Page 37 of Meet Hate Love
“This is like kidnapping my free will.”
I opened the lotion. A loudthrrrrpsounded when I squeezed an obscene amount into my palm and slathered it onto my cock.
“That’s it,” she said. “I’m going to abandon you.”
“And if I get arrested—”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Oh, it will be. And you want to know why?” I pumped my fist over my semi-limp shaft, praying for the blood flow to hurry and shift. “Because you can’t speak French.”
“And what does that have to do with anything regarding you pulling Cockzilla out in a bush?” she whisper-shouted, her aggravation growing.
“When I tell them you’re my accomplice, in French, and you can’t defend yourself, it will have everything to do with it.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Do you really want to find out if I would?”
A few blissful seconds of silence ensued. Just enough for me to get a little girth. Then the shrubs behind me violently shook again.
“People are coming.”
I dropped my lubricated dick and went for my jeans.
“Wait, no,” she whispered. “They went the other way.”
The two-minute warning went off on my phone. It was one thing to get a hard-on in the middle of the quiet wilderness, but surrounded by the sound of laughter, dogs barking, ofherbreathing on the other side of the bushes…
“I can literally hear the squish of you thrusting in and out of your palm.” She huffed. “I swear to all that is holy, Vance, if I hear you grunt…”
I squeezed my mostly limp dick so hard. “For the love of God. Blake. Stop talking to me right now. I can’t focus on what I’m doing.”
The one-minute reminder buzzed on my phone, and I resorted to the one failsafe thought that would get me hard. I closed my eyes and conjured up the familiar fantasy of Blake on her knees, me fisting her dark hair. I imagined her slipping my cock between her full lips, those cheeks of hers pink. Like a shot of Viagra, Paul was at full attention. And right on time. The night sky behind me lit up. People in the parkoohedandaahed. I clicked the remote on my phone, and the flash of the camera fired in rapid succession.
Blake snort-laughed from the other side of the hedge. “Nothing suspicious about the flashing lights in the bushes at all.”
I was about to tell her to stop talking again when a rat the size of a chihuahua exploded out of the nest of leaves in front of me. Before I could pull up my pants, Ratatouille scurried across my foot. More rustling came from in front of me as more rats emerged. I tried to shuffle away but lost my balance and toppled backwardthroughthe bushes, landing on my back like an upturned beetle, pants around my ankles, and my erect, lotion-slathered dick pointed due north.
Blake screamed, shooting to her feet as I frantically hip-thrust toward the sky in an attempt to yank my jeans over my deflating dick while an army of Parisian rats fled from the bushes.
She wielded the wine bottle above her like a weapon, then chucked the bottle at the rodents, barely missing me—definitely missing the rats. I zipped my jeans and stumbled to my feet just as Blake screeched again.
“Oh, God!” She hopscotched over the rodents scurrying from the bushes. “Their tails feel like leather.” And behind hopscotching, screaming Blake, stood clusters of people. All staring in our direction with their phones held up.
This wasn’t just bad; this was fucking terrible.
Blake glanced around with wide eyes, the tower behind her still sparkling and twinkling. “Oh, no, no, no.” She clapped a hand to her mouth, then immediately dropped it. “People are filming! Why are they filming?”
I dragged a hand down my face. “Maybe because you screamed like a demon-possessed banshee being cornered with a crucifix.”
“Youtoldme to scream.”
“Scream if people were coming into the bushes. Not if rats were fleeing from them.”
“A legion of rats, all the size of cats, came lunging out of the dark depths of the bushes.” She made an exaggerated hand motion behind her. “And you expect me not to scream?”
I didn’t have the strength to argue with her. All I could think about was the not-so-far-fetched possibility—thanks to the wonder of the internet—that this may get back to Wanderlust. “I’m going to get fired…”
