharply, every part of her lungs ready to sigh with pleasure at the very thought of his presence?
And why, for the love of all that is holy, was Josie goggling at them both like this was some sort of side show at a carnival?
Oh. Because it was.
“Grab his balls!” Josie’s words made Laura glare, wide-eyed and wild.
“What?” she hissed.
Jumping up, Josie skittered around Mike as if he were a pillar holding up the restaurant. “Hey! Grab his balls!” She ran over to the cardboard cutout and began chatting up Dylan. All Laura heard was a handful of words from Dylan’s sweet mouth:
“...I know, I...”
“...no, the balls weren’t my...”
“...four? No, we never considered...”
and Josie’s rat-a-tat-tat machine-gun fire conversation. Don’t look at him, she told herself, though she could feel him, inches away, the hair on her skin like hundreds of thousands of little clitoral hoods, all aching for him, for release, for this yearning to go away, no matter what.
But especially via his touch. As if on command, his hand touched her shoulder. Involuntarily, she flinched. He pulled back. This dance? Really?
It sucked.
“Hi, Mike,” she said reluctantly. Couldn’t ignore him.
Fluid grace poured into his limbs as he deftly slid into Josie’s space, his movements belying his size. How could he— oh, she knew. Hands eager for connection, she pulled them into her lap, then sat on them, her ass pinning errant fingers in place, knowing damn well what she’d do if she didn’t.
Wait. No. She was supposed to be angry with him. Them.
Everyone.
“Hi.” The shy act wasn’t going to cut it tonight. She went for the throat.