Tousle Me (29 page)

“Five,” Enid counts beneath her breath, “four, three, two, one…OHMYGOD!”

I won’t lie—to begin with, Hunter and Sparkles’ jousting practice did not look promising. They could barely hit the dummy or even stay near the barrier without the unicorn getting distracted by an iPhone or a Z-list celebrity. But slowly, Labron developed a fool-proof method.

And there he is, in the corner of the stadium green, employing it right…now.

“Woah.” Enid grabs my wrist. “That has to be cheating.”

“Shut up. It’ll help him beat Archer.”

“Oh God.” She grips me even harder, shivering with panic. “I want him to lose, but I can’t bear to see him hurt. Jeez. Is this inner conflict?”

“A what now?”

Then the horn blares, the boys shout, the horses charge…and we can’t focus on anything else. I’m vaguely aware of Enid chugging the vodka in noisy gulps, but the rest is hazy.

Nothing makes sense except Hunter, riding forth on his purple sparkly unicorn with a German battle cry, fighting for eternal access to my panties. In the far corner of the stadium, Labron stands on the bleachers and waves an iPad with Tweetdeck fully loaded. As far as Sparkles is concerned, it’s a red rag to a bull. In fact it’s better: it’s a WiFi device to a unicorn.

“Neeeeigh!” bleats my desperate pet.

They charge toward Archer, who is confident and calm as ever, sitting tight and tall on J-Lo the mare. Their lances rub together and their shields clash with a metallic groan, but no damage is done on this round. Ugh.

“This is going to kill me.” I grapple with Enid for the vodka, but she snatches it away.

“You know,” she says brightly, “the lances are, like, totally a dick metaphor.”

“You mean Archer and Hunter are rubbing dicks?”

“While riding horses. Like cowboys. This is
Brokeback Mountain
, but…more medieval-y.”

“Riiiiight.” Enid’s already drunk. Impressive.

Jester Hentai Pete calls the second round, and the boys charge again, Hunter’s lance steadier this time. His shield—which bears the iconic inscription
1D
—stays firm on his arm, and takes Archer’s blow with confident finesse. His own lance knocks Archer’s, and it wobbles before Archer regains his grip. Behind us, the foam finger brigade shout obscenities and offer lots of utterly useless advice as to how the joust could be improved. No, Hunter does not need to hire Mike Tyson’s manager, and Sparkles does not need to be “less gay.” He’s bi, for starters. That’s like unicorn 101.

“Last round,” Enid says, flinching. “I can barely look.”

“How do I you think I feel? This is my hymen we’re talking about.”

“If I stay this tense for much longer, I’ll probably grow a new one. Oh God. Here we go…”

The last charge.

Something has to happen here. They have to man up, step up to the plate (where
is
the plate?), grow a pair and show the other who’s boss. I know for a fact that Hunter is the boss because sometimes he goes around in his underwear singing, “
Baking brownies, like a boss. Nazi cursed, like a boss. Brood in corners, like a boss. Burn my mama, like a boss.
” Huh. Guess I should have listened to that a little more closely.

A lute player and beatboxer begin to riff on ‘Flight of the Valkyries.’ A foam finger bashes against the back of my head, but I ignore the rage it conjures. I close my eyes and think of all the beautiful moments Hunter and I have shared: our first kiss, flavored with barbecue sauce; my first orgasm in the lecture theatre; owning Goodreads with a side of Squid Patrick Harris. The crowd stomps. Chaucer bellows.

And down in his corner, Labron whacks out his secret weapon.

It is not his penis.

It is the soft, bubblegum tinkle of a K-drama opening credit sequence, and as Sparkles’ ears prick up, the final charge begins.

It seems that Sparkles launches into a gallop in slow motion, as if the frames are literally slowed down. I mean, they aren’t, because he’s galloping and that’s really fast, but this is like my imaginary fog when Archer and I were held up: it adds to the mood. So go with it. Mmmkay?

Also in slow motion, Archer and J. Lo lurch from their corner, his lance solid and prominent, his shield proud and high. He doesn’t falter for a second. Their lances are just inches apart…

…And then Sparkles picks up the dulcet tones of K-drama, proper. He
neeeeeighs
like a demon and bows his head, rushing horn-first into his opponent. Beside me, Enid sucks in air through her teeth—she knows what’s coming. As do I.

Hunter’s lance crashes through Archer’s shield, ramming into his suit of armour and shoving him off J. Lo with force. I know Archer will be bruised and Hunter will be shocked right now, but all I can think of is, holy fuck—that’s what he’ll be doing to my vagina tonight! Of course, I may die of sex flu before this happens. I wonder what my gravestone would say in this instance:
here lies Cammibelle Hicks. Beloved gosling, valued blogger. She screwed Goodreads like a hungry hooker.

Hmm.

A low keening breaks through my revelry. It’s Enid, lying across my lap with her clasped hands raised to the sky. “Thank you, Lord! Thank you!”

I frown. “Aren’t you, like, an atheist?”

“Shut up.”

Ah. Drunk atheist. It’s like when you have too much punch in senior year and though you have a boyfriend, decide to kiss a bunch of girls. Actually…Enid did that.

“Cammie.” She heaves a huge sigh of relief over the cheering crowd. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me too,” I say sagely. “You have no idea what I’ve been through, waiting and worrying for today—”

“Yeah. We’re done with this kinda thing, remember?”

Actually, no. But judging by the look on her face, she’ll scalp me if I admit that. “Oopsie?”

Down on the stadium green, Hunter dismounts and yanks off his helmet. A mist of tousled fudge sundae hair spills around his chiselled cheekbones, and my heart flutters in my nipples at the sight. When he grins The Grin, I know it’s time.

“Oh, Hunter,” I murmur.

“Well don’t just stand there.” Enid shoves me forward. “Go get him!”

And so I do.

“Gosling!” Hunter gestures to me as I hurry down the bleachers, practically pole-vaulting the barrier so I can run to him on the green. “Over here!”

When I reach Hunter and Sparkles, I’m panting hard. Maybe there’s something to be said for exercise after all. Maybe I’ll even try some of it. Er, maybe.

“Neeeeigh.” Sparkles doesn’t look up from his K-drama binge—he’s lying in a heap on the ground with the iPad—but he acknowledges me, and what more could a unicorn owner ask for when she’s far more interested in the chunk of testosterone and violent urges before her?

Hunter takes me in his arms of steel and dips his mouth to mine. As his tongue swirls down my throat with slightly worrying speed and trajectory, I reach my arm up and give my white hanky a wave for the crowd. I’m Desdemona, giving in (but not about to be strangled to death). I’m Dido with her white flag (but not about to duet with Eminem).

OR AM I?

“Hunter,” I moan softly into his bronzed armour, “you’re my anti hero.”

“Mmm. And you’re my gosling,” he replies. “Soft, downy feathers. Sharp yellowing beak. Sexy webbed feet and adorable little honky noises.”

I jerk up. “What?”

“There’s really no way to make it sound attractive, so I thought honesty would be as good as it got.”

I reach up to run my fingers through his artfully tousled hair. “I love it when you’re honest with me. Like when you’re telling me about how you murdered your mom, or your weakness for saucy parties.” I bite my lip. “Or your inhumanly hairy balls.”

“And I, gosling,” he whispers. “And I love
you
.”

By this point, Enid has made her way to Archer, who is surrounded by the medical team while he lies motionless on the floor. I’m pleased to see that he’s at least getting a little consolatory attention.

“So…tonight?” I say, hopefully, basking in the glory of Hunter’s three little words.

“Tonight? You have to be joking.”

I’m so confused. Why am I always so confused?

“We’re doing this now,” he says gruffly, “tent style. I’ve waited long enough—this isn’t a fucking Harlequin.”

* * *

We have to get Labron to distract the reporters and eager fans by pretending to be Samuel L. Jackson, but after a few minutes, we’re able to sneak back to the tent. With the majority of the crowd still at the stadium, it’s all quiet. Hunter lights a couple candles and gestures for me to join him on the medieval tapestry floor blanket, which is strewn with straw-stuffed cushions.

“Wow,” I say as I sit down. “Feels really…authentic in here.”

He gives a knowing smile. “I think it’s fitting. I’m the noble knight, deflowering my virgin.”

I catch a waft of musky sweat. “It even smells authentic.”

“Suit of armour will do that to a man.” His upper lip shudders, revealing his canines. “Gosling, I have something else to tell you.”

“S-something else?” I bristle with heat as he settles beside me, his outstretched fingers splaying across my stomach. “Another secret…?”

“Another. Awoooo!” He gives a little howl, and then flashes his teeth again. “A very…
primal
secret.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“You’ve read
Twilight.
You know how this goes.”

“Actually, I haven’t read it,” I say sagely. “It’s very 2010. I’m more of a rehashed
Twilight
fan fic kind of girl.”

“Oh.” He clicks his fingers absent-mindedly. “I guess this will be a little more of a shock for you.”

I attempt a smile. “Is this about your penis?”

“It is not about my penis.” He pauses. “Although it does explain my hairy balls.”

“Oh God.” I sit up, my hand flying to his cheek in sympathy. “Do you have, like, polycystic ovaries or something?”

His eyes dart left and right. “Erm. No.”

“Well phew!” I force out a laugh. “So what is it?”

“I…I…” He lowers his Google Chrome green eyes so his shadow grows large in the candlelight. “I’m a werewolf.”

Uh.

Um.

So is Eminem coming, or what? Because my singing voice, much like everything else of mine, is surprisingly competent. My rapping leaves a little more to be desired, but I could do something dark and edgy about cupboards.

Oh crap. Cupboards. Where’s a cupboard when you need one?

“A
werewolf
?” I whimper.

The tent is silent. Candles flicker, making the light inside the drapes falter and throb. I try to force more words but they won’t come.

Hunter swallows loudly. “Of course I’m not a bloody werewolf!” He guffaws, rolling around and clutching his belly.

“That’s not funny.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“You just won my trust and you want to mess with it like that?” I squeak.

“For the sake of a practical joke? Absolutely.” He holds up his cell, which has a flashing red light in the corner of the screen. “This is totally going on YouTube.”

“You’ve been hanging around with that fucking unicorn too much,” I grumble.

He puts on a high, singsong voice. “Worth iiiiiiit.”

I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I fold in on myself, drawing away. Strangely alluring mean Hunter is back and I’m not sure what to do with him. “So—so this is what you brought me here for? So you could make a video? Not for…”

“Wait, wait, wait. Gosling. We’ll get to the sex now, I promise.” He begins to unbolt his armour. “Just give me about forty-five minutes to get out of this.”

“But it took you three seconds to put it on,” I say, frowning.

“I know.” He shrugs helplessly. “Turns out that was rushed for convenience.”

So we spend the next forty-five minutes talking about how much we’ve missed each other while Hunter gets undressed. I explain about my heartfelt conversation with Enid, and then relive the tragedy of Cognac Façade losing the
X Factor
; Hunter talks about his new recipe for flapjacks and how he sent every last smithereen of Kanye West CD from his metro rose room to feed starving kids in Africa, because they’re so hungry, hey, they’ll eat anything.

Just as Hunter reaches his boxer shorts, gives me a satisfied smirk, and takes a step back toward the blanket, a fight erupts on the other side of the entrance drapes.

“Get yo’ ass away from here!” Labron hisses. Then it sounds like a foot lands somewhere painful. “Dang it, Captain Purity, you shall not pass!”

I put my head into my hands. “Oh, great. Should have guessed.”

Hunter slaps his fist into his palm. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Hunter, no! No more violence today.” I reach out to him. “Let Labron do his job.”

“I…I don’t know…”

Labron grunts as he lands more punches. The two shadow figures duel on the other side of the tent, black shapes who offer way too much in the way of racist joke potential.

“You know what’s in that tent?” Labron yells. “Consent! It is the tent of motherfucking consent! Your services are unrequired,
hombre
!”

“But…but I can smell the untouched bajingo,” the captain whines, executing a perfect ninja kick as his cape billows behind him.

“That is a nasty ass line, and you’ll take it back before I kick your bajingo into touch.” Labron leans forward, hands on his knees. “What the hell’s a bajingo?”

Captain Purity throws himself to the ground with a manly groan. “I can’t say it! Mommy will wash my mouth out!”

“Oh Lord.” I peek out from between my fingers. “This is ridonkulous. We’re never going to do
it
.”

“Fear not, gosling.” Hunter wanders over to a cool box and pulls out something yellow. Then he peels back an edge of the entrance drape and hurls the crescent-shaped object through.

“Creeptonight!” Captain Purity shrieks. “Oh, why must you torment me so?”

Labron growls with frustration. “Dude, it’s a motherfucking banana!”

“Is it? IS IT?”

“Goddammit, Captain Purity!” I yell. “Stop trying to create your own subplot!”

Hunter chews his pouty bottom lip as he sinks down. “You know, he has more issues than a newsagent. His backstory is probably killer.”